Chapter 17: Michelangelo Strikes Again
"Why are we running like this? Wouldn't it be easier to transport somewhere?" Meredith hisses, their footsteps echoing along the dim corridor. She can hardly see in front of her, but she is well aware that Derek is able to see perfectly in the darkness.
"This passageway is lined in lead - it shields us from any kind of vampire sense, in order for us to get away undetected," Derek calls over his shoulder, his voice grim. His grip on her hand is as solid as steel, an unspoken pledge he isn't about to let her go. Meredith draws from his strength, forcing herself to keep pace. "You okay?"
Meredith nods, hearing Mark charging along behind them. The passageway is narrowing, leading to a steel mesh service elevator. The doors are already open, and they hurtle into the small space, Mark throwing himself in last, and yanking the doors shut. He hits the button to send it into motion, before looking over at them, a big grin still on his face.
"Who has more fun?" he smirks. "Sorry to have interrupted your intimate moments, but..."
Derek waves away the apology. "That's fine. But how the hell did you run into Michelangelo?" He is holding Meredith close, listening to her heart pounding, feeling his own in response.
"It was karma - I was just heading into the club, and I caught a whiff of the Renegade bastards lurking around, looking for trouble. Alexei was there with me, and he took out a couple of them. But the crowd was scattering, despite that and I looked up in time to see old M-man questioning Victor. He was asking about you, Derek. He used his powers to pull the answer out of him and left him for dead."
Meredith gasps, and hides her face against Derek's chest. "Damn..." Derek swears. "I should have known..."
The elevator continues its silent descent as Derek meets Mark's eyes. "Alexei stayed behind to help, and I chased Michelangelo. Caught the bastard too, on the roof, and gave him a good fight." He fingers the ripped edge of his shirt. "Damn, I liked this shirt, too..." He shrugs with a grimace.
"I'll buy you another one," Derek says dryly. "I owe you for warning us."
"He's a damn good swordsman," Mark admits grudgingly.
"What kind of club are you talking about?" Meredith asks curiously, looking from one man to the other. "They know you well there?"
Derek shrugs. "It's a Goth club, basically, frequented by a lot of vamp wannabes. Called 'The Savage Garden'. What none of the mortals realize, however, is that many real vampires also like to blend in with the crowd, cruising for their next blood host..."
"The women there can be very willing," Mark interrupts with a sensual smile, winking at Meredith.
"The owners are vampires as well, old members of our coven," Derek finishes, ignoring Mark's comment. "I hope Victor will survive the attack."
"There's been no indication of a death," Mark comments, touching his own medallion around his neck. Though Thatcher receives notice instantly when one of them is dying, the others will receive faint signals as well.
Meredith shivers, thinking of yet someone else who is being hurt just to get to her. "What's going to happen to your penthouse?" she asks, picturing total destruction from the sounds of the invasion.
"Things can be replaced, repaired," Derek assures her. "You are far more important to me than a manor full of possessions. Though I will make him sorry for attacking us in our home." His voice is cold as ice, as he contemplates various ways to take Michelangelo down – none of them painless. His lip curls, displaying his fangs. "He is beginning to annoy me."
The elevator is slowing, bumping to a stop. "Where are we now?" Meredith asks.
"A special addition I had built when I bought the penthouse. For emergencies, such as this. We are close to the Thames here. I keep a boat moored close by, sometimes I like to take moonlight tours along the river," Derek tells her. "But I believe we should keep a low profile until closer to dawn, just in case. Michelangelo will tire of searching."
Meredith looks around the small room, feeling flushed and disheveled, the book of poetry still clutched in her hands. She drops into one of the chairs, trying to calm her jangled nerves that had peaked during the frantic rush here. There is a small workbench along one wall, and another collection of knives and weapons is stocked there. The room is lit with brass wall sconces, the air cool and damp. Mark paces around the perimeter, still swearing to himself over letting Michelangelo get the best of him.
"Damnit, Derek, I'm no good at waiting," he finally burst out. "I need action. Let me go out there and see what's happening. They won't be looking for me." His blue eyes are serious, far more so now.
"Michelangelo already fought you," Derek points out, folding his arms over his chest and leaning against the wall. "He knows what you look like."
"I can disguise myself, and my aura. A little trick I've learned. He won't sense me unless I want him to," Mark assured him. "You've helped me out in the past, let me do this."
Derek hesitates, his jaw clenching. "Perhaps…you can get word to Thatcher. Tell him we'll be at his place by dawn. If he's picked up any of this fight, he will be anxious to know if Meredith is safe."
Mark nods, strapping on another dagger at his ankle, and taking the coat that Derek offers him. "I'll be back before dawn," he says, opening the outer door and peering outside. Cool night air snakes inside, reviving Meredith, and she shifts in the chair.
"Good luck, Mark," she calls out. "Kick ass!"
"That's my specialty," Mark laughs, before fading into the still black night.
