Warnings for murder, poisoning, and systematic misogyny, homophobia and transphobia in Christianity and other Abrahamic religions.
Chapter thirteen-Her grandparents' killers
Maria and Melina, as the rest of the vampires had promised, hadn't been gone long. The vampires had kept patting Clarke's back and stroking her hair and reassuring her, as they waited for Maria and Melina to return.
Melina and Maria came back about an hour later, carrying bags of alcohol in their grasp.
They came into the house, as Felicia let them in and Felicia closed the door, locking it, as she, Maria and Melina walked back over to where Clarke was.
"Normally," Maria said, "I wouldn't want you to get drunk. Especially at your age. But I think you've had a long few days. Come to think of it, since your father passed away, I think you've had a long few years."
Clarke snorted. She wished that Maria's statement was inaccurate.
Melina and Maria stopped by the table and each of them reached into the bag to pull out the bottles they had purchased.
Hermione watched the two vampires that had gotten her the alcohol, feeling numb. She even looked numb.
Maria smiled sadly at Clarke, seeing how exhausted the young woman looked to be.
"Oh, Clarke," Wanda said softly, saying what everyone was thinking, "It will be alright. We'll keep you safe. And besides, now that Abby's been arrested? She'll go to prison for a long time. And everyone else who's hurt you, is dead. Now, you can just relax."
Clarke offered up a small laugh. What exactly was relaxing, by this point?
By this point, Clarke didn't know anything about relaxing. How could she relax after everything?
"I'll get some glasses," Sylvie said, going to the cabinets and got a glass for Clarke to drink from, bringing it over.
Clarke looked at the bottles that Maria and Melina had bought.
One bottle of Amaretto, a bottle of Limoncello and a bottle of Frangelico.
"Want to see if you like any of these?" Maria asked, smiling.
Clarke nodded, gesturing to the Limoncello. "I guess that one, then," she said.
Maria nodded and opened up the bottle, and poured some into the glass that Sylvie brought over.
"Clarke, love," Wanda said softly, "Let us take care of things. You've been so tired, haven't you? Let us look after you. You have been doing everything. You've been carrying the burden of trying to solve your father's murder and trying to bring justice to him. But Clarke, there's no need for that anymore. You're so tired, aren't you? Let us take care of you," Wanda cupped Clarke's chin and got Clarke to look at her as she looked at Clarke hopefully.
Clarke almost shivered. She hated how tempted she was by Wanda's words.
Just to let go. Just to let someone else take the responsibility. These past few days were seriously really, really tiring.
Clarke then remembered something vital.
Wanda could influence peoples' minds.
Clarke pulled away, gasping, staring at Wanda, unable to help the fear she felt as she gazed at the orange-haired vampire.
Startled by Clarke's fear, Wanda narrowed her eyes at Clarke, looking hurt.
"Clarke?" Wanda asked.
Clarke stared at Wanda as she asked, "How much influence do you have over my mind right now?"
Wanda's eyes widened and she nodded, looking somewhat hurt. And Clarke hated that she felt bad for Wanda for a few seconds.
"I understand," Wanda said, but she still sounded sad, "I'm not trying to influence your mind right now, Clarke, I swear. I just would like you to let us take care of you. But I promise. I'm not influencing your mind right now."
Clarke shifted back in her seat and shook her head, trying to remind herself what these women were. They were killers. They were creatures that had horns, wings, tails, claws and fangs. That they were capable of absolutely horrible things.
And that she shouldn't trust them. Ever.
They were centuries old. Maybe even older. Which meant, they'd been manipulating her family for centuries.
What, because she was their mate, she was different? She doubted it.
Clarke had never really thought she'd ever experience "great romance." From her limited experience? Anya was the closest she'd ever known to a great romance. And well, she'd keep in mind how that relationship had ended.
And Finn and Murphy? Well, Finn hardly had counted as "romance." She had thought she'd loved him. But it was a passing fancy.
