CW: light gore, blood, death.
Dark Side.
Chapter 39: Daddy Issues. Part II.
Her friends are idiotic fools with nothing between their ears. The fact that they thought they could hide this from her is truly a testament to that. She'd be angrier, if it weren't for the fact that she understands where the sentiment comes from. They are all heart. She turned her humanity back on and spent three days a blubbering mess. The secrecy is them protecting her, even if it means keeping the strongest person in their little group out of the action.
She respects that. She can understand that. She's still getting involved.
Caroline is her best friend. She special-ordered her favorite tea just because she knew Cass was in a low mood. She gets far too emotionally involved with Gossip Girl episodes, rolling her eyes and clinging to denial whenever Cass points out she only likes it that much because it is a romanticized version of Caroline's own life. She's kind and caring enough to put her aversion aside and let Cass vent about the dichotomy of Damon's actions for three whole hours.
She reminds her of Sia, bright and happy, and while Cassandra is acutely aware that her wanting to save Caroline has as much to do with her inability to save her own sister all those centuries ago as it has to do with her desire to save her best friend, she'll be damned if she doesn't hunt herself a werewolf pack and rescue Caroline.
The werewolf camp is settled in the middle of the woods, a mile off the falls. Deep enough into the wilderness that no civilian can hear, but close enough to town that they can mobilize to and from without much inconvenience. She settles herself in the very clearing wherein Alaric and Stefan thought they could trap her; a safe place to leave her weapons, to decide which plan is the right one.
If she knows werewolves at all, there's bound to be an outer circle of warriors, protecting the inner circle, those closest to the alpha, closest to their prisoner. Their numbers will decide whether she bothers to find a high vantage point and takes them out from afar, or whether she goes straight in. She wants to do that anyway, but if their numbers are overwhelming, they might dispose of Caroline before she can get close enough. In that case, the stealth and quiet of her bow and arrows might increase Caroline's chances. After all, werewolves are mortal; accelerated healing ability or not, an arrow through an eye or neck is still a kill shot, and she's an excellent shot.
Despite their smug countenance, their awareness leaves much to be desired. She's as quiet as a mouse, as invisible as a ghost, but a werewolf standing guard should have noticed her anyway. None of them do, and she gets the chance to study their plan in all its predictable glory.
This is why they're near extinction.
They've established a perimeter. Cassandra counts one sentinel South-bound, farthest from the camp, two large males stand guard close to the motorhome in the clearing, the defense. Four werewolves stand around the campsite, loudly arguing about what to do with 'blondie.' One of them has a contraption strapped to his back; Cassandra recognizes it as a blowtorch. Two of the men debate whether 'this Tyler kid is really that important.' No argument there. While Jules is the only woman present, she is clearly the alpha. Which means, everyone else here will die trying to protect her. Perfect.
Happy with their numbers, she returns to her clearing, abandoning her bow and quiver for a weapon that requires a much closer range. The weight of it is as familiar to her as the smooth keys on a piano.
She gives the tall trees around a cursory glance, weary. If these werewolves are smart enough to prepare for an attack, they may have positioned marksmen up on the trees. She doesn't fancy getting an arrow through the back.
Content that no arrows or stakes will be flying at her from above, she takes a step forward, quiet as a mouse, and slowly unsheathes her sword, letting the scabbard drop to the forest ground to be retrieved when this is all over. The weapon, a double-edged sword, 32 inches long overall, is the smallest sword late medieval blacksmiths knew to forge. It was also, secretly, Cassandra's favorite weapon to wield back when she was human.
She slashes the weapon in the air, fast enough and with enough accuracy that the sentinel's head slices right off his body. The werewolf, who she now realizes was brunet, doesn't even get a chance to scream. His body collapses on itself, reaching the forest ground with a soft thud. It catches the attention of the two other werewolves keeping watch.
"Jules!" The burliest of the two calls out. His voice spikes at the end: a faraway thunder in the calm sea. "I think we've got something!"
Perceptive, she humorlessly thinks, before taking ahold of the dead werewolf's head and flinging it their way. The head turns in the air, spreading blood around as it goes like a malfunctioning sprinkler. The shorter guard, a scrawny kid that doesn't look older than nineteen, catches it mid-air. The look of paralyzing horror that spreads around his face is enough to make Cassandra smile. Without wasting any time, she steps forward. Both men stop looking around, focus completely on her.
"I hear you have my friend," Cassandra starts. "Give her back, and your… buddy is the only one hurt." She points at the bloody head that's been dropped on the floor now.
