CHAPTER 64: THE WOLF'S MIND
ME: Surprise! I'm back.
BRICK: *sarcastically* What a surprise...not.
ME: Well, the next thing I say will be a surprise. I'm in Rome right now!
BUTTERCUP: Say what?
ME: Yeah! I just got here from Paris, where I've been for the past three days—and where I've seen a bunch of attractions, including the Palaces of Versailles and Fontainebleau, the Louvre, the Eiffel Tower, and more.
BUBBLES: Wow, I hope you're having fun!
ME: I am, although it's also been really tiring and kind of feels like a chore. My mom was the one who wanted to go; I just wanted to stay home, what with me just being done summer school, regular school almost starting, and France being a bit dangerous nowadays.
BRICK: I'd say I hope you get robbed, but I think that'd be rather insensitive, especially since I wouldn't mean it.
ME: Aww, thanks, Bricky! That's one of the nicest things you've ever said to me.
BRICK: *face reddens* Don't call me that!
ME: Oh yeah; only Blossom can, right?
BRICK: *face reddens even more, chases me* I take back what I said! Get robbed!
ME: Alright, I just made him angry. Oops! Okay guys, read on and leave a review!
Chapter 64: The Wolf's Mind
"Report."
The man's voice came out sharp and short, gray eyes narrowed. He held his hands out in front of him, clamped together tightly, his shoulders tense. It was clear he was getting impatient.
"My apologies, Sir," Jamel replied, making a sweeping bow. "My team could not find Vix or Ross."
Growling, the large, gray-eyed man stood up and turned around, glaring out the window. "Curses," he muttered. "Where on Earth could they be?"
"With Damon, of course," a man with silver hair piped up from beside Jamel. "If you don't mind me saying so, Danes sir, I―"
"Shut it, Coal. I do not need to hear any more of the inane conspiracies you and the other soldiers have cooked up," Danes barked back. "I only have interest in hearing the confirmed whereabouts of the two children." He turned around then, eyes flashing. "A task you are all clearly failing in."
Coal lowered his head. "I am deeply sorry, Sir."
"Yes, well, an apology isn't helping us much, now is it?" muttered Danes, turning back to the window.
"I can head on out and look for him myself, if only you'd permit," another man offered, standing up from his seat along the wall.
"Oh? You are not going to completely disregard my orders this time and simply sneak out all by yourself again, Deth Jackson?" replied Danes, raising an eyebrow as his eyes slid towards the man who had spoken.
Deth Jackson Sr smiled slightly in amusement. "That was a one-time thing, Danesy."
"Hmmm." The man closed his eyes and sighed. "No, I am afraid that by having disobeyed me, you must stay here. And besides, your status is something that needs to be protected, not thrown out there to feed the wolves."
Deth Sr folded his arms. "You're no fun sometimes, you know that?"
Danes smiled slightly in amusement.
"What do we do?" asked Shamus, his voice shaking as he rocked back and forth. "Oh, poor Ross... Danes, you have to send me out. Send me out there―"
"No. I'm sorry, Shamus, but it's too dangerous. Damon will surely kill you on the spot―"
"I don't care!" wailed the other man. "My nephew is in danger! Surely you understand... Danes, please... I'm begging you―I am going crazy with worry... What if he's―what could Damon have done to him? He could be―or―" Shamus' voice broke off in a whimper.
"No means no. And I'm sorry, old friend―but I can't send you out right now. You're too important. Capturing you could just be the next part of Damon's plan." Danes sighed, turning back to the group of soldiers before him. "As for the lot of you... All of these failures have been simply unacceptable. I expect you all to find Ross and Vix―quickly, and to bring them back. Alive."
"Even Vix?" questioned Maxim, his eyes glinting.
"Even Vix," their commander confirmed firmly.
"Aww, that's no fun. I'd rather watch him bleed to death," whined Coal.
"Enough." Danes narrowed his eyes. "I will not tolerate any more failures. Go find him, and find him fast."
The soldiers that were gathered before him saluted before dispersing. As they all left, Deth Jackson Sr approached Danes. He leaned against the wall next to the window, staring at his old colleague.
"What?" muttered Danes, his eyes trained on the world outside.
"You've been staring out the window a lot, Danesy. Is there something you're worried about?"
He sighed. "You mean besides the fact Ross could be dead and Vix could be guilty of killing him? Then no, there's nothing on my mind."
Deth chuckled, although it was more of a weak, almost uncomfortable chuckle at the morbidness of the situation they were stuck in. "You were never much of a jokester, but that sarcasm was on point."
"Hmm. But it's true. I am greatly concerned for their safety and the future of our household." He glanced at Shamus, who was still rocking back and forth, looking ready to burst into tears again at any second. "And for our mental stability."
"Oh, don't worry. None of us are a Damon 2.0."
"You never know. And even then, there are other ways this could drive someone insane." Danes sighed. "I just hope the two kids are alright."
"Hey, if you're so worried, you should've just taken a chance and sent me," Deth Sr replied. "I am one of your top soldiers, and you know it."
"Yes, well―being at the top means sacrificing some missions in order to protect yourself."
"Are you saying I'm too important to lose? Aww, Danesy―you could've just said so, instead of beating around the bush."
Danes chuckled lightly. "That and I need to punish you for disobeying me earlier."
"Kinky," Deth Sr responded.
The other man rolled his eyes. "Oh, be quiet. Return to your room. I refuse to give you any more attention, lest I inflate your ego even further."
"Alright, alright; I'm going." Deth walked towards the office doors, but paused before he was out. He looked back. "Best of luck, Danesy."
"Thank you, Deth. Now please, stop using that nickname and retire to your chambers at once."
Deth smiled. "No promises," he answered, before disappearing and clicking the door shut behind him. As his steps disappeared, Danes sighed and sank down into his chair, rubbing the area between his eyes as Shamus whimpered nearby.
"How are things going over there?" Brick asked, leaning against the chair he was sitting in.
"It's alright." Cassandra rubbed the back of her neck almost in a nervous, concerned manner as she glanced around. She lowered her voice to a whisper: "Michael's been really kind to me. I think he likes me."
Brick raised an eyebrow.
She paused, blushing. "Well, not in that way. I meant as a person. He doesn't suspect I have any relations with you guys at all."
"That's interesting," the red Ruff mused aloud. He then added, "Your dad's been really worried about you, y'know?"
"I know. Braker told me," she replied. "Tell him I'm okay. My phone had died and a bunch of stuff happened. Michael was letting me recharge it, and I just got it back."
"Well, you better call him after this," Brick remarked, leaning in closer to the screen. "Also, what was that about Braker telling you? I haven't seen him at all today. Bandit said Bliss came by and visited at around 11:00, but the two have disappeared since then."
Cassandra hesitated, wondering if it was her place to tell him about the oranges' little spying plan. "I'll let them explain it to you," she offered. "I don't know if they would want me to say anything."
He sighed on the other side of the screen. "Alright, fair enough. I'll let them have their fun, whatever it is. Meanwhile, what about you? When are you getting home? You crashed the party, but the party's long-over, isn't it?"
"Well... It's a bit of a long story. I'm kind of stuck here. I'm sure Michael would let me go if I told him I had to get home, but at the same time—I'm curious. I want to learn more about him."
