Author's note: Ok, there is a line in here that Whistler says that is not mine. It belongs to the person who wrote the abridged script of Blade over at the Editing Room site. But, I wanted some humor in here, and it fit, so I borrowed it. Just thought I would give a heads up though and cover my ass.
Disclaimer: I only own the werewolves and Faris. The rest belongs to New Line, David Goyer, Marvel, and whoever else. Please do not sue me. Savvy?
CHAPTER FOUR: RIVALRY CAN BE A THIN LINE BETWEEN LUST AND HATE
Melantha idly ran her fingers along Ulric's chest, lightly brushing the tips against his skin. Her forefinger traced a circle around one nipple, then brushed over it before trailing down to his stomach. She could feel him shudder beneath her, his chest rising a falling more rapidly as his breathing became labored, her ear pressed to his left breast so she could listen to the steady and speeding rhythm of his heartbeat.
"I arouse you so easily still?" she asked softly, though her tone gave away the fact that she was assured in the fact that she still held such power over him. She always had, somehow, and she knew she always would.
"Yes," Ulric answered, despite knowing she didn't need him to confirm it. "You can bring me to my knees with a single kiss," he whispered before kissing her forehead.
The alpha female moved, propping herself up on her arms, her palms placed on the mattress on either side of him. Her lips formed a small smile, contentment filling her eyes. "It amazes me how you can inspire such awe with others, with myself, yet when it comes to us, you give worship and submit to me," Melantha stated softly.
"I never wanted to make you submit to me, ever," Ulric replied, propping himself up as well, leaning back on his elbows as he kissed Melantha deeply. "I loved you because of your proud yet compassionate and noble nature, the ability to reign without ruling," he whispered into her ear as he nuzzled her. "You had strength and beauty and you were fiercely loyal to your people. I never wanted to make you submit, never wanted to break you."
Melantha sighed softly, her lips parted and her eyes closed, her face a mask of pleasure. She returned the nuzzle, relishing the simple contact that was now instinctive for her and the animal beneath her skin. "I did submit to you, Ulric," she replied, her voice as soft as his. "I submitted willingly, and have never been broken."
Ulric lifted a hand to Melantha's neck, gently caressing it as he kissed from her ear, across her jaw, to her mouth, kissing her fiercely. "Anyone who ever breaks you will die," he whispered. "Anyone. Even if it's me."
"Well, at least I'll never have to worry about the latter," Melantha replied before kissing him again. "It's not possible for you to even desire to break me, and you are wholly wolf," she added, kissing down his neck.
As if in response to her last statement, a guttural growl escaped Ulric, his head falling back to give her more access. "True, but if I ever should, I would order myself to be killed," he replied, voice husky, and Melantha could feel the wolf tremble beneath the skin she teased. Another growl came from Ulric as she grazed her teeth over his throat, canines sharpening and scraping against him, never cutting.
"Stop," Ulric whispered hoarsely, his hands moving to hold her neck, gently pulling her head up for another kiss, hungry and primal. "You drive me mad," he told her, and her eyes bled black.
"That, my wolf, is the point," she whispered back, shifted her body onto him fully so that she straddled him again. "And I will push you to insanity before we leave this bed again," she promised, a predatory grin spreading across her exotic features.
This was what she loved most. The thrill of the mating. The teasing and tormenting and then the exquisite release, the hunger and lust and tenderness that kept them from tearing each other to pieces with need. It was an everlasting fire that burned inside her, always burning, sometimes reduced to an ember, sometimes a blazing inferno that threatened to kill her even though she was immortal.
It was Ulric's gift to her, to himself, to the both of them, and it pleased her and the wolf Ulric had sired in her.
"Wicked tease," Ulric replied, but in his silvery eyes she could see the desire for her to fulfill her promise. He was handsome and disheveled, a beast and a man in one, and Melantha herself didn't know where one ended and the other began. But then, the line blurred in her own mind between herself and her wolf. It was the nature of the lycanthrope, and he was as close to pure wolf as one of their kind could be.
Melantha moved up, kissing along his bearded jaw until she reached his mouth, her tongue slowly pushing past his lips as she began to kiss him, languidly and deeply. She raked her nails over his chest, making him shudder again.
His hands slid down her back, palms pressed flat against her skin, the fingers kneading her flesh when they reached her buttocks, and she purred into him as she kissed him fiercely. A growl emitted from her mate in reply, and she grinned against him.