Instead of cooperating, the werewolves decided on the offense. In an interesting turn of events, Scrawny is the first to attack. He lets out a growl and rushes forward, one arm up in the air, wooden stake in display. Idiot, doesn't he know you should always disguise your weapon? Sidestepping to the right, she swipes her sword upward, protecting her left chest. The blade cuts into the werewolf's wrist. He lets out a pained howl, with no choice but to drop the stake. Within the same breath, she drops the sword and drives it through his chest. When she pulls it back out, he drops like a sack of potatoes. A moaning, irritating, sack of potatoes.
It all happens in six seconds and it takes Scrawny's partner another two to react.
Mr. Burly lets out a noise between a growl and a battle cry. He decides the best course of action is to attack her with his bare hands, blatantly aiming for her neck, as if a human would come out of the shadows with a sword. She sidesteps, his reaching hands closing around empty air, and with a swift turn of her waist draws the sword across his torso, sharp blade slicing through clothing and flesh like it's warm butter.
He doesn't make a sound, simply glances down, mouth hanging open in almost awe as he stares at his abdomen. The cut is deep enough to eviscerate, prompting Burly to hang onto his midsection in an attempt to stop the pain or his insides from toppling to the forest ground. It's a disgusting sight: intestines hanging like garlands from his torn abdomen, blood gushing out like a broken faucet, enough that she knows he won't last long. He meets her eyes one last time, features the perfect image of unbearable pain, before he collapses face-first onto the mud, unmoving.
Scrawny is still moaning quietly, petting his chest as if that would do anything to stop the profuse bleeding. He's yet to call for help, out of delirium or perhaps loyalty to the pack. She missed his heart and while she knows this is not a wound his preternatural healing will mend, she finds she doesn't quite have the heart to leave him to a slow death, either.
What an interesting turn of events, she muses as the tip of her sword digs into the flesh of his chest, hard and unrelenting until it pierces the sturdy muscle of his heart. It stops beating almost immediately. Two seconds later, Scrawny exhales one last breath, stuttering and hollow.
The air stinks of death. There's a trace of urine her nose follows back to Burly, and it makes her wish she'd killed him another way, one that wouldn't have culminated with him releasing his bladder.
Footsteps from the east have her taking cover behind a tree, ready to strike as soon as they reveal themselves.
"Jared? Boyd, you two okay?"
Obviously not, you idiot, since they announced her presence and have been completely silent for the past two minutes and thirty-six seconds. She shakes her head, wondering what exactly Jules is teaching these men.
The new werewolf seems to be as young as Scrawny was, blonder than Matt, which is an accomplishment all on its own. Cassandra is starting to see a pattern, is starting to understand why Jules is the alpha. She collects boys from a young age, offers guidance and sympathy until they're submissive even as grown men.
He's close enough that she doesn't even have to step out from her cover. She just reaches over and taps him on the shoulder. He turns, the beginnings of a relieved smile stretching his lips.
"Hi!" She whispers.
He's startled enough to jump back, giving her the perfect opening as he scrambles to reach for the stakes strapped to his belt. She grips his wrist and pulls with most of her strength, driving him into her waiting sword. It cuts right into his side, his lung, his heart. The scream he lets out echoes around the woods.
It alerts the camp that there is, indeed, trouble nearby. Jules begins shouting orders. She hears the scrambling that means they're getting into position at the same time she lets New Boy's body fall to the ground at her feet.
It's not nearly as satisfying as she thought it'd be. If anything, it feels a little unfair. Too easy. Like they're at an unjust disadvantage. She's managed to kill three werewolves in the span of five minutes, four if she counts that sentinel, shouldn't they be more prepared? So far, they've been pathetic.
The clamoring from the camp comes to a halt. Her breathing evens at the same time theirs hitch. Not bothering to wipe the blood from her sword, she begins to walk.
The direct path to the clearing is free of obstacles. No one stops her. No one fights her. No bullets come flying at her from the darkness. Odd, since she's acutely aware of a pair of unblinking eyes on her back. That instinctual pressure coming from the space behind her, following like a dense fog, stepping where she had moments before. Every hair on the back of her neck stands on end, not due to fear, but caution, that alertness from years of hunting she has never been able to turn off, even after she became a deadly predator herself. Dressed in black, quiet as the beginnings of a wildfire, her hair is still molten copper in the moonlight, a splash of red in a sea of dark green and greys. 'Let not that wild mane doom thee', her father had grilled into her mind, and she's not about to forget that weakness.
When she pushes past a low branch, emerging into the werewolf camp, the lack of an attack makes sense.
Jules' strategy was to regroup and attack together.
The motorhome sits in the centre, the lower half of its wheels obscured by overgrown pasture. The door is closed, but there's a flickering glow behind the curtained windows, shifting shadows. That's where Caroline is, surrounded by who knows how many werewolves. It doesn't matter. That's her target, and the four werewolves standing between here and there are her only obstacles.