"You're definitely in Michael's mansion, alright." He squinted his eyes. "Is that...a giant bat statue behind you?"
She glanced back. "Oh, yeah. It's really fancy here."
Brick snorted. "Their ego is bigger than the size of that statue."
She giggled, "Oh, I don't know about that. I think they're alright. Michael's been rather kind. It's actually pretty cute."
He raised an eyebrow. "You do know that if he knew your origins at all, he'd hate your guts?"
Her face fell. "I know that—I just... I know what he is, and I don't hate his guts."
Brick shrugged. "Hey, some people are really prejudiced."
"Brick..."
"Alright, alright. Let's get back to talking war. I'm worried about where this is going. Damon's still at large, and I have no idea what Danes is planning to 'deal with the problem'. Meanwhile, Raymond is stuck there and there's been so many fights and secrets and it's all a mess and—"
She closed her eyes, wondering if she could drown in his words until she couldn't hear them anymore. War, war, war. It was all she had heard since she'd awoken. At least, with Michael, she could feign innocence and ignorance, acting like everything was okay. And she could tell that he appreciated it, because he could pretend things were okay too.
"Cassandra?" questioned the boy on the other end. "Are you even listening?"
She opened her eyes. "I'm sorry, I'm just tired."
He sighed. "I knew it. You're all worn out from partying, huh?" He smiled slightly in amusement. "If I'd known you would've had this much fun, I wouldn't have seen reason to let you out of the house."
"Sure," she responded, even though he wasn't right. She wasn't tired from partying. In fact, she wanted more of that. She'd been unconscious for more than eighteen months. What she wanted was to be able to relax and hang out and have fun, not worry about a war.
He paused, suddenly concerned. "What's wrong?"
"Oh, nothing," she said quickly. "Just thinking what the next move might be. What are you guys thinking of doing next?"
Brick shrugged. "Man, at this rate, I don't even know. There's a lot of stuff to get through, but I think there's a possible solution? If we can get all the wolves trained, there shouldn't be a problem—at least, not until the actual fighting. But if not..." He trailed off.
She sighed. "I understand. Well, what's the next best move for now?"
"I want to learn Danes' motives. I want to stay one step ahead of that man. If he decides to lay a hand on Damon, I'm concerned about the havoc that will be wreaked. And I'm not just worried about Damon. I'm worried about Danes and his people. From what we've seen, Damon can do some serious damage."
Cassandra rubbed her neck again. "I can't believe Damon's snapped like this. From what I've heard, he's pretty damaged himself."
"From what I've seen, I can confirm," Brick agreed. He sighed and ran a hand through his long red hair. "I've got way too much shit to deal with as it is. Blossom's still mad at me, probably screwing around with that damn ugly-ass Vincent fellow—"
"Pardon?"
Brick froze. "Err, never mind." He lowered his head, face red. As Cassandra smiled in amusement, he continued in a more serious tone: "We've had all these skirmishes, but since Damon's reveal and his kidnapping of Christie, nothing has really happened. I feel a storm brewing just over the horizon."
Cassandra glanced back at the far end of the empty room, where just outside, Michael was standing, talking to some of the guests from last night. He'd told her that he had a duty to keep guests calm by engaging in small talk, and thus also preventing any rumours or gossip to spread. She could admire that. She'd snuck off to answer a call from Brick, which was what she was doing right now. "It's kind of already brewed," she responded absentmindedly. "That storm last night was heavy."
"I don't mean literally, Cassie."
She snapped back to attention. Her face flushed red as she retorted, "I know that! I didn't mean literally, either."
Now she had Brick's attention. "What did you mean then?" he demanded.
She took a deep breath. "Lightening wasn't the only thing that struck last night."
"Cassie, don't play games with me. We don't have time for cryptic poetry. Just tell me what—"
"Damon struck too."
Brick froze instantly, as if someone had perfectly hit the pause button. "What...?"
"At least, it's most likely Damon. From what I've heard..." She trailed off uncomfortably.
"Cassandra..." he said slowly. "What happened...?"
She took a deep breath. "Ross is gone. Missing. Vanished without a trace." She paused. "And...so is Vix. The entire household is in panic. That's why the house is under lockdown. And it's also why I haven't left yet."
Brick's eyes widened in shock. "No..." he whispered. "No—no no no no. This can't be happening."
"Brick..." She reached toward the screen just a tad, as if she could touch him on the shoulder and comfort him. But instead, she was watching the red Ruff run a hand through his hair in disbelief, her own brow furrowed in concern as she wished she could do more to help.
"This isn't real. It can't be true. It just can't be. If Damon actually did this, then there's no way Danes and his people will ever forgive him."
"Yeah, but...if Damon really did kidnap Ross and Vix, then...can you really blame them?" Cassandra glanced back at where Michael was standing, still talking to the guests. He was nodding with his brow furrowed, gaze clearly concerned and tired. The fear was rolling off of him in waves. He was scared and worried for his friends. And she could understand that.
"They're all blaming Vix, aren't they? They all think he's run away back to Damon, throwing everything behind," her fiery-haired friend groaned, dragging a hand down his face.
"Not all of them." She turned back to the screen. "The teenagers are standing by Vix. Michael, Sidney, DJ... Even Christie. The only one not trusting Vix is Sidney's twin sister, Sydney—but I get the feeling she didn't really know Vix anyway."
Brick looked surprised, and impressed in a way. "Huh. That's really cool of them."
She nodded. "They're scared. And I would be too. It's normal of them. It's...It's human."
He managed to crack a small, weak smile. "It's about as human as we can get," he agreed.
She was about to reply, when Michael's voice called out to her: "Hey, Cassandra? I'm about all wrapped up here. How's about we go check out the library? You mentioned you like books, right?"
"Be right there, Mikey!" she called back.
"Man, he does sound tired," Brick whispered.
"Yeah, it's been really hard for him."
"Well, you go join him on your little library adventure. Keep him occupied and let him feel better or something. He deserves a break."
"Wow, now that's really cool of you," she replied.
"I guess so. I mean, can't let them upstage me, right?" he chuckled. "Alright—go have your fun. I'm going to gather the boys and we'll check out Damon's hiding place. Maybe we'll find something out. Give Danes a break and do some work for him."
"Come on, Cassandra! You'll love it. There's something I want to show you," Michael called again.
"Go." Brick smiled. "And stay safe. Don't let him suspect you."
"Right. You too, Brick. Don't get killed."
"Will do. Talk to you later, Cassie."
"Bye," she responded. After they'd hung up, she ran back towards Michael.
"What were you doing the whole time?" he asked, smiling. The smile seemed a little spacey and distant, however, like it took some effort to contort his face in such a way.
"Oh, just talking to a friend," she responded in an upbeat manner. "Now what did you want to show me? I bet it's really cool..."
As Brick hung up, he relaxed and laid back, staring at his phone screen. He felt drained. The idea that Damon could have captured Vix and Ross was sickening, especially since he knew what the man could do.
Brick wanted to believe Damon didn't kill Tyrone all those years ago, but he had seen the man's insanity firsthand recently. Damon wasn't in his right mind, at least not anymore. Whether or not he had always been like this was to be determined.
As he closed his eyes and tried to think up a plan, his super-hearing caught the click of the door unlocking and opening. He immediately flew towards the door, wondering which of his brothers had just gotten home. "Hey, where've you been—oh." He paused, floating in the air.
