Chapter 18: Bringing Mark Bark
Four weeks later...
"Meredith, you are nearing your birthday, your body is already preparing for the change. Perhaps this is a good time to try something to help Mark," Thatcher says, as they stroll through the twilight gardens. The moon is high, the air crisp and fresh. Meredith is wrapped in her warm Burberry coat, her hand tucked against Thatcher's elbow.
"What did you have in mind?" she asks, anxious to try something to bring Mark back. All of Thatcher's attempts to revive him failed so far, including efforts to force feed him blood. Whatever dark place he is being kept in, is leaving him unresponsive, his mind shuttered away. Meredith has spent many hours sitting with him, early in the mornings when the rest of the household was quiet. Her experience with coma patients had been that they were still in there somewhere and talking was supposed to help. She did her best to penetrate the fog that seemed to have taken over his soul.
"If I help you concentrate your healing touch, my power should give you the added impetus to work. I've been thinking about that for a while now, and I've contacted several other of the elders who agree it may work."
"Channel your powers through me, you mean?" Meredith asks, looking into his wise face.
"Exactly. It can't hurt." Thatcher shrugs. "Derek thinks the idea has merit, but he has reservations about what it may do to you. He wants to be there when we try it."
"He should be back by midnight. He's gone to check on the progress at the penthouse." They have been staying here at the estate, while the repairs to the penthouse are underway.
"Excellent. We shall plan for then, my dear. And pray that it works..."
By the time Derek joins them, Meredith and Thatcher are waiting at Mark's bedside, candles lit to soften the dim light. They are all solemn, as Meredith places her hand on Mark's cool forehead. Thatcher takes her other hand, reaching out to her with his mind, catching the sensations that come to her. Feeling Mark's inner emptiness, she is trying to find a way through to him. Meredith closes her own eyes, feeling the black fog parting ever so slightly, as she begins to draw out some of his pain.
Thatcher feels the pain as well, caught up in the black gulf that Meredith is pulling them both into. Lending her his strength, encouraging his power to move through her. "Mark...this is no way for a warrior to be...fight to come out of this..." He thinks he can sense a glimmer of anger in Mark then, as he starts to fight the darkness. Meredith sways slightly, as Mark begins to revive, his head moving side to side under her hand. She concentrates on easing his pain, of bringing him out of the dark. Sweat begins to bead on his forehead, and his body convulses, as he claws his way back to consciousness.
Like a psychic thread is connecting them, Meredith tugs at him, making Mark find his way towards her. Parting the veil of black, he feels like he is stumbling down a long corridor, hearing Thatcher urge him to fight.
"Damn..." he mutters at last, shocking all of them. Derek catches the flash of fangs, as Mark grimaces. He grips Mark's shoulder, trying to keep him from shaking Meredith's hand off too soon, but Mark shoots upwards, coughing and swearing. He looks around in confusion, seeing the dimly lit room, a small fire burning in the grate, and the unfamiliar posh furnishings.
"Damnit...what's going on?" he mutters hoarsely, looking at the three of them staring at him in surprise. "Where am I?"
"You're at my home," Thatcher tells him, a trace of a smile on his lips. Meredith sags against him, and Derek springs over the bed to swing her up in his arms. "And Meredith has just brought you back from the dark where Michelangelo sent you."
Mark shakes his head, rubbing his hands over his face, before flopping back down. He feels completely disoriented, weak as a pup, and desperately thirsty. "Thank you..." he groans, looking up at her, cradled in Derek's arms. She is pale and shaken, her heart beating slowly.
Meredith lifts her head weakly. "You're welcome..." she whispers, and then her eyes sweep shut, and she is out cold.
Derek swears under his breath, looking at Thatcher for help. "Is she in the darkness now?" he demands, worried about the slow measure of her pulse, and her too pale complexion.
"No, I believe she is just exhausted after the effort. Let her rest, and she will be fine," Thatcher assures him, touching Meredith's wrist.
"If she isn't, I swear to you Michelangelo will be dead by the next sunrise," Derek says grimly, stalking out of Mark's bedroom, towards their own suite. "I'll rip London apart to find the black bastard..." The sound of his boots echoes down the hall as he stalks away, leaving the other two alone.
Mark finds the effort of keeping his eyes open almost too much, yet he struggles to stay lucid. "How...long...?"
"A month, nearly."
"I don't remember anything...except looking at his eyes...then nothing...until I felt Meredith...and heard you haranguing me..." There is a touch of his old bravado in his voice.