Jules stands in the middle, arms at her side but taut, ready. The three other wolves arch around her, in front of her. A warm, pulsing wall. They're bigger than the ones she's encountered so far, two of them armed with a stake on each hand. She takes special care of the middle one, though, the one directly in front of Jules, the one with the blowtorch strapped to his back. He dies first.
They spot her immediately, heartbeats wild and breathing staggered in an attempt at quietness and composure. Their eyes blink in tandem as they take her in, a gesture Cassandra would have found funny if it weren't insulting. One of them, the youngest male among them, even glances hesitantly at his companions, as if seeking confirmation that she really is the reason four of his friends haven't returned. Like the blood dripping lazily from the tip of her sword onto the damp grass isn't confirmation enough.
A beat.
Then, laughter. Riotous and mocking, exacerbated by the quietness of the woods, because while these three morons haven't learned to trust their instincts first and their senses second, the creatures of the forest lived with her for two weeks. They know what she's capable of. Jules doesn't laugh; though her fists relax, her eyes don't steer far from Cassandra's.
"Are you lost, sweetheart?" One of them coos.
He can't be older than twenty, and the way his voice drips with condescending sarcasm makes Cassandra's blood sing. So easy.
"If I am—will you show me the way?"
Her voice is soft, a melodious tremor as she steps forward, letting her sword drag behind her. His comment was a joke at her stature, her build, at the too heavy weapon in her hand. They know she's a vampire, but perhaps her beauty and youth are enough to distract from the possibility she might be older. Perhaps it's their own lupine hubris.
His comment was a joke. It's about to be his doom.
Jules has still not blinked.
"Only if you ask nicely." He approaches. "Do you know how to ask nicely? Or has vampirism stripped you off all manners already?"
After he's taken four steps, the other two men take two, casually closing in on her. She fights a smile. Men do not change, human or not.
"Manners?" She repeats.
Come closer is the velvety undertone of the word. The fool does as any fool would. He walks closer to her, enough that she can tell he's at least a head taller than her. This time, the other two don't advance… but Jules does. She takes a single step forward, tense.
"You do know what those are, right?"
This time, his question isn't just accompanied by a step, but by his fingers tightening around his stakes, too. It's minute, but Cassandra catches it, how his wrists tilt only just. Still, none of them seem willing to make the first move. She wants to be able to say at least some of the lives she takes tonight were self-defense.
Still, it may be time to speed things along.
"I may be a little rusty when it comes to lycanthrope etiquette." She explains with a double-edged smile. He stalks forward, careful eyes on her and angling to the left like he's about to circle her. It reveals more than he realizes: though he has a stake on either hand, he's moving so his dominant side is closest to her heart. "Do I drop on all fours, panting and keening like a bitch in heat—"the breathy current of her voice has his eyes flashing with something primal. He may be her favorite fool. "Or is that you?"
Oh, the rage that surges through his body is even better. Her smile widens, sharpens. Clouded by injured male pride, The Fool writes his own death scene. He surges forward, right arm poised so the stake looms above her.
"You filthy—"
She ducks sideways, angling her knee forward with the same step. It connects with his solar plexus in the most delightful way.
"Bitch?" she finishes for him when the hit steals the breath from him. After that, it's not very difficult to draw her sword through his hunched-over form until the hilt touches his chest. "That's still you."
Jules gasps. Not so much at the strangled shout that leaves him, but at the now fresh blood glistening off the blade, protruding out of his chest. The werewolf to her right is trembling like a leaf in late autumn. Geri, she'll call him. The one to her left looks like he wants to tear her apart with his teeth. Oh, that one, that one is Freki.
Cassandra exhales, dropping the body without a second glance. She doesn't bother retrieving the sword, either. It's not worth it. Despite having brute force and weapons at their disposal, they're not an opponent to her.
"I want Caroline back. If you give her to me, alive, I'll be more willing to let you leave Mystic Falls unscathed."
"You just killed one of us." Freki snaps, gripping the blowtorch harder.
"I killed five." She corrects in faux contemplation. "In ten minutes? Yeah, ten minutes. Most of which I spent stalling. So, I'd really urge you to consider my offer."
"Do you have Tyler?" Jules asks.
Seriously?
"No, I do not have Tyler."
She blames their idiocy for the flatness of her words.
"Is he alive?"
Sweet Jesus, what, are you in love with the kid?
"Look," Cassandra exhales, fed up. She walks closer, not even wary anymore. They shift at her approach, but they don't move. They're waiting for the go-ahead, she realizes, one Jules seems hesitant to give. "I came here expecting a full-blown attack. Instead, not one of your men has landed a single blow. I know a sword puts me at a certain advantage, but still. Suffice to say, I'm a little underwhelmed."
Bored, would be more accurate. Freki scowls at her, as intense and burning as the flames his weapon can produce. Geri lets out a warning snarl. Jules crosses her arms, chin raised.