Standing before him, wide-eyed, was a boy with brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. He wore a trench coat and hat, and had brown eyes. Behind him was a girl in a maid's uniform with blue eyes.
Brick slowly landed. "Err..."
"Brick!" the brown-eyed boy gasped. "Uhh, fancy seeing you here! Sorry; didn't mean to sneak in—"
"Braker...? Is that you?" his brother finally asked, frowning. When the newcomer hesitated, Brick decided that this person was in fact his orange-eyed brother. So he demanded, "What on Earth are you doing in that get-up? Have you been running around doing cosplay while I've been stuck here worrying about everything else!?"
"No! No, that's not it. Bliss and I snuck into Danes' mansion—"
"WHAT!?"
"Brick, hear me out!" Braker quickly explained their reasoning for going in, concluding with, "And that's how we found out Ross and Vix have gone missing."
"I know."
Braker blinked. "What?"
"I said, I know." The red Ruff glanced at Bliss. "I just got off the phone with Cassandra. She told me everything."
Bliss frowned at the mention of her. "Sampson's daughter, huh?"
Brick's gaze immediately snapped towards her, before he turned back to Braker. "What did you tell her?"
"What, is she supposed to be a secret too?" the orange Puff snapped.
"No, it's not that. I'm just wondering how you know about Sampson," Brick replied, calming down. His hand twitched to grab ahold of his brother and demand answers from him.
Looking uncomfortable, Braker stated, "We had to meet up with Sampson to get inside the mansion. We brought in a rare herb from him, which is why we're dressed like this. It was for the sole purpose of sneaking in."
"Really? And here I thought you two were just indulging in your kinks," his redheaded brother responded dryly.
Both oranges blushed. Bliss punched Brick. "Why do you have to be such an asshole?" she demanded. "No wonder Blossom's so done with your shit!"
Brick's eyes suddenly turned dark and an icy atmosphere began to crystallize around them. "What was that?" he asked in an eerily quiet voice.
Bliss took a step back. "Wait, sorry—I didn't mean it that way."
"You know about Vincent, don't you?" He looked at her. "Blossom's so 'done with my shit' she's moved on to him, hasn't she? After only a few weeks of dating too."
"No, that's not what I meant," she repeated in an exasperated tone. "I'm sorry, Brick. That was insensitive of me."
"Hmm; damn right." He closed his eyes and smiled slightly then, as if he hadn't been hurt by her comment and had found amusement in it instead.
Braker and Bliss exchanged concerned looks. Bliss spoke again: "You two should talk to each other. She and I had a talk too, and well...we had discussed whether or not the both of us should clear things up with our own boyfriends, and while I've done it, Blossom, on the other hand..."
Braker still felt himself bristle a bit when she called DJ her boyfriend, especially now, when the two were technically not even "officially together" anymore.
"Yeah. We haven't really talked since our last call." Brick glanced up at the ceiling absentmindedly and said in a distant tone, "Maybe I'll call her later."
"Yes. Yes, that's a good idea," Bliss agreed.
"Alright—I'll talk to her then." Brick sighed. He turned around to go back to his room. "You two have fun together. And then if you go, Bliss, have a great day."
She nodded and murmured a "thank you", startled by the tired in his voice and the drag in his step.
As Brick floated back upstairs, he could hear Bliss and Braker whispering to one another, and he sighed. He was already tired from talking to Cassandra, but he felt even more tired now, like someone had added another rock to the burden on his back. But truth be told, he'd been tired for a long, long time now. And that burden had been growing and growing everyday.
The only thing he wasn't certain about, was whether or not calling Blossom was a big rock to add to the burden, or a smaller one compared to everything else he was suffering through. Was she just as important as the war or less so? Did it depend on whether or not he looked at the grander scale of things?
He groaned. Just thinking about it was giving him a headache, and his boyfriend's guilt for even considering Blossom to be "less important" than the war was kicking into overdrive. It only made him feel even more tired and look even less forward to talking to her.
He dragged himself into his room and to his desk, where he sat down and took a few moments to calm himself. He took deep breaths and counted down in his head, before finally calling her.
When she answered, her face filled the screen and she looked unsure. "Hello..."
"Hey, babe." He smiled weakly at her, trying to look like nothing was wrong. "What have you been up to in the past few hours?"
"Oh, not much. I've been...hanging out with friends." She glanced down, kicking aside something that Brick couldn't see as if it was something she didn't want him to see.
Brick shook his head to clear it. Stop being so suspicious, he scolded himself. "That's neat. Did you have fun?" he asked, still maintaining his smile.
She hesitated. "Yes, it was...a lot of fun." She craned her neck. "What are you doing?"
"Calling you." His smile twitched. "I'm in my room, don't worry. No other girls around."
Her cheeks flushed pink. "Th-That's not what I meant."
"Just saying just in case," he answered promptly. He sighed. "I'm not unfaithful, Bloss. You know you're the only one for me."
"Yeah," she said quietly. "You're the only one for me too."
There was something about the way she said it that Brick didn't like, as if he were chains dragging her down and keeping her away from doing what she really wanted. But what would that be? Screw around with other boys freely? Blossom wasn't that kind of person. But what about her and Vincent? Would she become that kind of person if the other guy was him? his mind whispered; a dark thought he quickly shook off. "Is something wrong?" he asked instead, deliberate and careful.
"No, no! Nothing's wrong," she replied quickly. "I guess I'm just tired."
He cracked another smile. He figured if he did it enough, he'd start to believe it. And then she would too. "That makes two of us then."
"Brick..." She trailed off.
"Blossom. Can I ask you a question?"
She looked at him. He didn't know what she saw, but Blossom saw a tired boy with tired eyes—but those eyes were also sparking in an urgent manner. His smile was tired too, and almost transparent, but the way he said her name... He didn't say her full name as often as most other boyfriends. And he sounded almost desperate, in a way, so she replied, "Of course."
"You're sure? Promise me you won't get mad no matter the question?"
"Yes. No doubt about it," she promised, despite a hundred doubts flooding her mind. She smiled in what she hoped was a reassuring manner.
Brick managed to smile back, trying to believe her. A small part of his mind reminded him that she could've been trying to pull the same trick he'd been trying to pull on himself just minutes before. "Alright." He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "HowdoyoufeelaboutVincent?"
Blossom froze. The question struck like lightening. She started shaking like a leaf, barely attached to her branch. "He's...nice," she said quietly, her voice shaking too. Her words were careful, deliberate.
He crumpled. She'd chosen the most bland, vague answer possible, and that made it seem all the more likely she did like him. It wasn't the answer he wanted, but maybe it was the answer he was expecting, even though he'd desperately hoped against it. "Do you"—he swallowed, wanting to confirm—"like him?"
She'd read somewhere that lightening couldn't strike twice...right? "Brick..." She took a deep breath. "If you mean as a friend, then yes, I like him. But don't worry; there's no one for me but you. I said so, didn't I?"
"Yeah," he replied quietly. He left the other words unsaid: You did say it. But you said it as a burden. And even then, you only said it after I said it.