"She sat with you every day, hoping to spark something. She feels responsible, but I feel worse. I should have stopped Michelangelo centuries ago, but he is my brother..." Thatcher says quietly, regret tingeing his voice. "Derek is correct, we should rip London apart and finish him."
"You haven't seen him since he did... this?"
Thatcher shakes his head. "No, he seems to have gone to ground, perhaps to make himself stronger for another confrontation. It has been eerily quiet in that regard. I can't even get any kind of a hint of his whereabouts, and that worries me."
"And Meredith's birthday..."
"...is approaching within the week. Let's hope everything goes well until then."
"Damnation, Meredith..." Derek growls, holding her close, inhaling her scent, after she wakes. "I thought you were lost in the blackness...you scared me, sweetheart..."
Meredith looks at him, his face set in concern, as he leans over the bed to check her pulse. He is half dressed, his old jeans the only thing he is wearing, the faded fabric hugging his lean body. Sweat glimmers on his skin, and his hair is in disarray. Anguish fills his eyes, his concern making him wild. "What have you been doing?" she asks softly, pushing the pillows up under her to sit up. Her hair falls over her shoulders in soft waves, her green eyes wide.
"I had to go work out, and take out my frustration on the punching bag," he admits roughly. Slamming his fists into it repeatedly, his anger at Michelangelo fueling his actions, until the leather bag was hanging in tatters, and he had dissipated most of his fury. "Thatcher summoned me as soon as you woke up."
"Derek, I'm fine," she assures him, pulling him closer to her.
"Still..." he groans, falling onto her, consumed with a need for her so fierce it is all he could do not to drive into her right then and there. Meredith can feel his despair, the edge of his control close to breaking. She runs her hands along his strong back, the bare skin warm from his exertion.
"Is Mark...?"
"He will be fine...still, I should not have let you endanger yourself. You're all that matters to me," he growls, finding her mouth with his, kissing her with a deep hunger that rocks her to the core. "Let me take care of you now." He sweeps her up into his arms, her lacy nightgown trailing along behind them, as he heads towards the shower. Before she could protest, he carries her into the glass walled enclosure, and turns the water on. She lets the gown slide away from her body, as he adjusts the temperature, and steam rises around them.
"You're still dressed," she says softly, as he turns and holds his hand out to her. Water cascades over him, running in rivulets down his sculpted chest, making the thin jeans cling ever closer to his powerful legs. Beads of moisture are in his hair, sparkling like diamonds in the black curls. He shrugs casually, his eyes gold now, his desire growing. Meredith can understand the predatory dangerous nature of him, but in this moment, he is vulnerable, his only concern is her wellbeing. She moves closer, into his arms, sighing in contentment at how right it feels to be there. Melting into the warm water, and the heat of his body, as he begins to run the soap along her curves.
His strong hands massage her small frame, working the lather everywhere, and she gives herself over to him, glad of his comforting touch. "Feeling better?" he asks, pulling her against him, his jeans somehow gone without her realizing it. His cock slides against her satin skin, his urgency returning.
"Much better," she assures him, turning in his arms. "I want you, Derek, I want you inside of me, taking me with all your strength. I want to show you I'm here, and I always will be. You aren't getting rid of me, baby."
With a muffled groan, Derek pulls her up against him again, taking her along to the bed, grabbing the bath towels along the way. He wraps her with it, folding them in it together, before they fall onto the bed. Tasting the water beading her skin, and feeling the warmth of her arousal, his mouth hovers along her inner thigh. "Do it, Derek..." she begs, knowing what is in his thoughts, his gold gaze fixed on her. And he lowers his fangs to her thigh, piercing the artery there, and drinking, his fingers sliding into her wet silky folds at the same time, giving her an orgasm that leaves her breathless.
His tongue glides over the puncture then, before sliding higher, joining his fingers, and he can feel her hunger for him growing with every touch. There is no denying the bond between them - both blood and erotic - and he rises over her, on his knees. Keeping her unwavering gaze, he holds the pulsing thickness of his cock, guiding it towards her as she arches up to meet him. In one fluid thrust, he is joined with her, filling her as deeply as possible.
Meredith gasps, as he falls over her, crushing her against him. Welcoming the thrust of him, as he is lost to the pure erotic feel of it. "Far too perfect..." he whispers against her lips, unable to stop, the need for her too hot. "Ah...goddamn, Meredith..."
