Eternal Night (III) Chapter 4: Inquisition, a van helsing fanfic

It's time to up the stakes.

CW: blood/gore, brutally graphic violence, and torture.

Chapter 4
Inquisition

Danny Polovsty shoved his fidgety hands into the pockets of his jacket, as if doing so would better conceal his nervousness.

He had always hated this part of town, even more so now that the city had gone so quiet these last few weeks. This level of stillness in the dead of night was especially unnerving, and to make matters worse, he couldn't shake the feeling that they were being watched. He glanced over at Damon who was walking casually alongside him. If the man was uneasy, he hid it well, eyes on the alert as they made their way down the empty street, but not even so much as a flicker of anxiety could be seen in his steady gaze.

"I'm not sure I like this," Danny confessed in a low voice.

"You worry too much," Damon assured him with a friendly smile. "Just because Vlad and Morene haven't been together in over a year doesn't mean we can't trust her. She's still a friend of the alliance."

"But we haven't seen her in months," Danny insisted. "She just… up and left. And now, after everything, she suddenly comes out of the woodwork because she has information on Basilio? It's almost too convenient."

"You think we're walking into a trap? That she's betrayed the alliance?"

"I don't know," the man admitted with a sigh, clearly conflicted. "It's just the timing of it… and she knows where our headquarters are – I don't see why she couldn't just come to us instead dragging our asses all the way out here."

"It's probably safer for her this way. Her flat is just a two blocks ahead. We'll go in, collect the info we need, and leave. Ten minutes tops, Dan, I promise. We'll be fine," and he gave him a rough pat on the back before quickening his pace.

Danny followed suit, though his hands remained in his pockets.

Desperate for a change in topic, he asked,

"So how are things with Carmen?"

Damon chuckled a little.

"You're seriously asking me that right now?"

"It's better than the silence."

"I like her," Damon conceded, eyes still ahead. "We get along well, though it's clear she's still pining after Rémy. Not that I take any of that personally…"

Danny snorted, but made no comment on that front.

"I enjoy spending time with her, though… and Vesper. That girl has a mean right hook and some killer instincts."

"Her aim with the knife throwing has certainly gotten better," he noted with a fond smile.

"I kind of want to start her on archery next. She knows her way around a gun, but I think she'd do well with something silent. She has a naturally light tread. If Leinhart gets this thing with Feng off the ground, I think it'd be good to train her as a spy or something."

"That is if Carmen will let her," Danny added with a knowing look.

"Your typical mama bear," Damon laughed. "I've noticed Frankie is a lot more liberal in the girl's education though. You think I should broach the topic with her first? Get her on my side before taking it to Carmen?"

They entered the silent complex where Morene's flat was located, lowering their voices down to whispers. Danny studied a displayed map near the leasing office. When he had identified the woman's apartment, he motioned with his head for Damon to follow.

"If you think Carmen will shoot the idea down, then yeah – always good to get Frankie on your side of things as a safety measure. But honestly, Carmen is reasonable. She knows Vesper's not a child anymore and the girl's been growing into her inherent abilities at an accelerated rate. She can only benefit from further training."

"That's what I've been thinking."

The two men made their way up a set of stairs to the flat they had been looking for, located on the second level, their conversation naturally dying off as they approached the door.

Damon lifted his hand to knock when Danny grabbed his wrist suddenly, stopping him. A single motion from his eyes had the man glancing down where the handle was – the wood had been cracked, as if the door had been recently kicked in.

That anxiety from earlier returned in full force as Danny reached for the gun holstered to his side just beneath his jacket. When he was armed, he nodded for Damon to open the door, watching with baited breath as it was pushed open slowly.

What they found within was a trashed apartment, furniture overturned and shredded, the walls littered with cracks and claw marks, dusted plaster and chunks of drywall scattered everywhere – as if someone had been repeatedly thrown about the room.

The two men moved throughout the dark flat with noted caution, hyper-aware of any noise or movement as they took in their surroundings.