It did so please her when he growled like the animal he truly was.
Meira could sense Nomak's uneasiness, and she had kept her mouth shut while they walked down the hallways. She didn't want to make him any more tense or insulted, as she had already suffered enough humiliation because of her actions toward the reaper.
Besides, she wasn't that mean spirited.
He seemed genuinely bothered by her comments and attitude right now, perhaps merely because he had been expecting the biting, snarky female he'd talked with earlier. Or perhaps it was because he was unused to this sort of attitude from anyone, much less a female who barely knew him and barely tolerated him the other time they'd been in a hallway together.
Whatever the reason, Meira had kept silent and given Nomak some space.
Although, she was a little thrown off by the fact that he had answered the door without a shirt and hadn't bothered to put one on before their excursion. She had meant what she said, her kind wouldn't be bothered, but she hadn't expected it from him.
She hadn't expected him to be so, toned, either.
Whoa, down girl. You did not just think that. Ok, maybe you did, but not in that way. Definitely not in that way. Ok, maybe slightly. But it's instinct - you're female and you're lycan, you're entitled to admiring someone of the opposite sex who's tall and toned and isn't afraid of getting dirty or bloody. Right?
Meira gave a soft sigh and shook her head slightly as they neared the kitchen in the lab section of the lycanthrope headquarters. Also known as the home of Ziodex Industries, the business that Ulric had built up to rival the vampires' own industry.
Nomak must have noticed her exasperation, probably thinking it was directed at him. "What, not fond of your company, Princess?" he asked, and Meira turned to face him sharply at the nickname more than the comment.
"What did you just call me?" she asked, trying not to sound angry or annoyed. She ended up sounding like she was trying not to sound angry or annoyed.
"Princess," Nomak calmly replied, a smug smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "You act like one, might as well address you properly," he added, his raspy voice making the insult sound even more biting to her ears.
Meira growled, eyes flooding black, but she closed them and turned away, inhaling deeply. "Look, if you think I was annoyed with you, I wasn't. I am now, but when I sighed I wasn't. I was just trying to clear my thoughts, because I was growing annoyed with myself," she told him through clenched teeth.
Opening her eyes, confident she had control over their coloring once more, she glanced over at Nomak, who looked like he didn't know what to do. She could tell he felt that he was supposed to say "Sorry," but wasn't sure how to go about it. The sight made Meira feel a slight twinge of guilt and even sympathy.
Obviously, this guy didn't get out enough, or at least didn't have enough interaction.
"Look, I'm sorry I don't always have the best attitude around you, or even seem to tolerate your company half the time," she said, softening a bit. "But I honestly wasn't annoyed with you or anything. This time, it was myself being the problem," she said, trying to relieve herself of the guilt more than put him at ease. She tried telling herself she didn't care enough about him to feel bad about being selfish.
Not that she even cared at all, really.
Nomak smirked and leaned over so that his eyes were level with hers and not that far away, either. Close enough for Meira to grow drunk on the scent of blood on his breath. "Don't worry, Princess, you'll get used to that. I already have," he told her, and Meira could have sworn his eyes were glowing with amusement.
"You're insufferable, and that's the best insult I can give without getting in trouble," Meira bit out before turning and striding briskly down the hall to the kitchen door. She was seething and wanted to tear Nomak apart with her claws, but she couldn't do that.
Besides, it was a joke. An annoying one at her expense, one made with dry humor that cared little if it offended, but still, it was Nomak's form of a joke.
Could she really fault him for not having a better sense of humor? After all, she knew he probably hadn't actually been hailed as the vampire prince he truly was, judging by the information on him Ulric had been able to get a hold of. And now, he was in constant pain.
Meira knew he was burning and tired, she knew he could never stop feeling the thirst, she and Karen had discovered all of that in their studies before Nomak had woken up. She knew that the reaper strain killed those infected, but Nomak, no matter how hungry he was, he wouldn't die from it. She was well aware that he like the rest of his kind, wasn't a mindless zombie like most of the other reapers were, and he wouldn't lose himself to the animalistic instinct that made the others gnaw on themselves when they were so desperate for food.
And she hadn't been a complete saint around him. So maybe she deserved some of his twisted humor. Still, she didn't have to like it.