She realized she was wrong. Lightening could strike twice, at least metaphorically, even when it was just one word. She wondered why he was only saying "yeah", as if there was nothing else to say. She wanted him to say more. She wanted to know more. "Are you okay?" she asked hesitantly, not knowing what to expect. If the answer wasn't the one she hoped for, then what would that mean for her guilty conscience? How could she ever make it up to him? That was when she stopped and scolded herself. This wasn't about her. This was about Brick. And that was when she realized he hadn't answered her yet. So she took a deep breath and asked again, more urgently, "Brick. Are you okay?"
No. Now it was his turn to shake like a leaf, but he could feel himself actually breaking off of the branch and falling, falling, falling... He opened his mouth to scream, but instead the words that came out were calm, drifting like more leaves in the wind: "No doubt about it," even as a hundred doubts filled his mind.
After that, they stared at each other for what felt like eternity. Brick was still falling, beginning to feel numb as the cold fear faded until he couldn't feel a thing. When you fell for such a long time, you started to become desensitized to your fate. You started accepting it.
Finally, Blossom swallowed and stated quietly, "I guess that's done then."
"Yeah," he agreed, also quietly, afraid that if he spoke any louder, his falling speed would only accelerate.
"I should go," she continued awkwardly. "I have work to do."
Her words were like a chilly blast he could barely feel, but they still pricked his skin and blew him further away even though he couldn't really feel anything anymore. And yet, he still fell faster. "Yeah." He swallowed.
Blossom smiled. "I love you, Brick. You know that, right? I love you."
He only nodded, and her brow creased, before she finally sighed. "Talk to you later"—she hesitated before adding—"Bricky."
Then she hung up and he at last hit the ground.
And that's when he finally opened his mouth and let himself scream.
Danes was a current, swirling and storming inside. He tapped his fingers against the table impatiently as he waited for the room to fill. It was dim, and the oaken table beneath him was smooth and carved beautifully—just like everything else in his mansion. He glanced up as a small shadow flitted in. Shelves lined the wall next to the door opposite to him, filled to the brim with books.
"Jamel. How nice of you to join us," Danes stated dryly.
The young man dusted himself off and sat down. "Good to see you too, Sir. When is the meeting to start?"
He checked his watch. "In two minutes." Then he added, "Although it seems not everyone has joined us just yet. At this rate, we'll have to start the meeting later."
Jamel hummed back in response, running a hand through his thick red hair. "That might not be such a bad thing." He paused, suddenly feeling Danes' glower on him. He quickly added, "I mean, I wouldn't mind."
"Sir, surely you wouldn't just let him get away with that?" Maxim demanded.
"Silence!" Danes commanded, rolling his eyes. "Let's just wait for the others, alright?" Then he muttered under his breath, "I'm your superior, not your mother."
Jamel snickered smugly as Maxim flushed red, going rigid. Danes rarely reacted in such a way.
The gray-haired man sighed to himself. Sometimes he really did feel like the mother hen, watching all his needy chicks. He heard Tyrone's voice in his head when he'd said the same thing to his best friend years ago. The boy had grinned and replied, "Yeah, well... That's what you are to us. Too bad you don't get to watch the other kind of chicks though."
Danes had flushed red and began to yell at his friend to shut up, while Damon—who'd been there too, now that he remembered—had laughed. Danes wondered if his friend—wait, no scratch that. He wasn't a friend anymore. He wasn't even an acquaintance or an ally. He was an enemy. A hateful lunatic—Damon ever thought back to that moment, or any moment of their friendship. Danes shook his head. He couldn't feel anything resembling pity towards Damon. The man was horrible, and he was currently probably very guilty of numerous things—including killing Tyrone and kidnapping Ross and Vix.
"But sir, we really should bring the troops in tomorrow—"
"Excuse me?" Danes stared blankly at Lin, who'd been speaking.
The dark-haired man looked flustered. "I don't doubt your decisions, Sir"—Kiss-up, Danes thought—"but I must insist we send troops into Damon's cabin tomorrow."
Danes blinked. "What...?"
"Sir, please. This really isn't the time to be joking around." When Danes' look remained empty, Lin continued, "Sir, I asked you if we should send troops into Damon's cabin and you shook your head?"
"Oh." Danes shook his head. Again, even though that was what had confused Lin in the first place. "That was just to clear my thoughts. I apologize. I didn't hear your request."
Lin looked surprised. At what? Danes wondered. At me failing to hear what he said? At me apologizing instead of scolding him? He shook off the thoughts (remembering this time not to shake his head) when Lin replied, "Oh no, that's alright, Sir. I understand there's a lot on your plate right now. But..." He trailed off.
Danes sighed. "Right. About the request." He closed his eyes and rubbed the area between his eyes, trying to imagine the scenario. His men, sneaking in like bats, only to be met with snapping jaws and sharp claws. Damon would be a wolf—he was sure of it—howling and rampaging and violent. Danes could see the red blossoming from his victims. And that was when he snapped open his eyes, even though the vivid red remained pressed to his eyelids. "No. We can't storm the cabin yet. Damon would be too strong." He stared at the wall, not meeting the shocked gazes of his men. "It'd be too dangerous."
"But what about Ross and Vix? What if Ross is dead by now?" protested Maxim.
"What if Vix and Damon take off?" Coal added.
Danes stared at them. They still expected Vix to be guilty of helping Damon. "I have a feeling Damon won't be running away or killing Ross anytime soon," he finally responded.
"Why is that, Sir?" asked Maxim.
Danes hesitated. "Because he needs Ross. As a hostage. Because he wants to make us squirm with worry." He met each of his soldiers' eyes, watching the horror and pain and anger that laced their gazes. "And he won't run, because Damon loves the thrill of the chase."
Everyone began whispering and sharing looks and Danes closed his eyes, trying to tune them out. He didn't need or want to hear the things they would say. "How can he be sure?" or "How could he say such a thing?" or "How could he just sit back and let Damon do whatever?" How, how, how? Danes rubbed his temples, wishing he were back in his room, sleeping the night away as if he'd never called this meeting in the first place. It had been his own idea, of course, so he had no one else to blame but himself—and yet, he'd never wanted it. He just knew the household needed it.
"With all due respect, Sir, I must object—" Lin began, before the door swung open and in stormed the last two people Danes wanted to see right at that moment.
"You're all so fucking incompetent!" the woman in the lead exclaimed scathingly, her long, curly red hair bouncing like a dancing flame. Her green eyes were just as fiery, even though they were the colour of grass instead of fire.
Behind her followed her husband, with ice-pick blue eyes and blond hair. He glanced at Danes, and Danes stared back at his brother, remembering the first time Chris and Maggie had met. They'd been betrothed to settle a treaty between the parents, and Chris was fascinated by his fiery, forever-angry bride-to-be. And over the years, the two learned to love each other.
Poetic, Danes thought flatly, just as Maggie began speaking again:
"What are you all doing, sitting here on your asses like little girls at a tea party? Do you even realize what is at stake here? How much your failures affect this household? Each and every single one of you deserve to be flayed alive. You're all incompetent fools, all of you!"
"Madame," Jamel tried to say, but Maggie whirled on him.
"Shut the hell up, jackass! I'm not done just yet. Do you guys want the quick list of failures you've all given us, or the nice long version so that you can go back over it and figure out what the hell you screwed up?"