Whatever had happened here, someone had put up one hell of a fight.

Damon had ventured back towards the hallway when he stopped suddenly, calling out Danny's name in a horrified whisper. The man joined him at the threshold of the bathroom and gasped.

The walls had been painted in blood, spatter and spray telling a story as a pile of ash on the counter beside the sink and another in the empty bathtub gave the ending away. Danny turned away to collect himself when he noticed the door at the end of the hall leading to the bedroom was open… and there was a pool of blood slowly spreading outward as the carpet soaked the crimson up. Whatever had happened here had been recent.

He tapped Damon's shoulder to get his attention and with an incline of his head, the two made their way down the hall.

What they discovered would haunt both men until the end of their days.

Strung up in thin silver-linked chains over the bed like a marionette doll was Morene – or rather, what was left of her. Her body had been contorted and broken almost beyond recognition, but her face had remained untouched – a stark and unnerving contrast to the violence she had endured. On the wall painted in what Danny could only assume was her own blood were the words – once a whore, always a whore – with a rudimentary painting of a spider punctuating the crude epithet.

Before he even had a second consider his next action, there was a loud thump at his side as Damon's face was abruptly slammed into the frame of the door. The crunch of bone was sickening as the man's neck was broken, rendering him unconscious. Danny only had a second to turn his head to see who had attacked them. Some nameless goon, but it wasn't hard to imagine who had sent him.

And then he too was met with a brief moment of pain followed by an endless black.

Pain.

It was all he knew. All he was conscious of.

A searing, breathtaking, exquisite pain.

He didn't even think it was possible to hurt this much, to be wounded so thoroughly, so masterfully… but he had been wrong. So very, very wrong.

Danny didn't know where he was or how much time had passed between when he and Damon had been jumped to the present.

All he knew was the pain.

No – not true. He knew a little more than that.

He had been stripped down to his skin at some point, now prostrate on a metal table that had since gone wet with his blood. His wrists and ankles were bound to the slab by thick manacles of silver-infused titanium, going off of the burn of the precious metal against his flesh and the fact that he couldn't seem to break himself free. And he had tried – more than once.

But the rest was darkness.

His eyes had already been blindfolded by the time he had been roused from unconsciousness with an elbow to his manhood. And then the beating had commenced. A senseless, repeated bludgeoning, mostly congregated in four certain points on his body.

Stomach.

Groin.

Knees.

Face.

Somewhere beyond his own shouts and wordless pleas for the abuse to stop, Danny had only been half-aware of what sounded like Damon enduring a similar treatment. There had been music blaring in the room, some aggravating noise that made it damn near impossible to ascertain the size of the space, let alone how many people had been in here with them.

After the beating came the next phase of the torture – broken fingers, the sharp edge of a knife carving mindlessly into his skin. A slice here. A cut there.

And as if that hadn't been enough, whoever had been called to work on them had thought it fitting to pour something into Danny's wounds. He couldn't identify it by scent alone. All he knew was that it burned like hellfire, until the pain was so intense, he could do little more than give way to his roiling nausea. The beating had stopped for only a moment when he began retching whatever blood he had consumed in the last three days all over himself and the metal table he was on. And then he was choking on bile as his captor held his head in place, laughing in the face of his suffering as he nearly asphyxiated into unconsciousness.

Just when Danny was certain he was about to pass out again, to his surprise, the torment came to an abrupt halt.

"All right, you can stop. I think you've warmed them up enough," a familiar voice called out from some corner of the room.

A chill ran down Danny's spine when he recognized the rich baritone; that unmistakable Spanish lilt.

The Spider.

Fuck, fuck, fuck…the word flitted repeatedly through his brain in a panicked chant as he struggled anew against his restraints.

The music was turned down to a more manageable level and Danny could hear the steady, purposeful tread of Basilio as he made his way across the room, just as the faceless tormenters from earlier took their leave. The sound of a door – perhaps eight paces away – closed behind them and then clicked as a deadbolt slid into position, locking them all inside.