The reaper that was taking control of most of her thoughts - much to her annoyance - finally walked into the kitchen, his hands still in his pockets. His pale skin looked even paler under the bright, white lighting of the room, and his veins were clearer as well.
She could probably trace one vein's complete pathway without even having to look hard. She could also mentally slap herself for being completely random and odd.
Nomak watched her with detached amusement as he walked past her to the fridge. He opened it, taking a bag of blood out of it, and ripped it open, downing the contents quickly. He then threw the bag away, still silent, before gesturing to her hand.
"You might want to throw the other bag out as well," he said, reminded her of the empty plastic bag he'd drained at his room.
Meira tossed the bag, trying not to glare at him or show her irritation. She kept repeating the words, "He's Ulric's guest and he's in pain," in her mind like a mantra, and so far it was helping. Of course, she knew there was a chance he would open his mouth again and make another annoying and insulting comment, and then she'd probably snap at him.
Literally.
"Can I have another?" he asked as he watched her, placing his hand on the fridge door, obviously not yet full.
Good thing they had plenty.
"Sure, you're the guest," she replied softly, tired all of a sudden. Her anger and annoyance had died down, leaving her drained and too tired to be exasperated. She leaned back against a counter, waiting for him to finish so she could escort him back to his room. Since she wasn't supposed to just leave him, that would be rude.
She had gotten into enough trouble over being, "rude."
Nomak nodded and opened the fridge again, pulling out another bag. He quickly repeated what he had done with the last bag, the sight of it starting to awakened Meira's own hunger. As he tossed the last bag, she ignored her stomach's whines for food. Once Nomak finished, she could take him back to his room and then get a meal of her own.
"Your stomach's talking," Nomak remarked, watching her with a curious expression. "Scent of blood making you hungry?" he asked as he moved nearer, arms folding over his chest.
Meira watched him almost warily, the wolf inside her telling her to find food and it guardedly. She wanted to move past the reaper, pulling out some meat, and devour it down in her wolfen form, but she couldn't, and that made her feel uncomfortable and cornered, the animal instinct telling her to attack.
"If you're done, I'll escort you back to your room and then be on my way," she said, ignoring his statements.
"What's the matter, Princess? Don't want me to see how primal you can be?" he asked her, his voice even lower than usual, coming out like a threat more than a taunt. He neared her, and for a moment Meira saw his mouth twitching as if it was about to split open. But then he brushed past her, walking out of the room and into the hallway.
Swallowing and forcing her nerves to calm down, as well as soothe the wolf that was struggling to tear out of the human skin that caged it. Though what the wolf wanted was a mystery to Meira at the moment. He felt something stir in her that confused her, making her uncomfortable and unsure of what she should do or think or say.
Well, it would be wise to go out there and escort him back to his room.
Rushing out of the lab kitchen, Meira found Nomak had already made it halfway to his room, the reaper striding faster than anyone else Meira had seen, other than Ulric and Melantha. She had to jog to catch up with him, which surprised her.
"If you're here to escort me, don't bother. I can find my way and I don't want company," the reaper told her gruffly, not even glancing at her as she neared him.
"Look, I have instructions and orders to follow, and I already got in trouble because of my attitude towards you," Meira started, but Nomak stopped abruptly, turning around as she practically ran into him. Fortunately for both of them, she was werewolf, and could manage to avoid a collision.
"Who's going to know? Is anyone even going to ask? If they do, tell them you obeyed my wishes, just leave out the fact that it was for you to leave me alone and let me head back to my room alone," he hissed, angry for some unknown reason. "That way, you can go, give in to the hunger I can hear your stomach grumbling about and see in your eyes, and still act high and mighty around me."
Meira opened her mouth to speak, but instead opted not to, and nodded, closing her mouth. "Alright. I'll leave you alone," she replied, not even daring to argue about his latest insult to her. She turned from him, walking down the hall. She ignored the wolf's growls and instinct to prove herself. As well as the pleased purrs threatening to escape at the sweet scent of blood stained breath.
Slamming the door hard enough to make it crack, Nomak walked over to his bed, quickly removing his pants and discarding them carelessly before sitting on top the soft sheets and firm mattress. He laid back after a moment, his body trembling with a rage uncalled for but unable to be kept in check. He had seen the lust for blood and raw flesh in Meira's eyes, he had heard her body's cry to feed.