Murphy? He had simply been a drug. Something that she'd use to numb herself, so that she wouldn't think about Anya breaking up with her.
Murphy had been a considerate lover, but he hadn't been "the great love of her life."
That had been Anya. And Anya had split things off with Clarke, because in the words of the vampires in front of Clarke, she'd been too afraid to love Clarke. She'd been too weak.
So, Clarke, for the time being, had given up on sexual love and romance.
She had figured that that wasn't something she was meant for, as much as it hurt some part of her.
She'd forced herself to be alright with that, and tried desperately to focus on anything else.
At least, she'd tried to.
Focus on other things, that was.
But it didn't change that the thought that she'd never find real romantic love that was permanent for her, hurt.
Now this?
What could she trust?
Could she really trust that a group of vampires, fourteen of them, if she counted correctly, believed that she was their mate, and had tracked her ancestors' bloodline for centuries, to find her, when she eventually was born?
That…that was too much. That was asking her to believe too much.
Not just to believe that vampires had tracked her ancestors' bloodline, but to believe that she had mates, multiple mates. Soulmates that had intended to make her theirs since before her paternal grandfather was born.
Sure, she supposed she could just believe her eyes and ears. Because these vampires were right here, telling her that they wanted to be with her and that they wanted to take care of her.
The thirteen vampires, they wanted her, wanted to be with her.
Was that possible? Was that true?
Some part of her wanted to believe that, but could she?
If she believed that, what would that mean? That she was giving enough leeway, for these vampires to leave her, like her own mother had left her? Like Anya had left her?
Like Murphy had?
"You don't believe us when we say we want to protect and take care of you, do you?" Natasha asked, smiling sadly at Clarke.
Clarke shifted a bit on her seat, but hesitantly nodded.
Several of the vampires sighed. "We understand, sweetie," Wanda said, "This is hard for you. I'm sure it's been a long time since anyone told you how much they loved you. But we do love you. We love you so much. And want to protect you."
When Clarke looked at them, startled, Wanda continued, deciding to push Clarke's hesitation, "Just let us take care of you, Clarke. Stop stressing yourself by making hard decisions and let us make the decisions."
Now, as exhausted as Clarke was? It was those words that instantly made her tense.
She glared at Wanda. She said, "Let you make the decisions? In other words, I get no say."
Maria sighed, "That isn't what we mean, sweetie. What we mean, is that, when you come back from anytime you're at work or coming back from being with your friends? We take care of things. Let us take care of things. Look at you, you're exhausted. We can take care of things. if you'd let us."
Clarke glared away from them. She hated that their words sounded tempting.
Maria then spilled some Limoncello into the glass and pushed the glass to Clarke.
"Thank you," Clarke got out, picking up the glass. Thinking about this was difficult.
Some part of her wanted to be defiant, to be angry. After everything? She wanted to be able to claim her choices, her agency. She wanted her choices to be hers.
But she was just so, so tired.
And she hated how she could feel herself slowly giving in.
But she had to resist.
Wanda claimed that she wasn't using her powers on Clarke, but they must have read her mind, because Natasha nodded as she said, "Alright. Take your time, malen'kiy. If you need to take your time, love? Please do. We understand. Just take your time. But if you let us? We'll take care of everything. I promise."
Again, even if Clarke knew that it was wrong, she could feel herself being tempted by the words that she was being given.
Perhaps her being distrusting of promises to protect her and to take care of her, was a sign of her being paranoid, even without there being possessive vampires in the room with her.
But in her defense? She felt like she had reasons to be paranoid.
Her father dying-and as it turned out, her father being murdered, her being disowned by her own mother, being abandoned by her own mother, the woman who she thought she was going to be with for the rest of her life, Anya, abandoning her, and claiming that it was for her own good, and being involved with a drug dealer, who was fine with involving her in his fucked up life, then allowing himself to get so involved that he got killed brutally.
After all of that? She felt like she had reasons to be somewhat paranoid.