"Give me my friend." Cassandra repeats.
She meets Jules' eyes, just as unwilling to back down as the female alpha is.
"Are you the one who killed Mason?"
"I certainly didn't warn him." She replies with a saccharine smile.
"Burn her."
Jules' barked order is met with unapologetic delight. Freki strides forward, wicked smile twisting his features, engaging the blowtorch to its maximum power. She's close enough that the heat hits her like a wave, but she doesn't stay there long enough for the heat to be inconvenient, or for him to get anywhere close enough to burn her, as Jules so deeply desires. Flashing away from the line of fire, she reappears beside him, reaching up and snapping his neck in one swift motion. So he didn't die first, second is still pretty good.
Five things happen within five seconds, so fast Cassandra would miss it all if she were human.
In the first second, Jules cries out in alarm, promptly calling 'Brady!' into the night. The second, Geri jumps toward her, stepping over Freki's body in his haste. The third, Jules attacks her from the back, slamming a punch to the side of her head as she wraps her arms around her. The fourth, the door to the RV opens, a gun is cocked.
"Cassandra!" comes at the fifth second, from two completely different directions.
One, nothing but sharp anger. The other, utter shock. She turns toward that one, twisting her head toward the opened RV door. A werewolf stands there, gun poised and ready, but that's not what she focuses on. It's the fact that Caroline is alive, disheveled, and bloodied, but looking at her with tears-stricken surprise. And she's in a dog cage.
A dog cage.
She rams her elbow into Jules' gut, blocking Geri's stake with her other forearm. Jules cries out, staggering backwards and staying away long enough for her to break Geri's neck. The gun goes off behind her, bullet piercing the air by her head. A little too close for comfort.
It has Stefan flinching and Tyler ducking for cover. Damon doesn't move, his glare unrelenting. It should not make her proud, Cassandra thinks as she blocks Jules' right hook with the same breath she slams the base of her hand against Jules' nose, but it does.
Jules' hand goes to her face. Brady steps down the RV, the door closes behind him. Jules goes to attack again. Cassandra sidesteps, knees her in the gut. Brady fires the gun. This time, she's pretty sure the only reason she's not hit is her readying to hit Jules again. Her fist connects with the side of Jules head with more than half her strength. The werewolf drops to the floor, unconscious.
"What the—she's insane!" Tyler cries out.
"You're not going anywhere." Damon's voice is a low warning.
She doesn't waste time turning around to witness Tyler's attempted escape. She just walks towards Brady, swallowing any apprehension the gun in his hand breeds in her stomach. He fires the gun again, stalking towards her. They're close enough that usually it'd be impossible for him to miss his mark, but she's no longer playing coy. She came unhinged for two weeks straight, everyone in this clearing knows what she's capable of. There's very little left to hide. All it takes to dodge his two bullets is to tilt slightly to the right.
After that, he's dealt with fairly quickly.
Her fingers wrap around his, covering the gun, and her other hand flicks through the air in one swift dab to his stretched elbow. It collapses in reflex, sending a full-body flinch through him. His fingers flex and release around the gun. Before he can recover, escalate to hand-to-hand violence, Cassandra's flicked the gun in her hand, cocked it, and fired it at his head. They're in such close proximity the shot destroys half his face, splattering blood and brain matter against the off-white metal of the RV door.
There's a rushing sound in her ears, and it isn't until she lowers the gun and takes a breath in that she realizes it's her blood. Maybe this affected her a little more than she was aware. She can't look away from the door, from the large blood splatter, the trickling glide of it, the chunks of brain and—skin? Maybe even bone fragments? She's supposed to be climbing those steps, getting Caroline out. Except she's probably covered in blood, and there's no hiding what she's done. Those she's killed. Not because she felt like killing her way through the woods, but to save her best friend. She's not sure Caroline can understand that. Stefan probably can't.
"Have you lost your goddamned mind? If someone shoots at you, you don't slowly walk toward them, you break their neck before they can fire another bullet." Damon rants at her on her way to them. Flared nostrils, fire behind his eyes, shoulders tense, he's definitely pissed. "Something I've seen you do before, which means you know that already, so, what the hell was that?! Cassandra, are you even—"
He gets interrupted by Stefan's alarmed "No!", halting mid-question as she reaches them and grabs Tyler by the ear, pulling him down the four inches necessary for the barrel of the gun still in her hand to touch the soft tissue of the bottom of his chin.
"Oh, my god!" Tyler cries, beginning to scramble away.
His movements stop at her tsked warning. He just stares at her, eyes wide and features twisted in fear. No—not fear, terror. She wouldn't be surprised if he's trying very hard to keep his bowel movements inside his body. Good. He deserves that. He's the only connection to Caroline, and snitches get stitches. Every. Single. Time.