"Maggie, please," Danes sighed. Everything about the woman was fire: her hair, her eyes, her words. She might not look like much at first glance, but Maggie was a dangerous and beautiful, violent flame that would lash out and burn anyone who dared to touch her. Danes kept that in mind as he reached toward her by calling her name: "Maggie."
She faced him, whirling around like a candle flame that would flatten in a breeze before springing back up in place. "Danes, don't even get me started on what you've been doing wrong! You might just be the worst one yet!" Several soldiers flinched visibly. "What the hell is this? Why aren't there any soldiers outside at Damon's cabin? Why are we stuck in here, discussing things over tea?"
Danes stared at them for what could've been a moment too long, a look too blank, a silence too silent. He was vaguely aware of them staring back at him, waiting for an answer and expecting a certain response, possibly even judging him or wondering what was wrong for his lack of reply. Danes didn't usually lose his composure and he didn't usually doubt himself. But at that very moment, he could feel the control slipping out of his hands.
Maggie shared a look with her husband before she turned back to the gray-haired man before her. "Danes," she prompted.
And everything rushed back as feeling returned to his fingers and he scrambled to grasp what was left of the control that had been slipping away. Then he opened his mouth and said what needed to be said.
Christie felt numb. She sat, unmoving, her eyes trained on the wall ahead of her. She felt heavy, like a rock, unable to move her limbs. Her uncle had officially brushed her off and pretty much told her to her face that he didn't trust her enough to let her go on a retrieval mission for Vix and Ross.
The anger she felt was a boiling one that simmered deep inside of her, low and bubbling and just waiting to burst. But there was another part of her; the part of her that was scared her uncle was right—that she really was too incompetent to fight Damon without being captured again.
She scoffed lightly. The irony was that her ever competent bodyguard had vanished, and when she needed him, she didn't have him there to protect her—and instead, she'd be searching for him.
Him. Vix.
His name was so familiar, and she was so used to hearing it, she realized just how much she'd taken it for granted. And it wasn't just the name. She'd taken him for granted too. "Vix. Vix Vix Vix Vix Vix." She said his name over and over again, just in case his name would be forgotten if she didn't say it all.
A knock sounded on her door and she looked up. "Yes?" she asked, her voice quiet. It sounded numb too, as if her whole body was filled with ice.
The door opened and in stepped Michael. "There's been a call for everyone who's a soldier to gather in the foyer," he told her.
"I know. I heard." She blinked, just noticing the bandages up and down his arms. She paused, feeling the ice melt briefly as concern for her brother gripped her and won over the frost inside her. "What's that?" she asked. "What happened to you?"
He glanced down, his face flustered as he realized that the bandages were peeking out from underneath his sleeve. He quickly tugged the fabric downwards to cover them. "Nothing," he replied quickly. "Nothing to worry about, anyway."
She frowned but didn't press further. Instead, she asked, "I almost didn't want to go, but...what do you think he called us down for?"
Michael shrugged. "Heck if I know. It won't matter, anyway—we'll both be stuck here in the end no matter what he says."
She nodded, walking towards the door. "It's not fair," she stated, stepping out into the hallway. "We're capable too."
Her brother joined her and shut the door to her room, sighing as it closed. "Yeah, it's not fair," he agreed, "but what are we supposed to do about it? Sneaking out carries a large risk of being caught, and even if we aren't caught"—here he winced—"fighting Damon is extremely difficult and we'd most likely lose."
"I don't know about that last one," responded Christie, stretching and trying to shake off the icy numbness encasing her veins. "If Vix—and Ross—really are stuck with Damon, I'd fight that man to the death to save them, and do all that I can to win."
"I know, Christie, I know. And I would too. But that doesn't mean we will win," Michael replied quietly.
She closed her eyes. She knew he was right, but she still wanted to grab him and shake him and demand why he was being so pessimistic—even though she knew it wasn't pessimism that faced her brother, but realism. "I guess we'll see, Mikey. Maybe we can win."
"And maybe we'd die," he retorted.
She paused, lowering her voice as she said, "Maybe that's not such a bad thing."
"Christie!" he gasped, grabbing her. "What the hell are you saying!?"
"I didn't mean it seriously," she responded, pulling away. "I just...I was thinking about how if Vix and Ross are already"—the words caught in her throat and she had to choke them out—"dead, then the guilt would probably kill me anyway."
"Christie," Michael stated sternly, before his face fell and his words turned to a choked whisper: "if we do—lose them, then I can't lose you too."
She gazed at him for a few seconds, before she finally managed to crack a smile. "You won't," she promised, her voice firm even though inside, her heart was shaking.
The two of them continued on in silence, walking down towards the foyer as the announcements had instructed. They could see guests poking their heads out and watching the warriors move past, all whispering. As Michael and Christie marched down, they were joined by more people. DJ, Sidney and Sydney, among other soldiers.
By the time they made it to the foyer, they could see that Danes was already there, along with Maxim, Coal, Lin, and others... But the ones Christie and Michael noticed were their own parents, Maggie and Chris.
As they gathered below, they watched Danes step forward. "Now that everyone is here," he said, "the meeting shall commence. I have received word from a messenger who claims he has a most urgent update of utmost importance to our current predicament."
Christie looked up, watching eagerly and almost hungrily as the shaking man stepped forward. He was one of Danes' many messengers, who watched the outside world and relayed the sights they saw back to Danes—especially in situations like these, where the most important members of the household were locked up inside for safety.
The messenger looked around and began, his voice trembling, "I was outside near downtown Townsville when I saw it." He paused, maybe to catch his breath; maybe for dramatic effect. "I saw Damon."
The crowd immediately began murmuring, even though seeing Damon wasn't exactly an oddity anymore. Back when they still believed he was dead, people would report seeing someone who looked just like him, swearing it had to have been him. They found him everywhere—and not just in Townsville; in Rome and Transylvania and even Shanghai—they would all claim to have found Damon there. Some people even swore on their own lives, but no one bothered to look into the incidents. Christie now wondered if any of them were true; or maybe it really had just been their overactive imagination and fear, weaving illusions. Or maybe, it was even Raymond, Damon's twin.
Seeing Damon downtown, however, could be considered an oddity. From what they'd gathered, he rarely left his cabin. And leaving his cabin wasn't a good idea for him, all things considered. There were people out there who wanted his head. There were people, who if they saw him wandering the streets, would attack him in a thirst for his blood. Damon wasn't a fool, Christie knew that. But he was insane. If he'd gone downtown, outside of his cabin, maybe it had been a statement. Maybe he'd wanted to be seen on purpose; as a warning, or to toy with Danes' people.
Danes lifted a hand, quelling the chittering crowd. He turned back to the messenger and nodded.
The man swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down. He was pale, with thick, curly hair that curved in a widow's peak at his forehead. His lips were red and full for a man, and his eyes were so dark they looked black. When he looked up to stare at the crowd, his eyes were wide and the light reflecting in them made it look like there were stars in his gaze. "The possible Damon was walking across the street with a boy with flaming red hair."
This sent the whole room into a cold, still quiet, frozen shock that crystallized like icicles in the air.
Then the room exploded.