Danny wasn't sure if he should be grateful or concerned by this shift in command, but he wasn't given much of a chance to mull it over.

Basilio had grabbed the front of his blindfold once the door behind him had closed and with a rough tug, the cloth came loose around Danny's head.

The lights above the table were abnormally bright, and not because he had been dwelling for so long in the dark. There was something off about the luminescent bulbs above him. Eyes already watering from their blaze, he turned his head to the side to grant himself reprieve, his sight adjusting to his surroundings.

He immediately noted Damon strapped to a similar table as he, not five feet away. The man's face was hard, attention fixed on the villain that now lingered between the two of them. But then his eyes flashed to something in the darkness beyond the Spider and a lick of fear flickered in his eyes. Danny couldn't get a decent enough look to see what had affected him so, but even in his ignorance, that cold dread had begun to curl anew in his gut.

"Well gentlemen," Basilio announced conversationally, "Now that we're alone, I figured we could take a few minutes to chat, see if we can find a way to avoid any further unpleasantness."

He grabbed a nearby stool and dragged it over to the space between his two prisoners. Once he had taken a seat, he started to roll up the sleeves of his dress shirt. He was already donning a clear, plastic apron that protected much of his clothing, and it made Danny wonder if he anticipated a distinct lack of cooperation from the pair of them.

Or maybe he didn't intend on sparing them at all in the first place…

Damon seemed to share a similar thought and the two men went tight-lipped in unison.

Basilio didn't seem the least bit disturbed by this.

"I recognize you from the blood factory," he continued instead, pointing briefly to Danny. "Which means you must be Damon Novák – if Miss Khiliani's information is to be believed."

Both prostrate men stiffened at the mention of Morene, exchanging a series of looks.

I told you it was a trap, Danny's eyes seemed to say.

Damon only nodded as if in apology before turning his face away to rest the back of his head against the table, a look of resignation on his face.

Morene had ratted them out after all. Or had she? If she had, why have them come all this way when she could have just led Basilio and his men directly to Carmen's? Why murder her if she had been his informant? Unless…

"I must admit, I was rather perturbed when I had learned of her betrayal," the Spider continued with casual indifference. "That she had abandoned me for your pesky little band of revolutionaries. But then a little bird informed me that she had fallen out with your alliance, though no one could tell me why. Not even she could… and the devil knows she tried. But something still had hold over her tongue… or someone. Someone far more powerful than I, and I was her sire."

He lifted his heels to prop his feet on one of the bars between the legs of the stool, his forearms now resting on his thighs as he leaned forward a bit.

"To her eternal credit, it took me months to track her down, and nearly an entire week to break her – I had never given her the recognition she was clearly owed for her resourcefulness. But everyone has their breaking points – even your beloved would-be queen, or so I've been told. And once I found Morene's, I had her singing for me like the nightingale she always was. And oh, the tale she had to tell…"

The placid expression on Basilio's face had shifted into a menacing grin, the harsh angles of his face accentuated by shadow. Even with the hanging lights over each captive's table, there was an unquenchable darkness in this room, something invisible to the naked eye: a silent, sleepless malice. Danny could feel it growing, could sense it feeding on the Spaniard – or perhaps even emanating from him. Whatever it was, it was evil.

Pure, unadulterated evil.

Danny shifted once more against his restraints, but not even Basilio batted an eye at his efforts. If anything, he barely even seemed to notice.

"Of course, unfortunately for her, much of what she had to share I already knew," the Spider continued with a bored sigh. "Though it was nice to receive insider confirmation about the alliance's inner circle. There's Rémy Chase, of course. And your precious Francesca, masquerading about for years as that meddlesome journalist, Madame Nemo – though I will admit, she was clever with her choice of alias and profession. Always a shadow, pretending to be no one when she's been the most important player on the board this entire time."

He almost sounded impressed.

