I said this chapter was going to come out earlier. I lied. I suck at hand-to-hand combat. *shivers* Luckily, I don't foresee using it again as much as I did in this chapter.
Also, another warning for slight gore. Not much. And a warning for grammatical errors. Its late and I wanted to get this out...
Thanks for reading/reviews.
Chapter Seventeen
Izar landed with a hard thud on cool ground. He squinted, trying to stop his racing vision. Near his head, he could see his reflection in the frozen creek. His surroundings were that of a forest and he believed he wasn't too far from where the battle was currently taking place. Though, a battle was a strong word for what it really was. Izar had almost single-handedly taken care of Morel's army with Bellatrix, Barty, and Lucius by his side.
A curse sounded behind him and Izar used his fingertips to lift his body off the ground and flip himself around quickly. His knees stayed bent as he came up into a crouch, poised and ready for an attack.
Amusement bubbled through Izar as he saw Acelin nurse an open gash on the side of his face. It appeared as if Voldemort had gotten one good shot of Morel before they had Disapparated. What Voldemort cast was unrecognizable as the gash closed within seconds.
"You never fucked them," Izar whispered, staring at Acelin through his lowered eyelashes. "Those blondes that you were rumored to bring home? You never fucked them. You drank them. It's some odd fetish for you… to drink and kill blond men and women. Young. Though," Izar paused as his eyes locked on Acelin's dark gaze. "I'm sure they taste better young."
Morel blinked at him, a sneer still creasing his lips from Voldemort's attack before he grinned. "My… aren't you a smart one?" Acelin stood from the snowy ground and began pacing in a circle around Izar. It was if the man forgot all about Voldemort in light of realizing he had his prize right in front of him. "My tastes are particular. Those who have blond hair tend to have sweeter and richer blood."
Izar kept his back turned to Morel but kept his senses open.
"You, though… you have the blood of a creature," Morel continued. "Nothing I've ever smelt before, but nonetheless, you are not human. The venom inside your bloodstream makes you smell spicy. And your blood will most likely be thin. Not at all appealing for anyone but your mate."
"I don't know whether I should feel insulted or relieved that you think I smell spicy," Izar drawled lowly, ignoring the man's comment about a 'mate'. He was certain Morel didn't know about Riddle being a creature. That was one positive to this situation. However, how could Acelin not smell Riddle's creature-blood like he had with Izar? Unless, of course, Acelin became a vampire after he met Riddle. "When were you turned?"
Acelin raised his eyebrows. "When were you turned?"
"At least a week ago, give or take a few days," Izar replied with honesty, a light grin on his face. So much seemed to have happened since then.
"Ah," Acelin began, keeping his pace steady as he circled Izar's crouched form. "And what are you? What toy solider has Riddle created to kill off his enemies? Not a vampire, but something similar, yes?"
"Your wife," Izar turned the subject around sharply as he glanced at Acelin behind his shoulder. "Is she really your wife? A Veela? Amazing, really. A vampire and a Veela. Who would have thought?" He offered Acelin a blinding smile. "She's rather old for you, though. Isn't she?"
He touched a nerve. Morel lashed out but Izar had been ready. He twisted away on the balls of his feet, landing a few meters away next to a tree. Through eager eyes, he watched Acelin Morel seethe. The man had his fangs bared, no longer hiding who he truly was. Izar chuckled as he examined the older wizard across from him. He wouldn't give the man the satisfaction of turning into his own creature. Somehow, if Acelin got away alive, Izar didn't want the man to know more than he already did.
"I'm just as old as her, you little brat," Acelin growled out. "The vampire venom made me convert to my prime. Fools that they are believe I'm using charms to make myself appear younger."
"Must be difficult," Izar whispered in mock pity. "To have an aging wife… or mate…who's Veela blood will not accept your venom? Such a tragic and unfortunate tale." Izar clutched the cold tree bark as he slithered around to the other side.
Something about these revelations did not sit well with Izar. He understood that Morel must have been turned after he and Riddle last met. But did Riddle really believe Acelin was using charms and glamours to make himself appear younger? Especially when the Dark Lord of Britain was doing the same thing, only trying to make himself appear older?
It could be possible. Riddle thought poorly of Acelin and believed the man only to be luring followers out of his money and position as an influential politic. Charms to make ones self appear younger was used widely throughout the wizarding world. And Acelin's appearance of the age of thirty-five wasn't as far off as his wife's age of early fifties. It wasn't that far of a stretch, so Izar could understand why Voldemort hadn't known Acelin's status of a vampire.
Or had the Dark Lord known and simply thought Izar could find out on his own?
Pushing down his anger at that notion, Izar believed that there was something more to this mystery. More to Acelin's relationship to her. Morel seemed to grow tense whenever Izar spoke of her. And at the gathering tonight, she made Izar feel unsettled. While Acelin had dotted on her, Marjolaine Morel barely batted an eyelash at Acelin's confessions of love and loyalty. She feigned nonchalance and impassiveness. Had she been hiding her jealousy about Acelin's choice of food? Were they true mates? Or just a simple couple?