As people began chattering so loud Christie was sure the room was shaking, she gazed up at the stage in silence. She was still frozen, turned to ice by the crystals in the room, as everyone else around her moved and whispered, throbbing and convulsing. They were roaring, all riled up to go and hunt Damon and Vix down. A small part of her knew she had to find them first if she didn't want that, but she was frozen and cold and couldn't think about anything except for one thing:
He was with Vix?
She wondered if the messenger really had seen Damon. If so, was the man walking the boy on a leash; showing him off like a trophy? Was Vix being dragged around without way of escape? Or was Vix following his old father around willingly, like a wolf pup and his alpha?
Oh, Vix. If only you'd hated me instead. It would've been so much easier if you chose to leave, and I wouldn't have to find you and apologize because I wouldn't be the one responsible. But she knew she didn't want that.
Christie swallowed as the ice encasing her slowly drifted away, letting her think clearly again. Maybe it's my fault Vix is parading around with Damon. Maybe he did like me, and I was the one who provoked him into leaving. Or maybe he would've left either way, because whether or not he liked me in that way, I was still the one who drove him away. The ice was thawing, but not in the way that said "I'm free from this pain!" It was ripping at her flesh, slowly tearing itself from her skin. She watched the crystals fall. And this time, what gripped her wasn't ice, but determination instead.
I'm going to go, and I'm going to find him first.
Ross awoke to the smell of blood.
Groaning, he pushed himself up on his elbows and almost immediately collapsed when he felt the sharp pain rip through his side. He glanced down. He couldn't see anything. It was so dark and black, he could barely see his own hand in front of his face. He could, however, hear the ticking of a clock in the distance, but it only disorientated him further.
He didn't recognize the area surrounding him. It wasn't his room. The clock ticking wasn't his clock, and he wasn't lying in his bed. He felt around, and almost immediately felt the edge of the seat and empty air beside him. He was lying not in bed at all, but on a couch.
"You're finally awake," a voice said.
The voice sent shivers down his spine. It wasn't warm or cold, it was matter-of-fact and empty of anything. And Ross knew the voice. He knew it all too well.
"Damon," he whispered.
The man emerged like a wolf creeping out of the shadows, ready to pounce on his prey. "I've been waiting," he began.
Everything came rushing back to him, and he immediately winced in pain, crying out as he fell down. He remembered being held down—Harry had been there—and he remembered Damon inflicting pain on him that made him fall unconscious. "How long have I been out?" he asked, straining in pain.
"Oh, a day. Or two." Damon smiled, sitting down across from the boy. "How are you feeling?"
"Like you did a number on me," spat Ross, struggling to sit up and lean back as far away from his captor as possible.
"I did," Damon confirmed, even though both of them already knew that. "It felt good."
"Well, that makes one of us at least," he muttered.
"Mm-hmm." Damon tilted his head, smiling eerily. "Did you sleep well, at least?"
Ross wasn't sure. His mind was empty when he thought back to his unconscious sleep.
When he didn't answer, Damon sat back up. "Never mind," he stated. "I wanted to talk to you."
"Aren't you doing that already?" he retorted.
"Ooh, sassy." Damon's smile grew as he reached out and grabbed Ross by the hair, pulling him forward so hard the boy stumbled and let out a cry. "I don't think you understand your position. I'm the one in power here, and I can kill you at any time." His grin was filled with sharp, pointy teeth. "Understood?"
"Understood," the boy growled frustratedly.
Damon's lips flickered in a smile. "Great. You're lucky I patched you up at all," he added. "I could've left you the way I left you at first."
"Thank you for that," Ross said flatly, not meaning a single word of it. He smoothed down his hair and sat back up, away from Damon's face. "So—what the hell did you want to talk to me about?"
"I found this on you." The man was still smiling, holding up a book-like item. "Care to explain this to me?"
Ross' eyes widened as he scrambled to look through his clothes, even though he already knew the item was in Damon's possession, and not his own.
"This is your father's, isn't it?" he asked. "His journal. I remember it from way back when."
"Do you? Do you really remember any of it?" Ross glared back at him, his gaze challenging. Damon opened his mouth but the boy wasn't done just yet. "Because if you do, that's even worse. How could you kill my father when you can still remember being with him?"
His companion closed his mouth, his lips forming a thin line. Finally, he said quietly, "I don't really remember."
Something about the way he said it, almost wistful and longing—maybe even a little bit sorry—made Ross soften. "Do you ever regret what you did?"
Damon looked down. "I don't even really remember all that I've done," he replied slowly, staring at his hands and the journal as if he was seeing them for the very first time. "It's been such a long, long time. And sometimes... Sometimes it's easier to block everything out."
"Then perhaps I should jog your memory," Ross offered, slowly and carefully. He reached out for the journal gingerly, but Damon didn't fight back as he pulled the book from his grasp. He opened up the journal. "This is my father's journal, and well—he wrote a lot of things in here. Do you want to hear them?"
Damon nodded, slowly, as if he was entranced.
So Ross began to read.
He didn't trust Damon or sympathize with him, but he could at least try to—only a very, very, very little amount though. He could start with trying to show him how much his father had trusted him; maybe even remind him of how amazing Tyrone had been.
"'March 7
Today went great! Danes took the gang hunting today. I caught a squirrel and man was it a feast! Damon caught a deer; he's so good at this. I'm almost jealous. Almost!
I'm getting there, at least I think so. Sylvie was there cheering us on. She's such an amazing girl. As usual, Damon and Shamus were competing to show her who got the better shot. Damon won this time—Shamus only managed to catch a blackbird and a rabbit; both of which are great, but even as Shamus' self-proclaimed brother and certified blood brother, I had to admit that Damon's deer outmatched Shamus' catches. Sylvie didn't mind though; she was oblivious to them fighting over her—as usual.
But to be fair, Shamus and Damon never actually fight over her. They're both good sports like that.
Danes is really amazing too. He caught a wolf. The capture seemed to bother Damon a little bit, but he didn't mind too much. Of course, to someone like Damon, wolves are a lot closer to kin than for most. It was a lot of fun though, and I'm glad we went.
Tomorrow we'll be heading out to get drinks. The boys and I will be doing most of the drinking though. Sylvie's such a pure little girl; she barely ever drinks alcohol. Maybe I'll finally convince her to taste some of my lovely 'blood wine'. Probably not though, as I'd never force her to take anything she didn't want to. And besides, I don't even know if my kind of alcohol will be her kind. It might do more harm than good. Sylvie's my little sister, after all, and it's kind of hard imagining her consuming alcohol daily anyway. That would totally ruin her good girl image!
Ah well, I was joking anyway! Really excited about tomorrow. The guys and I are probably going to have a drinking contest and see who holds out the longest. Then we'll catch a ride from Sylvie home, singing drunkenly all the while. I can tell myself I'll drink less the next time all I want, but the outcome's always the same.
Alright, I should go to sleep if I want to get up early for tomorrow. Looking forward to it!
Signed,
Tyrone'"
Ross stopped and looked at Damon, now curious. While the man didn't look exactly remorseful, he at least didn't look angry hearing about Tyrone or overjoyed at remembering he'd killed the man. While it wasn't much, it was a start. "Do you want to hear more?" the teenager asked.
When Damon nodded, he took the cue and flipped the page.
"'July 20
Here's a reminder: never take your friends to a dance club on the night of a full moon. I mean, fair enough. My mistake.
But that's a story for another day. Right now, I have something else I'd like to recount!