"After those two siblings, the rest of you rabble are rather underwhelming. Danny Polovsty, old friend of the Chase siblings for decades now. Then there's Carmen Guillermo –the proprietor of that tavern that burned down almost a year ago, what was it called…. The Harpy? I heard it was a lovely little establishment, quite the jewel in the muck that was that part of town… Then there's you, Damon, of course. And then the Chase's brother-in-law – who I understand is quite popular among the witch community…"

He rattled on like this for a while, listing every key player that was or had ever been involved with the alliance.

Vampire.

Werewolf.

Witch.

Human.

All of them.

But there were two names of note that seemed to be missing from his list.

The first had both Damon and Danny sighing in secret relief – Vesper. At least she would be spared from this monster's attention.

The other, however, made something claw lightly at the back of Danny's brain, some unspoken suspicion that began to formulate slowly in his head as the Spider rambled on.

Vlad Leinhart.

Why didn't Basilio know about Vlad? More importantly, how had the man escaped his notice? Why hadn't Morene given the Spider his name as well? They had been involved for weeks, months even…

A memory stirred.

The last night anyone had seen Morene was the night Vlad had hauled her back into Carmen's booze cellar and the two had fucked so loudly, the entire establishment had heard the woman's keening.

But then she had vanished without a word or trace.

Danny hadn't really given it much thought before now. He had never really liked Morene – though admittedly, it was mostly for Frankie's sake – so when the woman had up and left, he hadn't cared enough to wonder why.

Was Vlad somehow behind it?

"You seem to know everything," Damon pointed out bravely, his interjection pulling Danny from his thoughts.

"Not everything," Basilio assured him. "Otherwise I'd have no need to keep you alive, now would I?" He rose from his stool, making his way over to that dark spot in the corner of the room that Damon had been eying nervously just moments ago. "See, that's how this works, gentlemen. The more use you are to me, the longer you get to live. But the moment your usefulness runs out…"

He flicked a switch on the wall and brightness of the lights up ahead were intensified twenty-fold.

Danny hissed, turning his eyes away from the light. He waited for the roar of burning pain, but to his relief, he was left unscathed. He had forgotten about the piece of tech Rémy had placed beneath his skin ages ago that protected him from the damaging rays of the sun. This made the light above him a nuisance, but it by no means hurt him.

Damon, on the other hand, had not been so lucky.

His scream flooded the small room, the stench of burning flesh a sickening fume that flooded Danny's nostrils, sending his nausea returning in full force. He had to bite down on his tongue to keep from vomiting. At last, Basilio flipped off the switch and the lights returned to normal.

Damon had gone quiet, though Danny would have almost preferred the sound of the man's agony over the way his skin sizzled and crackled like bacon in a frying pan. Steam rose up from the man's body as his blackened flesh slowly struggled to heal from the direct exposure to UV rays. The Spider was now hovering over the foot of Danny's table with a questioning look on his face.

"Now that's interesting," he mused to himself. "I thought I told them to check you both for daylight charms."

He made a quick study of Danny's fingers, then the inside of his mouth to see if something had been hidden in his teeth. When he started to poke around in the man's nether regions, Danny, though deeply uncomfortable with the physical violation of his person, shoved his horror down when Basilio's finger brushed his prostate a couple of times. It took everything in him not to shudder.

"You're not going to find anything up there," he ground out. The Spider looked up from his work with a dark grin that actually did send a shiver down his spine, but mercifully, the villain removed his finger from the orifice.

"Then where will I find it, Mr. Polovsty?" he asked menacingly. "I know you're a vampire – and a decidedly ordinary one at that. Don't make me skin you."

Danny knew perfectly well that that wasn't an idle threat.

But before he could have a chance to answer, Basilio had already returned his attention to the still-healing Damon.

"I suppose I can give you time to consider… in the meantime, Mr. Novák… how are you feeling?"

Damon glared directly up at the Spider, pure hatred in his eyes.

"Fuck. You."

The Spaniard laughed.

"Oh, I do love the brave ones!" he declared jovially. But then in a snap, the amusement in his face vanished. He flicked a switch on the side of the table and in a split second, a large silver stake shot out from underneath, straight through the top, impaling Damon directly in the gut.