After all, she was very experienced by now in knowing what the feeling of "the other shoe dropping." And she was familiar with the shoe dropping hard and painfully.
She felt like she had every reason in the world to be paranoid.
As for them taking care of her? Fuck, Clarke wasn't sure she could deny that that was what she wanted.
She had been so tired, for what felt like so long.
She had tried to pretend that she was alright for so long, that she could handle everything.
But it had exhausted her.
She knew that Bruce, Steve, Sharon and Sam tried to take some of the burden off of her, but for her, responsibility was strong.
Her mother and father both had taught her well in that.
The difference between them had been their reasons for teaching her responsibility.
Her dad had taught her responsibility so that she'd have a happier life. Her mom had taught her responsibility so that she dump all her promises on Clarke.
And Clarke had figured that much out now.
But nonetheless, Clarke was tired. So damned tired.
She was honestly exhausted.
Again, the emotions on her face, must have been clear. Because the vampires stepped closer, a few of them sitting down closer to her, and smiling at her tenderly.
"It's alright, Clarke," Wanda said, "Just let us take care of you. Relax and let us take care of you."
Again, Clarke wanted to agree. But she…how could she? There was so few pieces of evidence that she could trust these women or anyone, after everything.
She trusted Sam, Bruce, Sharon and Steve. She did. But she had known them for years. And her father had trusted him.
But she didn't know these women. Not even close. Hell, she knew nothing about them.
Seeing Clarke's uncertainty, Sylvie quickly spoke, "Clarke, think, how did this house end up in your possession?"
Clarke frowned at that. What type of question was that?
"Because my dad died, obviously," Clarke said, "You know that."
"Yes," Natasha said, a sad chuckle leaving her, "We know. But tell us, why did your father leave the house to you in his will? Why not sell it or have it demolished? Do you think that your father didn't know about us?"
Clarke froze, staring at Natasha, Wanda, Sylvie and the others. The question from Natasha, hit her like a ton of bricks to the face.
Her father…knew about this? Knew about these vampire women?
And he hadn't told her?
Seeing Clarke's utterly confused expression, Mari decided to explain. "Clarke," she said, "Your entire family knew about us, save for Abby. Maurice and Pierre Dumont knew about us. Their daughters knew about us. Pierre's daughter, Marie and her husband, Phillipe, knew about us. Their son, Henri Boucher, knew about us. Henri's daughter, Aimee Boucher, later Aimee Lavigne, knew about us. Jean Lavigne, her husband knew about us. Their children, Pepper and Hugo, knew about us. Hugo's daughter, Isabelle and her husband, knew about us. Leon and Gabriel knew about us. And I promise you, Jake Griffin, knew about us."
Clarke stared at Mari, brain not fully understanding what she heard.
If everyone knew about this, if her own father, knew about this, how could he not tell her? How could he not warn her?
How could he not tell her, that there were thirteen vampires out there, obsessed with her, hunting her before she had even been born?
Seeing the hurt and confusion all over Clarke's expression, Natasha said softly, "Your father didn't tell you. But it wasn't because he didn't love you. He didn't tell you, because he trusted us. He knew that we would always be there to protect you and love you. He trusted us. And besides, if he told you about us from the beginning? What do you think that would have done to you? If he had told you that you were meant to be with us, telling you when you were very young, what would that have done to you mentally and emotionally?"
At Clarke's confused look, Natasha continued, "You, a young girl and you worshipped everything your father said. If your father told you that you were meant to be with us? How would that have affected you? Yes, we intend to keep you forever, even if you refuse us. But if your father had told you that that was going to be the case from the beginning? Do you think you would have grown to be as independent as you've grown up to be?"
Clarke stiffened, thinking about that.
She…honestly hadn't thought of that.
But thinking on Natasha's words, she realized that the redheaded vampire was right.
If her dad had told her, since she was small, that she was meant to be with several vampires romantically, that her fate was decided from the moment she'd been born, would she have had any incentive to refuse? No.