Today we had a beach barbecue, and I just want to say that it was the most fun I've had in a long while. It was also quite amusing, watching Damon and Shamus both attempt to flirt with poor, innocent Sylvie. They would offer to share food or give up their seats, to the point she had ten burgers and six hot dogs piled on her plate. As a regular human being, Sylvie of course couldn't handle all that food, but Damon, who isn't a regular human being, can. So he ate most of her food, save one burger and hot dog. Shamus was quite indignant about the whole incident, but I just found it funny.
Sylvie got to the point of mouthing "save me" to Danes and I, so being the good friend I am, I rescued her from their clutches at the last minute. I wanted to give them a chance with her though, which is why I let them have their fun—which let me have fun too. After that, I just hung out and danced with Sylvie. Damon and Shamus lightened up and joined in soon enough, getting over their little 'food fight'. It was a great amount of fun!
Danes didn't join in because he's too 'cool' for that kind of thing (as he usually is), but the barbecue went great. We danced and chatted and ate for hours. We finally cleaned everything up as the sun was setting, and decided we'd head on over to the bar for a few drinks. Just one or two, as the sky was getting dark and we needed to be inside, all things considered. So why not make it a fun inside?
We made our way to the closest pub, which wasn't too far from the forest surrounding Danes' giant, isolated house. It was a lot of fun walking with everyone there. We talked about many things, including some joking. I teased Damon and Shamus about their crush on Sylvie, as usual, and Danes talked about more serious matters, like his father's next meeting and what he expected from it; stuff like that.
Sylvie talked about her growing list of potential suitors, which Damon and Shamus exchanged looks at. I, along with the other guys, hope she doesn't end up getting married off to one of those stuck-up men who come seeking her hand. It really reminds me of Disney's Aladdin, when Jasmine was forced to find a suitor by law, but would make them all dislike her by messing around. Sylvie has been doing that the past few years, but her mother is growing impatient. She can't keep blowing all these suitors off, or soon she won't have anyone to choose from, as her mother says.
But I say, to hell with that! She has plenty of choices left, including Shamus and Damon. As for me, I view her as a little sister. Still, sometimes I have to wonder, because recently I've been feeling extra protective of her when I hear about the men seeking her hand...
I'll just assume it's nothing though; probably just me being paranoid because time is running out. I'm still helping Damon and Shamus after all, so I can't be harbouring feelings for her...can I? She's like my little sister, after all. One of my closest friends. I don't believe I have any feelings for her. If I did, Shamus and Damon might just kill me. Well, mostly Shamus probably. Damon's too nice for that. And Shamus is my brother. He's probably wanted to kill me before; he's the one who is usually done with my shit.
Anyway, that's some heavy stuff I'd prefer to think about some other day. It makes my stomach twist considering I could like Sylvie in such a way.
But yeah, we were about three feet from the bar when the stars came out, and well...that's when the full moon happened...'"
"I remember that."
Ross stopped reading and looked up at Damon, who was watching him curiously, the way a person would watch an animal they've never seen before. Ross blinked. "Oh. Well, then. Did you have fun that day?"
"Yes," Damon replied in an almost hesitant manner, "I did."
He glanced back down. He had more questions, but he left them unsaid. They floated in the air between them. How could you have fun with Tyrone and the others when there was so much hatred in your heart? Why did you do it? I thought you cared about them. How could you?
As if reading his thoughts, Damon stated quietly, "I didn't always hate him, you know."
Ross raised his head, starting. "O-Oh, yes. I know. You guys used to be best friends." He ran his hand over the paper. "Well...one of you considered the other a best friend, at least."
"I did," Damon responded. "I always did. He saved my life, after all."
"So why did you do it?" he blurted out.
His companion didn't respond; he had a blank look in his eyes and he seemed to be staring at nothing. Finally, he turned away and said, "Would you like some tea? I can go make you some tea."
"Damon, please." Ross sat up, wincing as a sharp pain shot through his side. "Why did you do it?"
The man paused.
"How could you be so heartless? He thought of you as a brother! He trusted you! I trusted you! And you betrayed us—all of us! Why? Why did you do it, Damon?" Ross' voice broke. "Don't you have a heart?"
Damon slowly turned back around and looked at him, before saying softly, "Who needs a heart when a heart can be broken?"
"Congratulations! It's a boy!"
Damon forced himself to smile, watching as the nurse excitedly patted Tyrone on the shoulder. The pencil he'd been twirling around in his fingers suddenly snapped.
"Are you okay?" Tyrone asked him, concern filling his eyes as he noticed the broken pencil in his friend's hand.
"I'm fine. Sorry; I'm just a little too excited," Damon lied back through his teeth. He forced himself to smile. "Congrats, old buddy."
"You're a father now!" Shamus added in exclamation, eyes wide with wonder and pride.
"Come meet your new baby boy!" the nurse offered, motioning for them to follow.
Tyrone didn't hesitate. He hurried toward his wife, hair messy and with dark-circled eyes. "Sylvie? Sylvie, baby, how are you?"
Damon walked into the room a little slower, trying to picture the son of Tyrone and Sylvie. The image made his skin crawl a little, even though he really was excited for them . He'd seen Sylvie with her growing stomach for the past nine months, but the reality of a child was still just too hard for him to grasp and hold onto. He swallowed hard and stopped right beside the door, staring.
Sylvie sat in the bed, her long hair pooling around her. She looked just as beautiful as ever, despite her silky blond hair now being clumped. Her face was pale but flushed pink in the cheeks, and she had a tired smile on. "Come meet your new son," she called softly, sounding as though all her energy had been drained out. She held up a green bundle.
Damon inched closer as Tyrone rushed forward. He tried to imagine the boy as his. It wasn't hard. The baby was just a pink, fleshy little human being; without distinct features yet to discern whose child it was. He had a tuft of brown hair, and he was sleeping soundly.
"He's gorgeous," Tyrone offered, eyes filled with pride and tears. He leaned forward and took the baby, before planting a gentle kiss on his wife's forehead.
Sylvie smiled, looking proud and happy for the new life she'd just given birth to. The sight made Damon's heart ache, causing him to turn away as Shamus and Danes crowded their two friends. When Damon had recovered enough to keep going, he turned around and walked forward. "Come on, you guys. Don't crowd them. Give them some space."
"Always so considerate," giggled Sylvie.
Damon paused, feeling his heart suddenly pound with the sensation of pleasing Sylvie. "Anything for you," he breathed. No one seemed to hear him. That was just fine with him; he was aware of how intimate that had sounded.
"Isn't he beautiful?" Tyrone cradled the baby boy like he were the most precious treasure in the world, and that was probably true to him.
"Yes. Gorgeous." The words slipped out of Damon's mouth easily, but they sounded flat and awkward, dangling from his lips. They felt like dagger stabs in his tongue. He forced himself to smile. The boy was indeed very gorgeous, but then again—so were Sylvie and Tyrone. "Of course your child's beautiful," he added sullenly. He made it sound like a joke, but deep down inside bitterness and resentment stirred amongst the happiness.
Tyrone chuckled, planting a kiss on his new son's forehead. The boy awoke as if by magic, lashes fluttering before the eyelids lifted. Everyone gasped. His eyes were a sparkling emerald-green—which clearly took after his father.