Derek closes the door behind him, and leans against it, arms crossed. His thoughts are still in a whirl, from the moment he heard Mark's warning until now, he had been too caught up in worrying about Meredith.
"You want to be out there with him, don't you?" Meredith asks softly, coming to stand in front of him. She reaches out to smooth her hand along the soft leather of his jacket. "It must be hard to be stuck here babysitting."
Derek traces her cheek with one fingertip. "Hardly babysitting, my love," he chuckles.
"Still, if it weren't for me, you wouldn't be in this position, you wouldn't have your home wrecked," Meredith sighs, leaning in closer to him. His arms slide around her, holding her tightly.
"If it weren't for you, my life wouldn't be nearly as interesting. This is worth anything Michelangelo can throw at me." Derek picks her up easily and carries her over to the straight back chair. Settling her onto his lap, he strokes her hair gently. Meredith is conscious of his strength, and the muscles that flex easily as he holds her. His scent, mixed with leather and spice, drenches her senses, as she presses herself closer to him. All of the adrenalin rush had left her feeling a little sleepy, but the touch of his hands on her body makes her shiver in anticipation. Derek's mouth brushes her cheek, before drifting towards her lips. He kisses her slowly, with a faint trace of hunger in the growing urgency between them.
Meredith opens her eyes to see him looking at her with a look of fierce desire. He moves one hand to tangle in her hair, and his other hand cups her breast, his thumb making lazy circles around her already erect nipple, that buds against her sweater. In her haste to get dressed, she left the bra tangled in the sheets.
"Derek…. maybe this isn't the best time to start this…" she moans, arching her back and pressing into his hand. His lips replace his fingers, his tongue twisting around and around, until Meredith starts to squirm, impatient for more. His hand moves down to her thigh, and between her legs, rubbing circles through the material of her skirt. The supple leather presses directly on her clit, and she starts to climax, unable to stop, rocking back and forth against him.
"But I like making you cum" he whispers, as she shudders. He kisses her hard then, sending more shivers along her spine. "I like watching you, when you give it up for me, and let your body come undone in the pleasure. You give yourself totally to the moment and to the way I make you feel." He rubs her again, and she moans, as the jolt of pleasure runs through her once more. She feels like she could stay there all night, cumming over and over
"We need to pass the time somehow, after all..." he adds, with a flash of his fangs. His gaze is penetrating. "Let me take your mind off everything else..." His mouth returns to her throat, sliding along her skin, before catching her little gasp of pleasure in a searing kiss. Her mouth parts eagerly for him, welcoming his tongue, as his hands wander along her back, inching the sweater higher, to caress the bare curve of her spine. Meredith presses closer to him, kissing him deeper, letting his kiss and his touch take her away into a world of pure hot bliss...
Thatcher pauses, his senses suddenly aware of the evil presence of his brother in the city. He closes his eyes, trying to pinpoint where Michelangelo is, sudden anger flaring in his veins. He can feel the malevolent ice and hatred that Michelangelo keeps wrapped around him like a cloak. From his vantage point along the top of the Tower Bridge, he can see in all directions of the city. Lights twinkle and cars wend their way through late night traffic, as the mortals go about their business, unaware of the danger that is lurking.
"Damn you, Michelangelo," Thatcher mutters to himself, homing in on the sounds he can hear in the distance. Sounds of distress, and mortal screams of terror. His mouth in a grim line, he takes himself to the nightclub, where he finds Alexei still trying to keep control of the situation. The owner, Victor Romanov, is hunched over, sitting on the sidewalk, being attended to by the other vampire who runs the club, Nikolai. Thatcher makes his way silently to where Alexei is standing, talking with the police constable.
"Is there trouble here?" he asks, his calm voice interrupting the questions Alexei is fielding. His mere presence exudes authority, his dark eyes sweeping the scene.
"There was a slight scuffle," Alexei says coolly.
"No need for the police, is there?" Thatcher comments, turning his attention to the constable, who looks at him carefully. "Everything is taken care of." He looks into the eyes of the young officer, sending him a message that all is well here, and there is no need to submit an official report.
"Right, sir, of course. I'll be on my way, then." He snaps the notebook shut, and walks away, leaving the other two alone. It will only be much later, when he returns to his desk, that he will wonder why he left the notes half written, and why he only has a vague recollection of what he was doing when he wrote those notes.
"Now, tell me everything." Thatcher turns back to Alexei, seeing the vampire's look of concern. "It was Michelangelo, was it not?"
"Yes, he dragged Derek's home address from Victor, and Mark took off after him. Renegades attacked some of the patrons, but I managed to dispose of them. I haven't heard from him since then..."
Cold anger consumes Thatcher then, and he disappears without another word, heading for Derek's penthouse. He should have kept Meredith with him tonight, but how could he know that this would happen? At least she was with Derek, but where were they? He pushes the door open to the penthouse, finding a trail of destruction. Glass litters the floor, where the Renegades carelessly knocked over whatever was in their path. He smells the acrid smell of their disintegrated bodies with satisfaction.