In that moment, their hearts beating together, even their breathing matching, Meredith loses herself into the searing rush of pleasure. Clenching around his cock, pulling him into her as their mouths meet, tongue and teeth and fang, with Meredith's response just as fevered as his. Her own small teeth catch his lip, nipping at the height of his escalating pleasure, making him thrust even deeper, clutching and panting as need overtakes them. Before he loses complete control, Derek pierces his wrist with his fangs, and holds it to her mouth. "Take it, love..." he urges, moving slower, as she laps the drops with her tongue. The pure delight of the bonding makes him shudder, taking her harder, in a relentless wave of sweet hot pleasure.
Derek lets her go slowly, healing the wound at his wrist, before rolling away, his body still tingling from the orgasm. Meredith leans into him, her body warm, and redolent of sex and blood. She rests her chin against his chest, meeting his lazily satisfied expression with a smile of her own. "Are you all right?" he asks her, smoothing her damp hair from her forehead.
"Very much all right," she sighs. "You can take care of me like this any time, you know..." Her little mischievous giggle makes him catch the back of her neck in his hand and draw her closer again, taking her mouth in a long slow kiss that leaves no doubt he is going to do just that all over again...
Two nights before her birthday, Meredith pivots in front of the long glass in her suite, skimming her hands over the yards of shimmering indigo silk that sheathes her. The sleeveless Givenchy gown fits her like a glove, breathtakingly beautiful. It's the most extravagant thing she has ever worn, along with the dainty stiletto pumps that match the dress. Her hair is pulled into a soft chignon, with a few tendrils delicately framing her face. She is just hoping she can carry off the evening the way Thatcher expects her to. He is hosting a party tonight to serve as an introduction as his daughter, and to let them all know that she will be taking her place with him. Part of her is still a little freaked out by the whole thing, but this is her heritage, she will do the best she can. Still, the thought of meeting so many of her father's vampire contemporaries, and others from around the global coven, is a little daunting.
Her gaze is thoughtful, as she goes to the windows that face the dark gardens, seeing the fog shrouding the huge oak trees, and obscuring the nearly full moon. These are the last evenings of her mortal existence. The weeks have flown by, not only due to the time spent working to bring Mark back; many nights were occupied in training under Derek's guidance, learning the moves of self-defense, coupled with that of weapons handling. He brought in a martial arts instructor, to hone her skills, just to be certain she was learning from the best. But Derek alone tutored her in the various knives, daggers and silver stars, until she was often ready to groan in frustration at his calm insistence that she could do better.
She smiles to herself now, admiring the taut definition of her muscles, and the increased endurance she has gained. Not without some pain and swearing along the way, however.
"You will need to be prepared, Meredith. You need to remember the heart is the only place to kill them. Slicing a Renegade anywhere else only makes them mad." Derek had said time and time again, watching her determined efforts to hit the heart target on the dummy. Several times she came close, and yet the target still eluded her more times than she liked. "Take your time, envision the point of impact, aim and let it go…" Standing, his arms crossed over his chest, patiently waiting for her to throw again. He looked dangerously sexy in his workout gear, the plain white t-shirt only emphasizing his muscular arms and toned chest.
Meredith had gritted her teeth, sucking her breath in, before letting the dagger fly. It bounced off the side, and she sighed. "Damnit! I can't do this…"
"Yes, you can, baby," Derek had said, retrieving the dagger. "Just like this…" And he whirled and threw so fast, it hardly even registered on her, until the dagger vibrated in the center of the blood red heart.
"Arrogant vamp…" she had muttered, "I don't have that speed yet…"
"You will, and this training will help you…" Derek said firmly. "Let's try some combat moves for a while…" With a small grin, he moved forward easily, and she spun away from him, blocking his attack. Sparring furiously for a few minutes, until they were getting breathless and damp with perspiration. With a growl of victory, Derek pinned her to the floor mat, his predatory nature taking over in the mock battle.
"You see, this is why I wanted Mr. Tanaka to teach you martial arts," he said, his mouth hovering close to hers. "I find it far too arousing, and I want to take you like this..." The hard length of him pressed against her intimately, his eyes on her flushed skin, and the little bead of sweat that rolled into the valley of her breasts. The thin tank top was clinging to her, inviting his hands to tug it up along her ribcage.
"Mmm...I can tell," Meredith murmured, suddenly flexing upwards, catching him by surprise, and getting the upper position. Her hands caught his, spreading his arms out, as she held him captive. Leaning forward, taking his mouth in a slow, sensual kiss, before releasing him. "And see what a good teacher he was, too..." she teased him. "Though I'm sure he didn't have this in mind when he taught me how to do that move..."
With a low growl of hunger, Derek pulled her back down. "No, I'm quite sure he didn't..."