"Very bright child," Danes remarked flatly.
"His eyes are beautiful," Shamus whispered, his own eyes wide. He was completely mesmerized. "He looks just like you, Ty."
Damon set his jaw. Yes. Just another reminder that this boy is not mine. "What will you be naming him?" he managed to choke out.
"We've been thinking of..." Tyrone trailed off, turning to his wife with a smile and wink, signalling for her to finish the sentence.
"Ross." Sylvie smiled up at them. "His name will be Ross."
"Ross," Damon tested, tasting the name on his tongue. He imagined briefly what'd it be like if for the rest of his life, he could raise the child as his and Sylvie's, with her as his wife. The image was so amazing and real he almost started to believe it. But then—
"He's almost as beautiful as you, Sylvie," cooed Tyrone, sitting down beside his wife.
She leaned against him. "Are you saying I'm prettier than you? He looks like the spitting image of his father. I'm starting to wonder if any of my genes got lost in the gene pool."
Tyrone chuckled, shaking his head. "Oh you know you're 'prettier' than me."
"Don't say that. You're the most beautiful man here." She giggled and kissed his cheek.
Dreams shattered once more, Damon backed away slowly and stopped when he was far enough to just stare at the wall and ignore the spectacle before him. He knew he shouldn't hate the boy, but he couldn't stop a small sliver of resentment for Ross—all because the poor child existed. Damon hated himself for his jealousy.
"Damon? What are you doing?"
"Hm? Oh, I'm just thinking." He turned around and faced Tyrone's concerned expression. Then he pulled up another fake smile, another mask, another facade. "What's up?"
"We've been talking," Sylvie began gently, her voice lilting.
Tyrone continued, "And we've decided that..."
"You will be Ross' godfather," they both finished at the same time.
"You...want me to be the godfather?" Damon blinked.
"Yes. We've even talked to Shamus. He's the biological uncle, so we figured we'd make you even more so a part of our family this way. You get to be Ross' godfather!" Sylvie said excitedly.
The way she explained it made it sting, but he still managed his own excited grin. "Wow guys, I don't know what to say."
"Say yes!" Tyrone pressured, looking proud. "Shamus is also sort of a godfather. We just figured since he's the biological uncle though..."
Damon closed his eyes. "Yes, of course I'll be the boy's godfather." He opened his eyes again and smiled. "Looks like Ross and all of you are stuck with me!"
Everyone laughed. Damon stood there, his heart hurting but soaring at the same time. He glanced at Ross; green-eyed, brown-haired, small and pink and fleshy and giggling. Ross, I will love you like a son.
"Yes, I am well aware. Thank you." Sampson said the words through gritted teeth, frustration filling his veins.
"Good. I'm glad you understand," the man on the other end of the phone call replied, their voice smooth as silk. "As long as you hold up your end of the bargain."
Sampson closed his eyes. Even when someone was in another country, they could still annoy the hell out of you. "I will. Don't worry about it. I may be 'savage' and 'wild', but I do have honour, I'll have you know." The words came out hard and bitter, forced out between his teeth.
"You can never be too careful. There will always be wolves out there."
He figured the man was using that specific metaphor just to annoy him further. "I'm not one of them. Don't worry about it."
"Alright." The other person paused. "So, how has your daughter been?"
"You have no right to ask about my daughter."
"Oh, please. Put your teeth and claws away, Sampson. I'll have you remember that we used to be friends, once."
"Those times are long gone. You gave that up when you chose to do what you did."
"It was necessary." Sampson could hear the man rolling something around. His voice was soft, holding something that almost resembled nostalgia. And regret—almost. "I needed to please him."
"And by pleasing him, you displeased me. Besides, we wouldn't have been able to stay friends. The war ended that pretty quickly. That, and you're a banker. I don't trust bankers." He paused, before continuing dryly: "Although, now that I think about it, that might be your fault."
"And you're a doctor."
"Yes. And doctors are trustworthy. Your point is?"
"I'd like to object. I've met plenty of doctors I don't trust. Although now that I think about it, maybe that's your fault."
Sampson rolled his eyes. "See? No wonder we aren't friends anymore. And again, we couldn't be either way. The war doesn't allow it."
"And yet, you're still doing business with me."
"I don't have any other choice. You're my only option. Trust me; I wouldn't do business with you if I could."
"I don't trust you, remember?" the other man joked. Then he paused. "But I don't mind."
Sampson snorted, even as he felt himself lowering his guard just a little bit. "You're too sentimental. Those days are over."
The other man was quiet. Then he asked, "Do you ever miss them, though?"
"Whether I do or not is none of your business."
"...I do," he explained softly.
Sampson paused, part of him softening. "I do too," he murmured back. Then his resolve hardened again. "But those times are over. At most, we are business acquaintances, and at least, we are enemies. We've both moved on with our lives, after all."
"Not all of us. She misses her, you know. She still talks about her sometimes."
Sampson sighed. "Carson, please. That was over ten years ago."
"Look, the business deal wasn't the only reason I called. I also called because...well, something's come up."
"I don't want to hear it. You can't disclose information to me; I'm the enemy." It's for your own good, you fool, he added silently, saying the word "fool" the way a brother would say it.
"I know. But if we're doing business together, then—"
"No. Don't even go there. I don't deserve to know. And even if your daughter still talks about mine, I'm not doing anything that will put Cassandra at risk. Again."
"I'm sorry about what happened to her, Sampson. But I wasn't the one responsible."
"You could say the same about Damon, couldn't you?" he scoffed back. When the other man didn't reply, he added, "Whether or not you set the trap doesn't matter. Your kind did this to her, just like Damon killed Tyrone. And if your kind can blame my kind for one man's doing, then I can do the same."
A silence. Then: "You're just as difficult as I remembered, Sampson."
"I try to be."
"Well, I wish you nothing but the best. And may your daughter awaken soon."
Sampson didn't reply. He didn't tell him that Cassandra was already awake.
"Best wishes from Sophia as well. She misses Cassandra just as much as I do. We're sorry about what happened to her."
"...Me too," Sampson finally replied quietly. Then he hung up before his old friend could say any more; lest the guilt and nostalgia get to him.
He stared at the wall ahead of him, thinking. I wonder what he wanted to tell me. It's better I don't know though. But truth be told, when I said "me too", I didn't just mean I'm also sorry about what happened to Cassandra.
I also meant that I realized I missed them too. He closed his eyes and sighed. Carson; Sophia... I wish you nothing but the best as well.
ME: Well, this chapter certainly isn't as long as the last one, but that's alright! The last one was a doozy; here's a lighter one to snack on.
BRICK: Blossom wants me to apologize about the robbing thing, so...sorry.
BUTCH: Pussy.
BRICK: *punches him* Shut up.
ME: Welp, that's all, folks! I'll see you soon, or at least I hope so. Wifi won't be very reliable in Rome, although I'm not sure about the rest of the cities in Italy we're going to, but I'll be sure to write a lot! So look forward to that.
BLOSSOM: Have a safe and fun trip, Kuku!
ME: Thanks! I'll try. And hopefully Brick hasn't totally jinxed me about getting robbed.
BRICK: *face reddens* Hey, I said I was sorry.
BOOMER: Leave a review, please!
BUBBLES: Bye, everyone!