Derek? Meredith?
He reaches out with his thoughts, trying to find them, but there is no answer in the deserted rooms. He finds the bedroom, the sheets still in a tangle, the scent of their lovemaking still lingering in the air. With a small sigh, Thatcher fingers the medallion at his throat. There is no indication that Derek has been killed, thankfully, and he turns to leave.
"So, my brother, come to find your precious daughter?" Michelangelo taunts him from the open door. "I nearly had her in my grasp, but one of your boys was quite eager to do battle..." He indicates the slashes in his coat, the wounds inflicted by Mark already healed beneath the fabric.
"Where are they?" Thatcher demands coldly.
"I have no bloody idea. They've disappeared."
Relief floods Thatcher at this revelation. "So, leave now. My daughter is none of your concern. She is an innocent girl."
"Oh, but you want me to forget she will soon be more than that? That she will rule beside you, increasing your powers?"
"But she is still a child in vampire years, there is no need to be so concerned." Thatcher tries to placate his brother, deflect his anger away from Meredith.
Michelangelo stalks closer. "You can't protect her forever, brother. One day she will die. Just like your mortal woman – slowly and painfully. And perhaps I will dispose of her other protector while I'm at it, just for laughs."
"Damn your soul to hell," Thatcher swears, putting his hand out to where his sword should be, but finding an empty scabbard.
"Looking for this?" Michelangelo hisses, tossing the sword aside. Thatcher stands his ground, unflinching, as his brother advances, unsheathing his dagger. "No other weapons? Too bad…" He lashes out with his full fury, springing forward, only to be caught by an unseen force. The dagger clatters to the floor, as Thatcher senses one of his own in the room. Then Mark appears, grinning wickedly.
"Just a little trick of my own," he growls, holding his sword against Michelangelo's throat. A faint trickle of blood oozes, the scent arousing Mark's craving for it. His eyes glow, darting to Thatcher, as his fangs lengthen further. Thatcher lays his hand on Mark's arm.
"You don't want that. Either finish him or let him go. Don't taint yourself with his evil."
Mark shakes his head to clear his thoughts. "Then it's death," he mutters, raising the sword high.
"Look me in the eyes if you're going to kill me, boy," Michelangelo taunts him, "if you have the balls…"
Mark locks eyes with the ancient ones, feeling a cold ripple over his spine unlike anything he has felt before. "Mark…NO!" Thatcher shouts, but it's too late. Black rushes to meet him, and Mark crumples to the floor.
Michelangelo gives Thatcher a mock salute. "Until next time, brother…" he hisses, disappearing instantly. Thatcher feels a sudden sharp pulse of his medallion, signaling the distress that Mark is under. With a curse, he drops down beside Mark, his long fingers searching for signs of life.
Derek's medallion warms suddenly, and he stiffens in the chair, reaching for it. "What is it?" Meredith whispers sleepily, looking into his concerned face. Her eyes catch sight of the glowing ruby and she gasps. She reaches up to touch it as well, her fingers meeting Derek's.
"It's got to be Mark," Derek murmurs, swinging her to her feet.
"You can tell?" she asks, confused, following Derek back to the elevator shaft.
"No, just a bad feeling," he replies, as they hurry into the elevator. The medallion still pulses faintly, as the silent ascent begins. Neither of them speak, consumed with fears of what they will find at the top. The ride seems endless, each second ticking by relentlessly. Finally, they lurch to a stop, and Derek wrenches the doors open so quickly they sag on their moorings. Not saying a word, he grasps Meredith and speeds through the corridor towards his home.
They find Thatcher still crouched over Mark's body, and Meredith cringes to think what has happened to him. "What happened?" she asks, joining Thatcher, and running her expert fingers along the healing cuts. None of them seem life threatening, and in fact, have mostly faded already. But she can feel the life seeping away from Mark, the core of pain that is wracking his body. His skin is ice cold to the touch, his eyes blank. "What did Michelangelo do to him?"
"I'm not entirely sure," Thatcher confesses. "He forced Mark to look into his eyes, and then Mark collapsed. I felt the power surging, and I tried to warn him, but it was too late..." Sadness and anger tinge his voice. He feels like he is failing them, failing all of his coven, by letting Michelangelo get away with this.
"Can you do anything?" Meredith beseeches her father, aware that her own touch is likely not strong enough to do any good. She wishes once again that she was already vampire, maybe it would help.
"He is in a dark place," Thatcher murmurs. "All we can do is wait. Think of it as a coma condition in mortals. He is strong, all he needs is time, I believe. We need to take him to my home, where he will have all the care he needs."
Meredith exchanges a worried look with Derek. "Michelangelo will pay," Derek assures her, cold steel in his voice. "Sooner or later, he will pay. I don't care if he was once your flesh and blood, Thatcher. That part of his life is over..."
Thatcher nods briefly. "It was over a long time ago, and I should have done something about him sooner. We can't let him continue to do this..."