But she had held back, refusing to give in while around him. She wouldn't let him see her devour her food like the animal he knew she was beneath that façade of mannerly female, above the lowly reaper and his crude habits.
It had infuriated him, seeing the same pious attitude he had seen in his father and those few that had ever been around him. They all thought they were above him, even before he was a reaper. And afterwards, well, being hunted like a wild animal by his own father's bloodhounds, that proved his father still thought himself above his bastard son.
And now, the werewolf bitch was doing it too. She pitied him, acted like she was above him, barely tolerate him, snapped at him, ignored him. She was just like the others, and it made Nomak burn even more.
He was overreacting most likely, letting his anger spiral out of control over just a mere female lycanthrope he liked having around only to insult and bicker with, when he felt up to it. Why let himself lose control and feel so, insulted, by her actions?
She wasn't worth it. Nobody was worth it.
Nomak sighed to himself, rolling over onto his stomach and closing his eyes. He needed more sleep.
Vladimir led his team through the tunnels, wrinkling his nose in disgust at the overwhelming scent of reaper ash and sewage. Dust and frail skeletons that somehow hadn't crumbled yet littered the ground. He took care of them with his boots, though, crushing those in his path. He suddenly heard a sound, and he raised his nose to the air, sniffing.
Reaper. Plain and simple. There was another, live reaper here. Somehow, it had survived.
Glancing back at the three lycans behind him, he made a motion for them to draw their guns and stay put. He waited for each to nod their understanding before pulling out his Ithaca 37 and heading down the tunnel. His boots were now careful of where they stepped, keeping his movements as quiet as possible. He kept his senses keen and alert, his body tense and ready to tear another one of those parasites apart.
The sound of skittering reached his ears, and he looked up to see one of the reapers swiftly crawling out of one tunnel, on the ceiling. He pumped his gun and aimed it, blasting the reaper in the head. He pumped it again even as the creature fell, striding over and turning it onto its back with his foot, blasting it where the heart was located.
The body burst into flames and dissolved, crumbled beneath Vladimir's boot as he stepped on it. The sound of its destruction pleased the beta lycan, and he walked back to the tunnel where the rest of the team waited, alert and ready for action.
"It's dead, but there's a chance there could be more," he instructed them. "Don't let your guard down and keep your senses alert."
The others nodded, but the sound of more reapers approaching filled their ears, nearing them from the tunnel the first one had come from. The skittering echoed through the subterranean lair, and the other three hurried over to their leader, drawing out their guns - most of them different styles of shotguns, which Vladimir had deemed the most effective from his experience.
Vladimir pumped his gun again, and aimed it at the leader of the group, ten in all it appeared, and waited for just the right moment. As the movements had hinted at, the reaper twisted and dropped to the ground, only to be blown back into the tunnel from the impact of the shot to his chest. The beta lycanthrope smirked momentarily, then got back to business.
It wasn't as satisfactory as killing Nomak would be, whenever he got to do it, but it would do for now.
The others were shooting at the oncoming assault, but five more appeared from another tunnel, and then three more at yet another tunnel. They were just wasting ammunition now, the guns would be better for another time.
"Everyone, disrobe and change," Vladimir ordered calmly, already removing his Kevlar and clothing, his body starting to twist and grow, contorting in what appeared to be a violent manner, but he had long ago lost the pain of the Change, the sweet release.
Soon he was the towering, menacing beast that he kept hidden beneath the surface only when he had to. His amber eyes fixed on the two reapers closest to him, down on the ground now and staring at him in confusion and hunger. He bared his fangs in a wolfish grin before lunging, tackling them to their backs before both paws shoved down with violent force, crushing their hearts with their own bone casing. He watched in vicious glee as they burned and dissolved into embers before dying out completely.
A roar of pain soon filled the room though, his ears recognizing it as his own as he became aware of a reaper that had jumped down onto him, punching his spine with incredibly force. Vladimir had taken worse, but it was still a painful wound.
Another roar, of rage, followed his and he felt the reaper pulled off him abruptly. Turning, Vladimir saw the form of Valora, almost identical to the form of Aysel and Donovan only a medium brown and more lupine facial features with black eyes, tearing the reaper apart without mercy.