Because as Natasha said, Clarke had worshipped her father. She still did. Dead or not, in her eyes, her father had been the greatest man she'd ever known.
And if he had told her when she was young, that she was meant to be with a group of vampires who claimed that she was their "mate," then she wouldn't have questioned it. Ever. If her dad had said it was so, she would have agreed that it was so.
By not telling her, Clarke's father had more or less allowed Clarke to have her autonomy. To own her life.
Clarke did still feel stunned and hurt and even somewhat angry that her daddy hadn't told her about these vampires and given her some warning.
But hearing it put the way that Natasha put it? She sort of understood.
What did confuse Clarke, was why her father hadn't even tried to get her away and keep the vampires from getting their hands on her.
"Okay," Clarke said, "Fine. But why didn't my father try to get me away from all of you and keep me safe from you?"
At this, all eight Natasha, Mari, Helena, Sylvie, Shayera, Maria, Felicia and Carol chuckled.
And all five Wanda, Melina, Brunnhilde, Yelena and Dinah looked hurt.
"Because, Clarke," Helena said, snickering, "Your father trusted us with you. He knew that we'd love you. That we'd take care of you."
Clarke shook her head. No. No, she couldn't accept that her father had known about all this, and that he'd known that there were vampires after her, fixated on her, and he hadn't told her, and had trusted these murderous women before his death. She just couldn't accept that.
There was no way her father could have known about all this, and not tell her.
Not try to keep her safe from these women.
"Would you like proof?" Sylvie asked, tilting her head, smirking, "We can give you proof. I gather that you'd recognize your father's handwriting, if it was provided to you, right? Your father interacted with your grandfather, Gabriel, before your grandfather and gandmother's deaths. Through mail. Not emails. I suppose they thought that the paper mail would be harder to track, than actual emails. Since emails are monitored like phone calls are. There was mail sent to your father, and from him. Since your father was the last person that owned this house before you, he kept the letters he got from his father, Gabriel, here. And Gabriel, since he inherited the house before your father did, he kept the letters that he received from your father, Jake, here too. Would you like to see those letters? As proof that your father trusted us?"
Clarke eyed these women, not trusting them. But then she felt the words come out, "Yes, I would."
Smiling, Sylvie left, moving as fast as a blur, Clarke barely able to see the other blonde move, and a few seconds later, Sylvie returned, with several envelopes in her hands.
Sylvie was still smiling as she placed several of those envelopes down on the table in front of Clarke.
Clarke sucked in a breath, reaching out for the glass of Limoncello that Maria had poured for her and picked the glass up and began to drink from it.
If she was going to face the possibility, that her own father had allowed her to be stalked and eventually end up in the hands of a bunch of murderous vampires, then she'd need to be at least slightly inebriated.
She gulped down the Limoncello, and put down the glass in front of Maria and looked at the brunette. "Another one, please," she requested.
Maria chuckled and nodded, spilling some more Limoncello into Clarke's glass.
After downing her second glass, Clarke opened up the envelopes that clearly had been torn open previously, and pulled out the letters inside, she unfolded the papers and inspected the letters.
Her eyes widened, recognizing her father's handwriting.
Her father had a distinct had writing. Writing in print, but oddly, with almost script like edges at the tops and bottoms of each letter of each word.
From the date on the envelope that had held this paper, this letter had been sent from her father to his father, when she had only been five years old.
And she read what Jake's letter said.
The letter, in Jake Griffin's words, said, "Dear dad,
I know that you are afraid of them, dad. I don't blame you. They are dangerous. I will never argue with you on that matter. But they would never hurt her. I know you're worried about my daughter, dad. I appreciate that. But Clarke isn't in danger. I've met them. They only want to protect her. And they know to wait till Clarke is of age. I know the stories you grew up with. I know, because you told me those same stories. But I trust them. As long as they look after Clarke? I trust them.