The man roared out in pain but then Basilio's hand came over his mouth, muffling the sound.

"Now, now… save that for later… I don't want your voice giving out before I've finished with you. We've barely even gotten started."

"Leave him alone!" Danny shouted.

"I would stay out of this if I were you, Mr. Polovsty," but he ignored the warning.

"You're never going to get what you want out of us!"

"Is that a challenge?" Basilio asked, turning his head to look back at the man with a dark pleasure in his eyes. With an imperceptible flick of his finger, another switch on the table was pressed. There was a click and then the smell of gas.

The space underneath the table where Damon was still restrained illuminated with blue flame – like a burner on a stove. The fire wasn't anywhere near the metal slab above it, but it took very little imagination for Danny to realize just what Basilio intended to do.

The blood from Damon's gut wound had now pooled around him on the table, threatening to spill over the sides.

"Challenge me again," the Spider taunted, his voice low, smooth… like that of a lover. "I do love a challenge."

But Danny refused the bait and snapped his mouth shut.

There was nothing he could do or say to get them out of here.

No one knew where they were or what was happening.

There was a very good chance that neither he nor Damon would last until dawn – and that would be if some merciful deity was on their side. For all he knew, the Spider didn't have the penchant for torture in the same vein as Marcus Augustine reportedly did. At least in that he could take some, minuscule, microscopic comfort. Basilio lacked the patience to draw this out in the way Augustine would have.

But the thought of Marcus brought to Danny's mind the face of Francesca.

That haunted look she would get whenever Augustine's name was spoken, the way she'd go completely dead inside in those moments of extreme violence when she gave way to her inner demon.

Would he end up a victim to blood-rage come the end of this?

Would he survive long enough to find out?

Danny leaned his head back on the cold metal table, staring up at the dimmed light above his head as tears leaked from the corner of this eyes.

He steeled himself.

If Frankie could survive five years of marathon-like torture from the master of pain himself, he could survive the Spider.

He would not break.

But then he heard Damon's whimpers as the flames beneath his table licked upward, heating the metal. He felt his resolve fracture.

"Tell me where the alliance headquarters is located," Basilio was insisting, one hand on the knob that controlled the flames, another threaded through Damon's hair as he held his head in place, forcing the man to look up at him instead of turning away.

"Never!"

"Then why don't you tell me about this Carmen Guillermo I've heard so much about from Morene," the Spider crooned, his smile growing all the more wicked when he saw the flash of fear in Damon's eyes. "Where does she live?"

Damon pressed his lips together into a hard, thin line, even as Basilio increased the range of the flames beneath him. Danny could smell the man's fear from here – a sickly sweet perfume of horror tinged with something metallic.

"You know… Marcus tells me that the night he sent Bartos to extricate the female, she wasn't living alone at the time. She reportedly had a young dhampir girl with her."

Danny felt his gut plummet to the floor.

"A pretty little thing, but all accounts. Unruly brown hair, the most expressive set of eyes… and a nose shaped just like mine."

Damon snarled, fangs out.

"DON'T YOU FUCKING TOUCH HER!"

But Basilio barked out a hollow laugh.

That sound would haunt Danny for the rest of his miserable life – he was sure of it.

"You know… I had always wondered what had happened to my daughter, the seed I had foolishly left to germinate in Camilla's undeserving womb. The whore had insisted the child had been stillborn, but I knew better… I had always suspected."

The Spider turned the knob a fraction and the heat of the flames intensified.

"And while I could never find the proof of it, my instincts had always told me that that cunt, that would-be queen, had stolen her right from under my nose. You'd think I'd have learned a long time ago not to underestimate Frankie Chase, but it would appear I'm not the only man that continues to miscalculate the tenacity and resourcefulness of that particular female."

Damon bit down on his tongue to keep from crying out as the metal beneath his body heated up more and more, slowly searing his flesh.

"So if you won't tell me where the alliance congregates or where your pretty little Spanish tavern slut resides, why don't you tell me about my daughter?"