One of the other reapers lunged at him as he took his attention of Valora, its mouth open wide. Vladimir caught the disgusting leech by the neck, his free paw breaking off the two sides of the jaw before yanking out the tongue, yellow, sticky blood splattering over his fur and the ground. He then ripped open its chest and tore out the bone encased heart, crushing it before the broken reaper's very eyes.
The corpse was dropped before it could burn Vladimir's paw.
At the other end, Aysel and Donovan were quickly dispatching of their own parasite problems, Aysel tearing into the chest of one reaper with her mammoth head . Her jaw yanked up roughly, the triumphant female holding a heart between her teeth, which was soon crushed to ash and spat out as her claws found another victim.
Donovan was tearing off the lower jaw of a reaper before it could open it up, an agonized shriek echoing off the walls before being silenced as it was slammed onto a sharp edge, the force crushing its entire chest. He sniffed in disgust before backhanding a lunging reaper into the wall and charging it with a roar, quickly dispensing of that nameless foe as well.
Valora was finishing off her third reaper, tearing the head clean off before dropping the corpse and crushing its chest beneath her paw like foot. She growled and went after her fourth, while Vladimir finished off his fifth.
He looked around, seeing that only three remaining, and Aysel and Donovan had teamed up to take out the third. He and Valora had the other two to themselves.
The female werewolf walked over after her fourth was killed, and they approached the last two as one, moving perfectly in unison, despite the vast differences in their forms. They had worked together many times, and knew what methods worked best on their enemies. She glanced at him, and he gave a slight nod, and they stood completely still.
Seeing an opening, the reapers jumped as one, but were grabbed in midair and slammed into the ground before their own hearts were ripped out to face the same fate all the others had faced - death. Their hearts crushed and useless, the reapers let out their last shrieks before they went up in flames.
All of the reapers dead, the werewolves regrouped and changed back into human form, swiftly dressing and gathering their weapons.
"Everyone, take a look around, make sure these were the only survivors," Vladimir ordered, receiving nods before the other three walked off in different directions, though he noticed the gleam in Valora's eyes that told him she had been pleased with their teamwork. He rolled his eyes.
She took it the wrong way every single time.
He head down a tunnel, sniffing the air, straining to see if he could pick up any noise of movement. He walked several feet down before taking a turn, and that was when he heard it- heavy footsteps. Silently, he pulled his Ithaca back out, one hand on the pump, one read to pull the trigged, and he ran in the direction. His ears picked up the sound of the footsteps speeding up as well, and he charged with his lycanthropic speed.
But the footsteps were fading, and soon they were gone, not even an echo left to give him a lead of where to go. He sniffed the air and looked around, but he couldn't find anything more to tell him where to go.
Vladimir growled loudly and turned, though he kept his weapon ready. He was not looking forward to telling Ulric one of them got away.
With a defeated scowl and yellow blood making his wild hair stick together in clumps, Vladimir returned to the meeting area, the others returning not long after him. He glanced at them expectantly, but they each shook their head.
"Nothing," Donovan reported, Aysel nodding in agreement. They stood near each other protectively, their heads slightly bowed as they awaited Vladimir's decision of what to do next.
Valora walked over, the last one back, and shook her head as well. "Nothing on my end," she informed Vladimir, who let out a heavy sighed, nodding. "Did you find anything?" she asked, receiving the same head shake she had given him.
"No, though I tried. One of them got away," he told the others. "I lost the trail, he had too big of a head start. We should get back, inform Ulric that there is one lose, possibly more. Everyone needs to keep an eye out though, we could run into more trouble on the way out."
Everyone nodded, and he led them back down the tunnel they had come from, returning to back to the alley their journey had originated at. All of them had killed, but it hadn't been good enough, and Ulric would not be pleased that there was a rabid reaper loose on the streets.
The alpha would know what to do though, and perhaps Nomak might come into some use, though Vladimir would find it almost impossible to believe. That leech who acted like he was still prince was troublesome, not useful or helpful. Of course, maybe Vladimir would be allowed to kill him now, with this new development.
A smirk formed on the beta's face, and he walked a little lighter as they headed back.
Whistler stared at Karen as if she had just revealed that she was in fact an alien from Mars as she explained to him the existence of werewolves. The old man had believed they were real, but, this real? That had definitely come as a shock to his system. And the fact that Karen was helping them was pretty shocking as well.