I love you, dad.
Your son,
Jake Griffin."
Clarke placed down the letter down, then opened up another one, reading it.
She felt like more bricks were dropped down on her.
Every letter that appeared to be from Jake, stated that he trusted the thirteen vampires that had stalked his daughter her entire life.
And he more or less agreed that they'd be good for her.
Clarke's heart hammered in her chest as she opened up the letters that Gabriel Griffin had sent to her father.
She looked over the letters, many of them sent to her father, around when she was a small kid, right before he and his wife, Marsha, had died in that car accident. Assuming it was an accident.
Clarke read the letters Gabriel had sent to Jake and she felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up on end.
It was very clear from these letters, that Gabriel Griffin, had not approved of the vampires being connected to his granddaughter. And had tried to get Jake to take Clarke away from the vampires, somehow.
And not long after that? Both Gabriel and his wife had died in a car crash.
Clarke slowly lifted her head to stare up at the vampires. She allowed the accusation to leak into her voice as she spoke, "My paternal grandparents died in a car accident? I find that hard to believe, going off these letters."
Finally, she watched as flashes of guilt crossed the vampires' faces.
Clarke sighed, pain slashing through her in realization. "You did it, didn't you?" She said, "You killed my father's parents."
Hearing Clarke's sad statement, several of the vampires, even the more arrogant looking ones, flinched at Clarke's words.
"Gabriel and Marsha Griffin," Wanda said, staring at Clarke and Clarke actually gasped at the potent pain in the orange-haired vampire's eyes as Wanda spoke, "They were trying to stop us from eventually being with you. Had they lived till you were eighteen? They would have tried to keep you from us."
Clarke stared at Wanda, stunned. "You're admitting it?" She asked, shocked.
Maria smiled sadly. "Clarke," she said, "We might as well put all our cards out on the table. Your great-uncle, Leon, he trusted us. He was foolishly curious, as we told you. And it led to a heart attack. But Gabriel and Marsha? They hated us. Believed we were creatures who were created from the devil. As I'm sure you know, your father's father and his wife, were very religious."
Clarke grimaced, nodding. Okay, she knew that. While her paternal grandfather had always been critical of his family's beliefs in whatever it was that they believed in-and as it turned out, that being vampires.
But Gabriel and Marsha both had been very religious. They had been very devout Christians.
Clarke suspected that that was one of the reasons why her dad hadn't wanted her anywhere near his parents.
Because he had wanted her to grow up independent. To have a brain.
To be able to make her own choices and not be a sheep.
Her dad had always told her, that if she was ever going to be religious in any way? He just asked that she never become a part of any Abrahamic religion. That if she felt the need to become religious, then to become a part of one of the religions that were considered, "Pagan" religions. Non-Abrahamic religions. "Pagan" was what the non-Abrahamic religions were called and it was a derogatory word for non-Abrahamic religions.
Part of her father's reasons for telling her to do this, was because of how the three different branches of the Abrahamic religions, treated women and girls. And those who were in the LGBTQ community.
Her father would always tell her, as she grew up, that Christians-especially Evangelicals, Islam-specifically, the more extreme groups of that religion, and ultra-orthodox Jews-(specifically, ultra-orthodox Jews only), treated women like they were less than men, and treated homosexuals and anyone who was even remotely sexually attracted to the same sex, as monsters to be cast out, "fixed" or killed even, and wouldn't even discuss the possibility of trans people and nonbinary people.
The majority of all three religions weren't like that, but misogyny, homophobia and rigid gender roles were at the root of all three religions.
Which was why Jake had made sure Clarke remembered that if she were ever to become religious, it was best if she became any religion, that wasn't of any of the Abrahamic religions.
Clarke remembered hearing one time from her dad, about how his father and mother had died in the car crash, and she, at the age of eleven, remembered seeing something she found disturbing.
She remembered seeing relief in her father's eyes.
But she had told herself, that she had to have imagined it.