But the man kept his lips sealed, tears pouring from the corners of his eyes as the skin of his back, legs, and arms began to sizzle against the heated metal.

"No? You won't even give me her name?"

"I would rather die," Damon snarled through gritted teeth.

Basilio sighed heavily with what almost looked like genuine disappointment.

"Very well, then. If you insist."

He then turned the knob all the way, sending the flames to their maximum capacity and Damon shrieked behind tightly sealed lips. Basilio then started to make his way back over to the switch on the wall before pointing at Danny.

"You're next, Mr. Polovsty. Don't you disappoint me, too."

Before the man could even speak, Damon was calling his name between pained breaths.

"Danny… Danny… tell her… tell her I'm so sor…."

But then the Spider flicked the switch and the blinding light suddenly flooded the room.

Damon's blood-curdling scream reverberated through that small space, vibrating in Danny's bones until the man's voice finally gave out. Danny lied there, speechless and devastated beyond belief as he helplessly watched the table that held his friend's burnt husk glow red from the flames. Damon's flesh had already begun to blacken into a hardened husk from the UV rays as the flames cooked his back.

It took three minutes, one-hundred and eighty harrowing seconds for true death to finally take the man. When at last it did, his body immediately began to dissolve. The ash of his remains billowed in the air above the heated table. Even after Basilio had turned down the light and switched off the flames, they continued to waft overhead before falling slowly, almost gently down to the ground like snow.

The sudden stillness left Danny entirely hollow inside.

Damon was dead.

And he was next. He was going to die here – helpless and strapped to a table.

He closed his eyes as the tears continued to fall.

He would not let Damon's death be in vain.

He would not break.

He would not…

But then the sound of that stool being dragged slowly across the floor pulled him from his thoughts and he opened his eyes to see Basilio taking a seat right beside him, a tray of surgical tools situated at his left.

The Spider removed a scalpel, lifting it dramatically up to the light as if to study its razor sharp edge.

"Well, Mr. Polvosty… are you going to tell me where you've cleverly hidden that daylight charm of yours or will I have to go looking for it myself?"

Danny eyed the blade before swallowing his fear as he struggled to center himself, to will a rod of steel down his back.

He said nothing, the noted lack of reply causing the Spider to arch a brow.

"Are you sure?" Basilio asked. "You know, there are other ways I can extract information out of you that don't involve UV light. I honestly prefer the light," and he motioned to the dimmed bulb situated above them. "It's far less messy and time-consuming… but if you insist on doing this the old fashioned way, I'd be more than happy to oblige."

"I somehow doubt Augustine has given you that much time to work with," Danny replied tauntingly. "Otherwise you would have drawn out what you just did to Damon for far longer… but you didn't draw it out."

Basilio's expression hardened.

"You're on a time-crunch, aren't you?"

Danny didn't require a verbal confirmation. That look he received said plenty. It wasn't much, but it gave him a slight upper hand, an advantage, though it was minute. He dared to smirk, even if it was a hollow amusement.

He still wasn't going to make it out of this alive, but that didn't mean he couldn't stick it to this asshole one final time just to spite him. All Danny had to do was outlast the pain and keep his mouth shut; just hold it together long enough for Basilio's infinitesimal patience to give out, and then he'd be free. He could do that. He could keep his mouth shut.

For Rémy.

For Frankie.

For Carmen and Vesper and Jacob.

For Damon.

He settled into the metal table with a look of resignation and determination in his face. He didn't even bother to look at the Spider, though he could feel the rage roiling off of him in waves.

"You better get started then," Danny replied. "The sun should be rising in a couple of hours, and I'm sure your master will want a report from you before you retire for the day."

Basilio growled – pure predator as he gripped the scalpel in his fist, knuckles white.

"Skinning it is, then."

It was an hour after dawn when the Spider had finally left that basement room.

Danny floated in and out of consciousness for some indiscernible amount of time – hours, days, he didn't know.