"So you're telling me these sons of bitches," he started, ignoring the glowers and low growls from the two male werewolves that were checking over his blood samples and whatever the hell they were doing, "are really in charge of things, and they're the reason the vampires haven't taken over the world?"
Karen nodded, and Whistler could tell she knew he was going to explode and ask millions of other questions.
Taking a deep breath, the old man tried processing this. "Damn it, I'm too old for the world to turn itself on its fucking head," he muttered darkly, and one of the male werewolves finally spoke up.
"Would you stop cussing so much it'd make a sailor blush, please?" he asked impatiently, having put up with the endless cursing and swearing from Whistler for over an hour now.
The old man hopped off the bed type thing he'd woken up on and walked over as fast as he could with his limp to the werewolf, about to cuss the younger male - in appearance, anyway - out so badly his ears would burn. But a firm grip on his shoulder stopped him, and he turned to see Karen shaking her head.
"Whistler, don't," she told him. "You need to sit down and rest, so please, just sit back down, ok?" she asked him gently, and Whistler knew she was just trying to keep his ass from being beaten.
Reluctantly, Whistler nodded and walked away after shooting the werewolf a death glare. He sat back on the bed, mentally grumbling. He looked back over to Karen, putting aside his wounded pride and annoyance as concern replaced those things in his mind.
"What about Blade? Is he alright?" he questioned. The kid - alright, so he was far from a kid these days, but compared to Whistler, he was just moving up form the pacifier stage - was the closest thing he had to family, and he didn't want to lose him.
You're getting sentimental in your old age, you know that?
Karen's expression grew solemn, and she obviously wasn't happy about having to tell Whistler what she was fixing to tell him. "We don't know. We believe he's fine, but he's with the vampires, we're pretty sure," she explained. "I doubt they've done anything with him, they know they still need him," she added to comfort Whistler.
It wasn't much comfort though, and the old man's features shifted into an expression of anger, worry, and his rarely seen, "Well, I don't know what the hell to do right now," face.
"He can take care of himself, Whistler," Karen stated. "And I know that from experience, as I'm sure you do as well," she reminded the old man. "He'll be alright, they still need him. They know the werewolves are becoming the threat that the vampires have been worried about for a long time."
Whistler nodded, reluctantly and with a heavy sigh of exasperation. "Yeah. But certainly can get himself into deep shit," he added. "I've had to save his ass a time or two myself." He gave Karen a curious look as he thought of something. "By the way, how'd everything go down with Frost?" he asked her. Blade hadn't spoken of it - Blade hadn't spoken o much of anything to anyone other than that vampire warrior princess - and he wanted to know how things went.
Nothing like stories of vampire carnage to liven up his mood.
"Well, Blade met his mother and the vampire responsible for her turning and Blade's, condition," Karen revealed, this time getting an actual expression of shock out of Whistler.
"You mean that little fu-" he stopped, hearing a growl coming from the male that had spoken. Whistler sighed and decided that for now he'd stop. As much as he hated giving in to the werewolf's rudely made request, he couldn't take on a full fledged lycanthrope. His leg wasn't up for it yet.
Starting over, he forced his brain to take out all the cuss words he was going to use and replace them with nicer, more polite words. He felt nauseas.
"So you're telling me that Deacon Frost was the one who bit Blade's mother and spawned the best vampire hunter out there?" Whistler as incredulously. "Well, it'd be ironic if it wasn't so pathetic. Frost was nothing but Michael J. Fox with fangs and a vicious attitude to boot!" He left out the fact that he'd also been responsible for Whistler's death and turning and Karen's abduction.
Besides, that was Frost's goons, not Frost himself, doing those things really.
Karen was trying not to laugh, and the two males were snickering over where they stood. "Well, as pathetic as it may be," she said, trying to regain her composure, "that's what happened. They used Blade's blood and if I hadn't been able to get away from this zombie like vampire," she paused, as if deciding on whether to leave something out or not, "I would have been able to get Blade out of the mechanism that was draining him. But I was, and after he got some blood back into his system, he ended up having to kill his mother."
Whistler winced, but nodded. Poor kid, having to go through that and not having anyone but Karen - no offence, but he didn't know her that long and wasn't that close to anyone except Whistler and "close" was stretching it most of the time - there afterwards. He wished he could have been there.
Damn vampires.