"Cassandra, please, don't do this." Stefan begs.
"Get Caroline out of there."
Stefan doesn't move. Tyler alternates between looking at her face and keeping his eyes up in the sky, a feeble attempt to keep the extra moisture gathering in his eyes at bay.
"I'm not leaving until you lower the gun." Stefan denies.
That's absolutely fine, considering she wasn't talking to him.
"I'm not done. We are not done." Damon sends her a long hard look and it doesn't take a genius to understand that 'we' stands for the two of them, not everyone else.
At her subtle nod, he makes for the RV. She lets go of a tension she hadn't realize she'd been holding, shoulder muscles suddenly aching in protest after being engaged for so long. Their conversation at the grill is still very present in her mind, and she's not sure how to act, or what to think.
Tyler makes another attempt to get away. She twists his ear until he yelps. Stefan's hands shoot out, hovering a palm-length away. Wise, that he doesn't touch her, very wise.
"Cassandra, you don't want to do this." Not necessarily true. "There have been enough deaths in this town."
Of course, she's not killing Tyler. Or Jules, for that matter. They're not a threat anymore. And it'll sting, for Jules to wake up and find that the vast majority of her pack was murdered and she was too weak to stop it or do anything about it. She'll have to live with that for the rest of her life, with the knowledge that she thought she could stand up to a group of vampires and win. The next full moon isn't even a concern—Cassandra's known how to deal with shifted wolves since before she turned.
"I had no idea that they were going to hurt her." Tyler tries to assure, hands raised in surrender and voice wavering with nerves.
"No?" She tilts her head in mock-empathy. Behind her, she can hear the cold, grating screech of metal against metal, Caroline's voice clogged with tears as she accepts Damon's help. He's uncharacteristically gentle with her, a stark contrast to the mild contempt he usually reserves for Caroline. "They hate vampires, what did you think was gonna happen?"
Tyler opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again. His eyes jump to Stefan, silently asking for help, but it appears the youngest Salvatore is also interested in the answer.
"Tyler?" Caroline asks.
Her tone is soft, but the betrayal lacing it is hard to miss. She doesn't ask Cass to lower the gun, Cassandra notes. Before she can linger on whatever that means, Tyler is looking at Caroline behind them and back to her, answer suddenly at the ready.
"I—she killed my uncle!"
"Actually, that was me." Damon sing-songs, way too proud and eager to take credit. Adding with feigned disappointment, "You should've checked your sources."
"There is nothing I hate more than lazy journalism." She hums in agreement.
If they share an amused smile at that, it's merely for the theatrics. Not because she's desperate to return to normalcy after he unloaded to her at The Grill, not because she's trying to analyse every one of his micro-expressions to see if he meant it. No. She's cooler than that.
"You're insane." Tyler blurts out, eyes darting between them.
"And holding a gun to your face, don't talk back." She snaps before she can think about it.
Tyler swallows a whimper, keeping his eyes behind her, eyebrows scrunched upwards. If she were to google the expression, 'puppy dog eyes' would be the first result. It works on no one but Stefan.
"Cassandra…" he starts, again with the cautious voice he used on that clearing days ago. Judas, how she hates that voice, like she's some wounded animal that requires no sudden movements. "Think about this rationally, okay? Tyler is still part of—"
"Oh, enough. I'm not going to kill him." She huffs, ignoring the way the atmosphere around her grows charged with a surprise so strong it is tangible.
"Listen to me very carefully, because I am only going to say this once." Tyler's eyes fall on hers, no doubt identifying the change in her the second it occurs. This is no longer the girl he used to check out in class who turned out to be a vampire. This is a queen imparting an order, and he's too stunned to question why he automatically stands to attention. "When your alpha wakes up, you will pack up and quietly leave town. I am hereby declaring Mystic Falls vampire territory. Lycanthropes are not welcomed. Look around you. This was not you losing the battle; it was you losing the war. Do not cross me twice."
Her voice rises near the end, ensuring the threat travels across the space around them. She has not forgotten the invisible eyes on the back of her head on her way here. No one has revealed themselves yet; any remaining werewolves'd better understand she's not letting them continue to do as they please in her town. Their little conquering adventure is over.
At Tyler's frantic nodding, she releases him. The momentum sends him sprawling to the earth. Now that he's not in direct danger, he has no problem glaring at her with all the anger his muscled body can contain. He does not get back up, though. She drops the gun, safety on, somewhere between their feet.
"I wouldn't do that." Stefan warns when Tyler eyes the weapon with a little too much interest.
It's clear by his tone that he's not warning him against her. Trusting Stefan will deal with him if Tyler decides to shoot her in the back—not that she thinks Tyler knows how to fire a gun; he'd probably shoot himself in the foot trying to pull the safety off—she begins to clean up.