But now? Now, she wasn't sure about what she believed she had imagined.
Clarke huffed out, "I barely knew my paternal grandparents. But it was wrong that you killed them."
Wanda nodded. "We know that it would hurt your father. And you. But we couldn't let him keep you from us," she said.
Clarke shivered. These vampires had killed multiple family members of hers. Her ancestral uncles, Michael and Steven Browne, undoubtedly, deserved what they got. And Leon Griffin had been an accident.
But Gabriel and Marsha Griffin? They literally had been murdered. And they hadn't threatened anyone with any guns and hadn't raped anyone, like Michael and Steven Browne had.
Maybe Gabriel and Marsha Griffin had been narrow-minded Christain bigots, but they couldn't have deserved to be assassinated.
"How did you do it?" Clarke asked, unable to help the accusation in her voice.
There were several vampires that winced, and several of them sighed.
Natasha closed her eyes and nodded.
Melina smiled sadly as she said, "Gabriel and Marsha were driving along a dark road. And we leapt out at them from the forest, jumping onto their windshield and scaring Gabriel, and he allowed the car to drive out of control. And he slammed the car into a tree."
Clarke shivered.
Her father might have abhorred his parents' beliefs, but what must it have been like for her grandparents?
To be in that car, then see something jump across the hood of their car? To have no idea what it was that had jumped across the hood of their car.
Or worse, to know exactly what it was that had jumped across the hood of the car, and to know why the creature that had jumped across the hood of the car, was there and why they intended to kill you.
To know that the reason why the creatures on the hood of their car, was there to kill them, was because those same creatures intended to take Gabriel and Marsha Griffin's granddaughter as their prize.
"I….," Clarke breathed in deeply, gulping down some more Limoncello, feeling her mind begin to get dizzy and fuzzy, "I think…I think I need some time alone, okay?"
Several of the vampires looked sad, but agreed.
"Alright, Clarke," Maria said, "Take as much time as you need. I know this is a lot to absorb."
Clarke nodded, tapping her finger against the glass in her hand and Maria, chuckling poured some more Limoncello into the glass.
Clarke gulped down that glass of alcohol and placed the glass down and said, pushing herself back from the table, "Yeah, it's a lot. Finding out my paternal grandparents were killed by the people that say that they're supposed to be with me romantically? That's fucking a lot to deal with."
She didn't hold back her glare at the vampires as she got up, walking around them to the stairs.
She went up the stairs to her room, not wanting to think about any of this.
What would it mean if she willingly got into a relationship with these vampires? That she willingly got into a relationship with the people that had murdered her father's parents?
Vampires that intended to not give Clarke a choice whether or not she wanted to be with them and take her as theirs, one way or another?
Even slightly inebriated, Clarke wasn't sure she could deal with this right now.
When she got upstairs to the room she'd been staying in, she slammed the door hard, not caring that the vampires could hear it, most likely hear it very loudly.
When Clarke got to the middle of the room, she said, positive that the vampires could hear her perfectly, "You're asking too much from me. Way too much. You killed my grandparents. Intentionally. I asked you to leave things with Abby alone, and you forced her to poison everyone in her house. I don't know how to trust all of you."
She shook her head, knowing that if she meant what they claimed she meant to them, then her words were hurting them, but she needed them to understand why she couldn't trust them, "I don't think I can trust any of you."
Clarke knew that she probably had just hurt their feelings deeply, if they cared about her like they said. But she was just so tired. And so drained. She hated that she was actually thinking about the possibility of actually letting these murderers "take care of her," like they claimed they wanted to.
But she did. And she hated that.
And as she sat down, eventually laying down on her side on the bed, grabbing Maurice Dumont's diary and opening it up and looking at the pages that shouldn't have been comprehensible to her, because she didn't know a word of French and the diary was completely in French, yet she could understand perfectly, so long as she was in the Lavigne Manor, she wished she could hate these vampires.
But with a terrible realization, she found that she could not.