"What happened after that?" he asked, moving off the subject of Blade's mother. It wasn't a pleasant one even without Blade in the room.
"Well, a lot," Karen replied, looking over to the two males. "Gavin, could you go and get us humans some cooked meat?" she asked, and the one that had been as annoyed with Whistler as Whistler was with him nodded, smirking at her request.
Watching the annoying lycanthrope leave, Whistler then looked at Karen, arching an eyebrow.
"We're going to be here a while, and I don't know about you, but I'm getting a little hungry," she explained.
"Yeah, guess food would be good since I get the feeling this isn't going to be the most pleasant conversation in the world," Whistler stated. "Vampires," he muttered. "So full of shit."
Snowman flexed his left arm, relieved the pain had completed faded. He had gotten separated from Lighthammer and Verlaine while hunting the reapers, during an ambush by frenzied reapers. Those creatures always seemed frenzied and frantic, but this time it had almost seemed like they were scared of something, panicked.
He had been thinking about that for a while now. He couldn't see why they would be. They didn't fear vampires, they hunted and fed on them. They had almost fed on Snowman, but he'd been able to get away from the group, managing to kill a few of them off on the way. His arm had been broken in the process, but it was fully healed now.
Small price to pay for survival.
His mind wouldn't let the issue go though. Those reapers had acted scared, not just hungry. He knew it, he could see it in their eyes, tell it in their body language and their even more frenetic attack. He just couldn't comprehend why.
Lighthammer and Verlaine had been covered in the reapers, and he had heard his female comrade scream in pain. Upon returning here, back to base, he had gone into his room and had a moment of silence for both of them. He would honor their deaths though, and he knew the others wanted that too.
Though, it seemed unlikely that any of the reapers had survived. Snowman and Reinhardt hadn't been told what the mission was, but since Blade was still leading them, both males had assumed it because the mission hadn't been fully successful.
One good thing about keeping silent - it let Reinhardt run his mouth and give away pretty much everything he was thinking. His most prominent thoughts were these things, in this order:
Killing Blade.
Finishing off the surviving reapers.
Looking for another place to live after this, cause he was sick of Damaskinos and hated looking at him.
Getting laid by Nyssa.
Getting laid by Danica.
Getting laid by both at the same time.
Killing Blade.
Torturing Blade.
Getting laid period.
Throwing a party over the death of Blade's companion, Whistler, as he must be dead to not be around, yapping like a dog.
Snowman was missing his fallen comrades more and more by the second. He was getting tired of waiting on Blade and Nyssa, he and Reinhardt both suited up and prepared. And he was getting even more tired of listening to the demented ramblings of his last male comrade.
Finally, Nyssa entered, glancing at both of them. A questioning look entered her eyes, and she looked over to Reinhardt. She knew by now not to ask Snowman a question, because if Reinhardt - or back when the group had been whole, Chupa - was in the room, he would answer for Snowman.
"Where's Blade?" she asked pointedly, not surprising either of them. It had become quite obvious the vampire hunter and the vampire princess were growing, close.
Even Snowman could see that, and he was usually oblivious to anything more than his job.
"Right here," came the familiar voice of their reluctant leader, Blade entering the room, Scud behind him. Both were ready to go, though the human companion looked nervous as hell. More nervous than Snowman had ever seen.
First the reapers, now him.
"Everyone ready to go?" Blade asked, detached as ever and ready to go.
Reinhardt, Nyssa, and Snowman all nodded, and Blade nodded with approval.
"Good. Everyone have enough silver bullets?" he questioned, and Snowman caught the confused glance Reinhardt sent his way. He understood the feeling, but he kept his expression calm and indifferent.
Reinhardt turned back to Blade, thoroughly puzzled. "What do you mean? Silver doesn't work on reapers."
Blade looked at Reinhardt for a moment, then turned his head to Nyssa, who met the hidden gaze with what appeared to be a mixture of shame and surprise. "So, Daddy didn't tell his lackeys just what they were going up against - again?" he questioned, and Nyssa lowered her head.
"I wasn't aware they hadn't been informed, or I would have already told them," she replied. "But now that you're here, I'm sure you would rather handle it yourself," she added, glancing at him darkly.
Reinhardt sent another look at Snowman, and mouthed the words, "Lover's quarrel," to the silent vampire male, making Snowman almost smirk. It did almost seem that way, but considering the circumstances and who they each were, it was completely ridiculous.