It's only a few feet to the first body, and it doesn't take a lot to kick it onto its side. She bents down and wraps her fingers around the sword's tilt while meticulously avoiding eye-contact with everyone. She doesn't meet Caroline's eyes, standing to the side with her arms around her. And she most definitely doesn't meet Damon's watchful gaze as he seems to consider something.
Please don't talk to me please don't talk to me please don't
"You could have gotten yourself killed."
His words are followed by an outstretched hand, handkerchief nestled between his fingers despite the clear reproach in his voice. Of course he still carries a handkerchief. Why does that even make her want him more?
"I didn't."
She accepts the handkerchief, rising to her full height. The sword remains inside the dead werewolf for now.
"It got pretty close." He remarks, gesturing with a finger to his own nose when she misses a spot on her face.
"Does it matter?" She shrugs, folding the handkerchief in half in search of a clean spot.
She's not sure whose blood she's cleaning off her, barely remembers the moment the then-warm substance hit her face, but it's enough to cover a large part of the small cloth.
"Of course it matters, Cassandra!" It's the third time he calls her 'Cassandra', not 'Cassie'. So he must be really mad. "I need to know if you're suddenly feeling suicidal." He adds with faux-cheer.
Oh. That hadn't even crossed her mind. She does suppose her behavior has been pretty reckless lately. She's not suicidal, though, she's just tired. Did he have to suggest such a preposterous thing in front of everyone?
"Why?" she exhales in place of stumping her feet. Her hand slaps against her side.
"Why?" He repeats the question, looking completely flabbergasted. "Did you not hear a single word I said earlier?"
"I did, but I—" she bites her tongue.
Everyone is looking at them. Even Tyler is leaning closer, face turned towards the trees like he's not actually listening. Stefan just stands there, one arm around a curious Caroline, studying his brother with calm, calculating eyes.
"You don't care." Damon answers for her, unbothered by their audience.
Eyebrows furrowed and mouth downturned, his shoulders slump only the moment it takes him to step away from her. After that, they straighten, bringing him to his full height. Still, he can't hide the emotion in his gaze quick enough, or maybe he doesn't want to. She's never seen him this defeated.
"I just think…" she trails off, conflicted. It isn't that she doesn't care, it's that she doesn't believe him. "I think you should both take Caroline home."
This isn't the time for this conversation, or the place. Damon is inclined to agree. He clears his throat and nods at Stefan, walking away after only a moment of hesitance. Stefan follows, Caroline still nestled into his side.
"Thank you, Cass." Caroline whispers before the two are out of the clearing.
She doesn't reply, but lets herself relax. That's as much acceptance for what she did here as she's going to get. Tyler doesn't waste anytime dawdling; he rushes to Jules' side, probably wanting to double-check his only support is indeed not dead.
Boot on the werewolf's shoulder as leverage, she once more wraps her fingers around the sword's hilt and pulls. It slides out without much difficulty, glistening against the moonlight with blood warm enough that tendrils circle above the blade and disappear into the darkness. That's when the twig snaps.
"And what do you want?" She sneers at the figure appearing from the trees.
It's been a long night, and Elijah's warlock is the last person she wishes to converse with. He's unfazed by her impolite greeting, merely straightening his coat as he meets her gaze.
"I was under the impression that Elena's friends required assistance." Jonas inclines his head. "My mistake, I didn't know you'd be here… my lady."
He adds the honorific after taking a look around the carnage. She can't help the way her lip curls in disgust.
"Are you going to bow?" She mocks.
"I kneel for no one."
Oh, what a dangerous tone. Pity it's all a lie. The laugh that escapes her is cruel. Tyler flinches, looking up from Jules' unconscious form. Jonas doesn't blink, simply remains watching her.
"What now?"
"I'm trying to figure out whether you're in Elena's list of friends to protect."
His eyes narrow, sizing her up. For a fraction of a second, she considers he may know what she is, wonders if he works for the Grand Coven, if Morrigan sent him. Except, her rational mind reminds her, no one with allegiance to the Grand Coven would work with a vampire, covert work or not. They have other ways of infiltration. No, this behavior comes from Jonas knowing who she is—Lady Cassandra, the Huntress—not what she is—Cassandra, True Hybrid.
"Let me know when you do."
With that, she turns her back on him and walks out of that blasted clearing, blade resting on her shoulder.
The sun's barely risen by the time the last body falls into the pyre, flames crackling and smoke thickening. The smell of burning flesh and fabric is still not enough to cover the stench of blood in the air, or perhaps it's all in their heads. This was a hard loss. Their numbers were halved in under an hour, all because Jules miscalculated. Or was it Brady's idea to take the girl? Jules can't remember who brought it up first, and the others are too kind to point fingers. What's the use, anyway? Brady is dead. Jules almost joined him. She still can't move her head at a certain angle without her entire face protesting.