But every inch of his body screamed as the metal table beneath cooled, the flesh of his chest and abdomen healing so slowly, he wondered if it would ever manage to stitch back together again. He could feel the skin of his back, the skin of his calves and shoulders and arms sticking to the metal slab beneath him, the smell of cooked undead meat leaving him nauseated, though not quite so much as it had initially.

His eyes were glossed over in a dazed numbness.

Danny felt hollow – a chasm of dark and pain and little else.

Why was he still alive?

How was he still alive?

Why hadn't Basilio finished the job?

The sway of the sun made his eyelids heavy. His very soul was pleading with him to submit to the exhaustion, to give in to the restorative rest of the day, but he couldn't bring himself to shut his eyes.

He could still see the silver glint of the scalpel running across his flesh, Basilio's blood-soaked fingers pushing beneath his skin as he peeled it back. The crack of ribs and mutilated fingers as he searched needlessly for the daylight charm that remained hidden at the base of his neck – though whether or not the thing still worked after his skin had all but been melted off he had no idea.

The Spaniard had interrogated him for hours – questions about the alliance, their headquarters, about Vesper – though not once did Danny ever utter the girl's name.

He hadn't uttered a word.

He only screamed when the pain became too much until his voice had grown hoarse and then it finally gave out entirely. Still Basilio had persisted – a show of restraint and patience that Danny had not anticipated. Perhaps he had underestimated the Spider. It wouldn't have been the first time, though given the way things were headed, it would undoubtedly be his last.

Danny suddenly felt a draft of cool air move through the room and his stomach clenched, abdomen tightening as the door silently opened and then closed.

What new hell had come for him this time?

Would death mercifully be around the corner?

He prayed to whatever deity would listen that true death would come to claim him before the sun had set, but the answer he received for his wordless pleas was the one he never in a million years would have anticipated.

Camilla Baquero stepped into the dim light of the lamp hanging over him.

Her eyes drifted over his body, taking in every detail, every lingering wound as she soundlessly assessed the damage before her. The beating of her human heart was steady as she lingered in that otherwise empty room, undisturbed by the violence before her. If anything, she appeared more saddened by the sight of him than disgusted.

With the utter quiet of a mouse, she made her way to the other side of the room to retrieve something before returning to his side, a pair of pants and a bottle of blood in hand.

He opened his mouth to speak, but she silenced him with a finger over his lips and a slight shake of her head, her eyes looking upward to the ceiling as if to suggest that they were not out of earshot. When he settled back into the table again, she broke the seal of the bottle and gingerly brought it to his lips, pouring the blood into his mouth.

It was cloned animal blood – and it was nearing its expiration date from the taste of it. But it was something. A splash of water in the middle of a desert at high noon.

Danny drank deeply as the woman nursed him, cradling his head upward with her thin arm until the bottle was empty.

It left a bitter taste in his mouth, but he nodded in gratitude, already feeling his body healing a little quicker than it had previously. The superficial cuts and burns were the first to stitch and smooth over, though the rest of him still ached from the abuse he had endured.

Silently, Camilla began to feel around for something on the side of Danny's table. Whatever it was she was looking for, she found it near his feet – a button that sent the manacles around his wrists and ankles retracting.

The sound of the cuffs opening was surprisingly loud as the mechanism clanked and sprang free. The pair stayed utterly motionless, tuning their ears to any sound or indication that they had been overheard.

By some divine miracle, the building above them remained utterly still.

With great care, Camilla took Danny's hand in hers and then gripped his upper arm, even as he winced at the tenderness of the flesh. Very slowly, she helped him into a sitting position, urging him with her eyes to stay silent as some of his still healing skin stuck to the table, tearing and ripping in places.

It took longer than she evidently would have preferred, but the human woman offered no word or expression of rebuke. Her eyes were brimming with determination as she then very carefully helped him off the table and into his pants.

While Danny finished off by zipping himself up, Camilla turned to spare a glance at the table that still held Damon's remains and she sighed heavily before crossing herself once – a silent prayer for mercy to a God Danny was certain had abandoned their entire race long ago.