Staring at Nyssa for a moment, Blade kept silent as did the rest of the occupants in the room. Then he nodded and focused back on Reinhardt and Snowman.
"I'm afraid that Damaskinos didn't inform you just what this mission is about. We're not hunting reapers. We're hunting werewolves."'
Reinhardt looked at Snowman, and Snowman looked right back. Well, that would explain the silver bullet comment. And could possibly fill in the missing piece of Snowman's internal puzzle concerning the reapers' fear.
Meira didn't have the energy to slam her door as she entered her room. She made sure it was closed and locked, then trudged over to the bed, falling onto it unceremoniously. She lazily pulled her legs all the way onto the bed as she tried to make sense of things.
It was a draining experience. Nomak was impossible for to make sense of right now, and it was frustrating her.
She had no idea why he had gotten to angry. No, she didn't think angry was a strong enough word. When she had stared him in the eye, she hadn't seen anger - she'd seen seething rage that he could barely contain. It had frightened her and angered her and interested her all at once.
It was times like these she wished she hadn't gone into the field of science. She had begun to think in logic and mathematics, reason, ration, no longer the wild, free thoughts of the wolf. Perhaps that was the real reason why she was so confused.
The wolf seemed to understand better. The wolf had wanted to push, had wanted to know his anger and test it with her own. The wolf had wanted to sniff him and taste him and stare him down.
He was almost more animal than she was, and perhaps that was why she didn't like being around him. He was unafraid to be vicious and to say his thoughts. He had no problem feeding in front of her - she had held back.
The only things he seemed to fear, if it could be called fear, were looks of contempt or pity. Of being put down, of being seen in a degrading light, of being thought of as nothing but a mindless monster to be hunted and killed like a rabid dog.
Meira sighed, clenching her eyes shut. She didn't want to think about him. She wanted to forget about his scalding words and the hunger in her stomach.
I should go get something to eat. I've still got my appetite somehow.
But she didn't want to move. She didn't want to feed, because she knew if she did, she would throw up. Her stomach was in knots, and the thought of eating reminded her of Nomak and her shame - her shame, how could she feel shame of what she was - and her pride and how she wouldn't let herself eat in front of him.
Maybe it wasn't such a mystery what had angered him after all.
Why am I so insecure all of a sudden? Why? Because of the punishment for punching Nomak? Because I let my anger take control then, and now I'm afraid to let the wolf have any freedom around him at all?
With a frustrated whimper, Meira rose form the bed, walking out of her room and down the hallway, her arms folded as she headed back to one of the kitchens. She was hungry, and she would eat, even if she would vomit afterwards. Maybe then she could have some peace. Perhaps she would go see how Karen was doing with the human guest.
"Hello, Meira," came a familiar, completely unwelcome voice, and Meira looked up to see Vladimir, along with the others from the team, back, heading for the team's quarters. "Fancy meeting up with you," he said, practically leering at her. He glanced at the others, motioning for them to go on ahead. "Go on and change and get some rest. You did well," he told them.
Meira watched, stiff and tense, as the others walked by. She returned the nods Donovan and Aysel sent her way in greeting, but received nothing more than the expected glower from Valora. Once they had passed, she looked back to Vladimir, trying to resist the urge to grab him and chuck him into the wall.
"What do you want?"
Vladimir smirked, chuckling softly. "You know what I want. The question is, why do you look so upset?" he asked, nearing her, when his nose crinkled and he sniffed with disgust. "Shit, Meira, you reek of that Reaper!"
"Yes. And it's much preferable to reeking of your scent!" she spat back. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'll be on my way so I can keep his stench and not have it replaced with yours," she snarled and started walking around him, but her arm was grabbed before she could get away.
"Look, Meira, Ulric gave me orders to lay off with the courting, but I will not allow you to be tainted by that reaper's company, got it?"
Meira gave Vladimir a baleful stare, her canines elongating as she growled softly. "Get your hands off me, or I swear, I will make you regret it so badly you'll have to be replaced for at least a year."
Abruptly, Vladimir pinned her to the wall, growling, but his lips formed a predatory grin. "You know our kind like violence, Meira. It's what we crave. We're animals, we aren't humans or vampires, or reapers," he said, the last one coming out like a foul taste in his mouth. "So why don't you make good on your promise?"