She looks around the clearing. Jay and Stevie are talking in whispers. Dom is staring at the flames, eyes lined with silver. Rob hasn't moved from where he's leaning against a tree for hours, wooden stake twirling around his fingers, passing from one hand to the next. Tyler just sits there, face angled toward his hands as he eyes them from under his brow, as subtle as a teenager can be. Alex keeps eyeing her, taking a step when she does, watching everyone else's movements whenever they get closer to her than ten feet. Protecting, guarding. Found my second, she supposes, yet says nothing. It's far too soon to even think about Brady's replacement.
"Go ahead, Stevie, tell her." Jay more or less orders, nudging Stevie towards her.
"What?"
She ignores Alex's shifting stance—feet equidistant to each other, arms poised at the ready—in favor of focusing all her attention on Stevie's nervous face. He's the youngest after Tyler, and despite the fact that he's been with her for five years already, she still sees him as a baby.
"You remember how Mason was dating that vampire chick, Kathy? And he was being all secretive about it, didn't want anyone to know." Stevie babbles on while tapping his foot to expel nervous energy. "I should have known better."
"What are you talking about?" Jules asks.
She sends a concern look Jay's way, fearing being witness to last night may have finally broken Stevie's soft disposition. He'd always been pretty subservient, averse to such graphic violence. Jay, however, looks serious enough that Jules thinks he might be taking Stevie seriously.
"He started asking me all these questions about the Curse, if it could be broken." Stevie continues. "He kept talking about the moonstone."
"Okay, someone's got to tell me what's the deal with that rock." Tyler pipes up, speaking for the first time since the sun rose.
No one had been more shocked after last night than Tyler. After they somewhat consoled him, after he informed them the only reason Mason had stayed put in Mystic Falls was the moonstone, he'd plopped down on the steps leading up to the RV and had kept his mouth shut, observing everything, trying to decide whether he'd actually made the right decision. So far, he doesn't see how sticking with his own kind is a bad idea. If he learned anything yesterday, it's that vampires are definitely not his friends.
"It's for the sun and the moon curse," says Jay, suggesting Tyler is dumb for even asking.
"I don't know what that means." He admits.
Jay scoffs, sharing a disbelieving look with Jules.
"Vampires break the curse, they're free to walk in the sunlight, but we're stuck only turning at the full moon, AKA, werewolf Armageddon." Stevie explains with a sigh.
Based on everyone's reaction to that, the grumbles and scuffing at the grass with their boots, Tyler is willing to bet that really is not a good thing.
"But if we break it, they're stuck as night-walkers," Alex adds. His mouth twists into a self-indulgent smirk as he adds, "and we can turn whenever we want."
Tyler still looks confused, like he doesn't get why that may be important.
"It means you'd never have to turn again, unless you want to." Jules explains to him, careful not to sound as patronizing as Jay and Alex did.
"Do you think they have the Doppelgänger?" Alex muses aloud.
An open question anyone can answer. As it stands, Dom and Rob are too immersed in their own minds to take part.
"Doppelgänger?" If anything, Tyler looks more confused now.
"Evil twin shadow person. We're betting Mason's hot, vampire chick Kathy knows all about it, so we need you to help us find Kathy." Stevie explains directly to Tyler, struggling to take his phone out of his front pocket. "I—I have a picture. Mason brought her to the bar once. No one liked her. She was a vampire. Bad news."
Bad news, indeed. She's not here, and Jay's scowl at the mere mention of her is so strong it'd be enough to make a grown man tremble. Mason was a dumb pacifist, no matter how much they all liked him, his ideal world where vampires and werewolves could co-exist was nothing more than a fantasy.
"Right—right here. The girl next to Mason," Stevie points, angling his phone so Tyler might see.
He lives here. If Mason brought this chick with him to Mystic Falls, and spent most of his time here with Tyler, then he's their best chance at finding her and torturing the answers out of her. Personally, Alex can't wait. Tyler's eyes flash with recognition.
"That's Elena Gilbert." He blurts out. "She's not a vampire; I've known her all my life."
"You're sure?" Alex double-checks, arms folding across his chest.
"Yes!"
Tyler's eyes are so wide, it's almost comical. This is excellent news, they all realize it at the same time, which is a beautiful thing to witness. Jay is almost smiling.
"If they also have the moonstone, they have everything they need to break it." Stevie rushes through his words, nervous tapping resuming once more. "Including a witch, if that mysterious, evil-looking man that appeared last night was any indication."