Meredith smiles now at that memory, and of how that session had ended, the two of them tangled together, clothes scattered everywhere, as he took her the way he promised. Marking her as his, taking her blood again as she peaked in a shuddering climax. A little quiver feathers along her spine again, just thinking about it.
There is a soft tap at the door, and she turns, meeting Derek's dark eyes as he pauses in the doorway. "You look...gorgeous." Crossing the room with that predatory grace she has become accustomed to; Derek is at her side and taking her hands instantly. "But you need something...here..." he murmurs, tracing the column of her throat. "Something stunning..."
"You're not going to bite me now, are you?" she asks, a trace of amusement in her voice. "Mark me as yours for the rest of the vamps to see?" Since the night of Mark's recovery, Derek has been more ardent than ever.
"That idea holds some merit," he chuckles warmly, momentarily jealous of how tempting she will appear to all of the coven. "But not what I had in mind for tonight." He slips one hand into the pocket inside his Armani tuxedo jacket and pulls out a slim velvet box.
Meredith bites her lip, looking up at him, before taking the case and snapping open the lid. Nestled in the black velvet inside is a sapphire necklace, set in white gold, accented with small diamonds, along with matching teardrop earrings. Her breath catches at the dazzling stones. "Derek, you're spoiling me...thank you..." she murmurs, lifting them out.
"You should be spoiled." He takes the necklace and helps her with it, fastening the clasp with his sure fingers, then pressing his lips to the nape of her neck. Watching as she slips the earrings into place. "Perfect...now you're ready for the party."
"I wish Mark was able to join us," Meredith says. "He could use some cheering up. The last time I talked to him, he was getting very tired of being an invalid."
"He's wishing he could attend as well, but his strength is still not fully recovered. At least he's not floating somewhere between life and death any longer, thanks to you and your father. But you scared me far too much when you passed out afterward," Derek murmurs, taking her hand, and kissing her palm. Flicking his tongue along her wrist, stroking the steady pulse beneath the skin. "If I had lost you..."
"I know..." Meredith remembers the anguish in his eyes when she woke later. "I can understand how you felt." She is determined to do everything she can to avenge her mother, as well as Izzie, Mark, and Victor, all victims as well.
Emails and calls from Seattle have reassured them that Izzie is also making a recovery from her ordeal, slow but sure. She has no memory of what happened to her, or what she did to Meredith, which really is for the best in the long run. Cristina reported that George has become Izzie's biggest supporter, something that makes Meredith smile.
Derek kisses her again now, shaking her out of her reverie. "Are you ready? Your father is likely waiting patiently for us in the main foyer. I know there are several others here already, so we need to make our appearance."
"Yes, absolutely," she assures him, watching him adjust the cuffs on his shirt, the sleek jacket fitting him perfectly. She smoothes her hands over his chest, admiring how delicious he looks in the formal wear. His thick hair is tamed, and there is just enough hint of stubble along his jaw to make him look sinful. "This is the first time I've seen you in anything besides leather or jeans, I think. Or just skin..." she teases him.
Derek grins at her. "Which do you prefer?" he asks, knowing the answer already in her thoughts.
"You are hopeless," she sighs, taking the arm he offers her then. "But I love you, no matter what you're wearing...or not wearing..." She winks at him, letting him see what her thoughts are. Of undressing him, running her hands along his body, arousing him to distraction...
"And you are becoming very naughty - there is something delectable about the combination of sweetness and decadence in you," he whispers, his mouth finding hers yet again, harder and deeper, with the promise of what he wants later as well. "I love you, sweetheart, but we need to go now before I indulge in all of that..."
With a knowing laugh, she lets him escort her down to where Thatcher is waiting. He too is dressed in formal wear, his silver hair and dark eyes making him look distinguished. The guests are already crowding the main ballroom, and soft strains of violins and flutes serve as background to the low hum of voices.
"Ah, there you two are," he smiles. "You look excellent together. Meredith, my dear, sometimes I can't believe I had a part in your creation - you look far too exquisite to be my daughter."
Meredith kisses his cheek, smiling warmly at him. In the time spent with him, she has come to respect his strength, his dignity and the knowledge he possesses. Along with a sly sense of humor she is quite sure many others never see. She can easily understand now why her mother fell in love with him. Sadness tugs at her momentarily, wishing Ellis was here to witness this, and she blinks rapidly.
"She would be happy for you," Thatcher says quietly. "You do both of us proud, my daughter. Now, let's go in, shall we?" He nods at Derek, who takes Meredith's other arm, and together, they walk towards the guests.