But he didn't reproach her for her empathy.

If anything, it only served to tie his heart into a knot within his chest.

Camilla turned to look back at him, tears pooling in her eyes.

For the first time since his human savior had arrived, Danny took a moment to look at her – really look at her.

When she had first appeared, she had seemed angelic almost, even with her wraith-thin frame and graying hair. But now he could better see the dark circles under her eyes, the bruising on her arms and around her throat – as if someone had recently attempted to strangle her. She was gaunt to the point of extinction, and for a moment, he couldn't help but wonder how. How was this woman still alive? How had she survived years under Basilio's cruel fist?

What she whispered next answered that unspoken question.

"Take me to my daughter," she said, hand extended out to him.

Danny accepted her offer and together, they slipped out of the room.

A flight of stairs and two unnervingly empty hallways later, Danny began to wish he had thought to grab some kind of weapon with which to defend themselves first before they had left that hellish chamber in the basement down below. Perhaps even a handful of Damon's remains for Carmen's sake… But it was too late to turn back now.

Camilla had taken the lead as they made their way through the establishment, Danny's hand still in hers as she navigated the labyrinth of corridors and secret stairwells hidden between the walls to keep them out of sight.

There were several instances when he was certain they were going to get caught – either by a passing guard on duty or, in particular, a certain female of the staff that even had Camilla going utterly still when she passed by.

There was something about the woman's face that Danny didn't quite like – or rather, what he could make out between the boards in the wall. The female wore a permanent sneer that complimented the empty darkness of her eyes. Her gaze had lingered on the wall that separated them for nearly an entire minute in suspicion when a floorboard had creaked beneath Danny's heavy tread… but instead of investigating it, she had continued on her way, leaving Camilla in particular to sigh in relief.

There was history there, and if they managed to get out of this hellhole alive, Danny wanted to hear all about it.

How much further? he asked, pushing the question into her mind. She stiffened a little at first when she heard his voice in her head, but when she realized that he hadn't spoken the query aloud, she relaxed.

Not far. There's a loading dock in the back. We can slip out there and into the alley and take the backstreets. It'll keep us out of sight, she communicated back.

Glad you know where we're going.

They continued as she weaved them through the hidden passageways between the walls, stopping occasionally to listen or to wait for the coast to clear before proceeding further.

Thank you for saving me, Danny whispered in her mind after a little while. She squeezed his hand, but didn't look back.

When I heard he was questioning you about Vesper, I had to do something… I won't let him get his hands on my girl.

He won't. I didn't say anything…

No, but there's no guarantee that you wouldn't have broken after a while. I couldn't take that chance.

How did he find out about her?

Probably Morene… But after what he did to her, I can't resent her too much for spilling everything she knew just to make him stop. But now that he knows…

We'll keep you both safe, he assured her as she led them out of the wall and into a shadowy corner, both scanning the seemingly empty loading dock for any sign of life. We just have to get to Frankie. She won't let anything touch either of you.

I don't care what happens to me, Camilla replied back. But I will not let him use me to get to her either. Besides, I have no desire to die in here.

She motioned to the one solitary guard near the main door that led inside the brothel, but mercifully, he was too busy staring at his phone to notice much of anything.

They just had to avoid his line of sight, wait a beat or two behind the large crate near the edge of the dock, and then they could slip down into the narrow alley and they'd be home free.

Danny squeezed her hand once to bring her tentative gaze back to his. When she was looking up at him, he squeezed it once more for good measure.

Neither of us are going to die in captivity. I give you my word.

She nodded, but offered no further reply.

The human female turned to face the direction of the crate they had to get behind, eyes darting briefly toward the guard. On my mark… she whispered into his mind.

One.

Two.

"And where do you think you're going, you slippery little slut?" a cold, feminine voice snarled.

Then there was the click of a gun being cocked and the flash of a barrel.

And in one horrifying instant, Danny saw nothing but red.