Alex and Jay share a long look, a quiet conversation born out of years of working together, before turning to Jules at the same time, ready for her next command. And that's my third, she realizes, noting the straightening of Jay's posture. While thinking of Brady is still too painful, replacing Jared won't be as hard and Jay is an excellent option.
"We can't let them do that."
It's not a suggestion, nor is it a request. Jay and Alex nod.
"Which brings me to my second point." Stevie cringes, fingers tugging at his ear. "That redhead."
"Yeah, this oughta be good." Jay snorts.
He shakes his head, long hair fanning across his forehead. Stevie sends him a weak glare, before turning to Tyler and asking:
"What do you know about her?"
"Cassandra? Not much?" Tyler shrugs. "She's new, spends most of her time with Caroline, or Damon Salvatore. She's a psycho bitch."
That's an understatement. Alex lets out a low growl like he can't help himself. Jules has better self-control, though she does indulge in imaging all the ways she can kill the redhead.
"Stevie has a theory about her, too." Jay tells them, doing a bad job at containing his amusement. "Go on, Stevie, tell them."
"I think she's Lady Death."
Though his voice is small, the undercurrent confidence that he's right is hard to ignore. Jules fights the urge to cringe. The way to keep power and everyone docile is to never let them know exactly what she's thinking. Jay and Alex have other ideas. Jay straight up laughs aloud, nearly doubling over.
"Oh, come on, Stevie." Alex groans, head tilted up to the sky like he's bargaining with the heavens.
"You saw what I did!" Stevie protests.
That's enough to get Jay to stop laughing. Jules fights a shiver. She isn't scared of the redhead. She's furious, she's lusting after revenge. There's no denying, however, that what they saw yesterday was jarring. If they close their eyes, they can still see it. James' sliced off head. Boyd's intestines hanging from his body. Jared lying in a pool of his own blood. Tommy, screaming. Kyle's blood glistening in the moonlight. Having to scrub Brady's blood off the door. Danny. Hal. Her boys, dead. She wants her dead before she can hurt any more of her pack; that doesn't make her a mystical character.
"Yes, but—Lady Death is a story, like the boogieman," Jules says to Stevie, gentle as can be.
"Just because you believed your parents—"
"No, okay! She was real." Stevie cuts Jay's teasing dry. "There are hundreds of accounts that show that Lady Death was a real-life person, a huntress by the name of Cassandra."
"She was definitely not a vampire, though, man." Alex shakes his head, unconvinced. "I mean, have you heard about the vampire coven in Arles?"
"No, the story about the vampire coven was in Amsterdam." Jules corrects.
She's certain of it. The thought of that story still sends shivers down her spine, even if it includes vampires dying.
"Amsterdam wasn't Amsterdam in the 15th Century," Alex shoots back, as cocky as the day Jules met him, "which is exactly my point! If she was real, she's nothing but ashes now."
"She could have turned into a vampire." Stevie protests. He reaches with one hand and tugs at his beanie. "I—I mean, there were rumors, weren't there, that she'd resurfaced? Decades ago, in New Orleans? It's the reason why my grandparents moved to Florida."
His declaration is followed by silence. They all share a lasting look, none of them willing to admit what Stevie is saying makes a whole lot of sense the more they think about it.
"So, what? Not only is Lady Death real, but she turned herself into a vampire, knows the Doppelgänger, lives in this shithole of a town, and killed most of our friends last night?" The sardonic laugh Jay lets out turns into a garbled moan as he runs his hands down his face. "It doesn't sound real, man. I mean, this isn't our lives."
While usually she would appreciate Jay playing Devil's advocate, she's made up her mind.
"Any less real than Mason dating some vampire chick who turned out to be an old Doppelgänger?" Jules questions with a tilt of her brow.
Jay's hands drop from his face. He lets out a curse under his breath.
"We have to kill her." Alex breathes out.
Jules can do him one better.
"We have to kill all of them."
If they want a standing chance at breaking the Curse themselves, they need to act, and quickly. Get the moonstone, the Doppelgänger, and enact revenge all in one swift swoop. As far as Jules is concerned, it is time for Lady Death to go back to being a story. And if she could ensure that while also never having to shift again, all the better for them.
A/N: Here's the chapter. Nothing much to say today, actually, so onto reviews!
AB0918: Oh I know! I'm the same lol I want him to grovel, yet all I want is for them to be happy in love. Glad you liked the chapter!
nerdalertwarning: Awesome! So happy you liked it.
That's it for reviews this time! The next week or so is very busy for me, so I won't post anything before Christmas, likely not New Year's either. If you celebrate Christmas, I wish you all a good one, hopefully with your loved ones in such troubling times. If you don't celebrate Christmas, I still wish you a happy and safe beginning of winter and quality time with your loved ones.
Also, Happy New Year in advance, just in case I don't see you again before 2020 is over!
lots of love xx