"You don't know anything," Morel hissed, his brown eyes alight.
"Enlighten me," Izar grinned.
The French Dark Lord stood a few feet from him, watching him through narrowed eyes. The man liked to think he had the upper hand, but in reality, Izar was the one controlling the flow of this conversation. And quite effortlessly too. He wondered if Acelin really was a threat, if Riddle had been correct in assuming Acelin had no power. Vampirism gave the French Dark Lord a bit of an upper hand, but he didn't seem as dominant and controlling as most Dark Lords.
If Morel wasn't as powerful as Izar believed he was, then how did he know Izar was not Harrison Potter? There had to be a spy that whispered a warning into Acelin's ear. But who?
"Why don't you enlighten me on the Dark Lord's plans?" Acelin pushed his own inquiry. "Most Dark Lord's strive to become immortal. And most of them succeed." The man's face darkened at this, just barely, but Izar was quick enough to catch it. "Are you just an experiment for Riddle? Is he using you to test out his theory of immortality?"
"I'm afraid I can't answer that," Izar smiled thinly, moving behind the tree trunk and peeking around at Morel. "Though… perhaps I'll think about telling you if you clue me in as to who tipped you off about my arrival."
Acelin lifted his lip, revealing his sharp fangs. The man's incisors were near the same length as Voldemort's, far longer than Izar's. "If you will not give me answers willingly, boy, then I may have to extract them out of you." Acelin held up his growing claws, his shoulders hunching as his vampire took over.
Izar opened his mouth in mock surprise, backing up slowly from Morel. "You do realize the Dark Lord already began hunting you as soon as you Disapparated. You won't get far with the answers to your questions."
Acelin considered Izar for a long moment, looking a bit disappointed and thoughtful at the same time. "Can't you take care of yourself, Izar?" Morel lost his pensiveness before advancing toward Izar with measured steps. "I suppose not. My daughter almost succeeded in destroying you three times last year. As I've been told, you always needed the Dark Lord to cradle you against his bosom. Isn't that right?"
Izar lost his merriment, his smile dropping as fast as a heavy weight. His fingernails clawed into the cold bark in front of him as he watched Acelin approach him.
The French Dark Lord chuckled lowly. "Have I hit a nerve? Have I spoken the truth out loud?" The golden-blond head cocked to the side. "Was I not supposed to deliver you the cold and hard reality? You are nothing. Nothing."
The Black heir pushed off from the tree, lunging at Acelin. He had never used his creature to gain the upper hand in battle. After all, Voldemort reminded him nonstop that he was to act human. He never had the opportunity to experiment with his strengths or his creature. Hell, he didn't even know what he could and could not do.
Perhaps that's why Acelin caught him easily around the middle and tossed him away as if he weighed nothing.
Izar's back slammed into the trunk of a tree. Dimly, he wondered if the loud crack that sounded throughout the forest was from the tree or his back. He fell down on his hands and knees, frowning and trying to gather his bearings. Sadly, vampires were known for the temper and their inability to control themselves when they grew blood lusty.
Morel picked him up by the throat, raising him off the ground and hanging him in midair. The vampire hissed between his teeth in laughter. "What are you? A bloody fairy?" With his opposite hand, Acelin batted Izar's cheek with his claws, slicing his skin apart. "You're pretty enough."
Izar seethed, holding on to Acelin's wrist with his fingers. He was forcing his glamour to stay up as long as he could control it, but he knew it wouldn't be long before it had to drop.
The hand squeezing his neck lowered him just slightly and Morel covered Izar's mouth with his own. The younger wizard grunted, feeling sickened by both the man's saliva and the burning ring on his hand.
Morel licked Izar's lips slowly, as if savoring the sensation. His opposite hand grouped Izar's lower torso before cupping his manhood. "My, my," Acelin whispered into Izar's mouth, his hand roaming more boldly between Izar's legs. "You're rather large for someone of your… delicacy." Brown eyes opened and caught his own. "They say the more power and dominance a wizard possesses, the larger their girth is."
Izar remained limp in the man's hold, his feet dangling uselessly above the ground and his manhood reaming just as limp under Morel's attempted seduction. "Really?" the Black heir breathed down into Morel's face. "Then I can only imagine how small your dick must be."
Bringing back his foot, Izar threw it forward, slamming the toe of his boot into Acelin's pelvic area. The hand around his throat loosened and Izar fell to the ground, landing on the balls of his feet. With quick reflexes, he blocked Acelin's swipe with the back of his forearm before bringing forward his right hand and catching Acelin's eye with his growing claws.
He felt his glamour drop, but it only seemed to give him more strength to keep up with Acelin's brutal assault.
The vampire was quick, but Izar was quicker as he blocked the man's attempts. But because he wasn't trained in hand-to-hand combat, he fell for the man's feints and paid for it with a claw brushing his throat or face.
"You are a fairy," Acelin breathed in amusement as he lunged once again at Izar's vulnerable throat. His eyes quickly scanned Izar's pointed ears and glowing green eyes before trying to get past the younger wizard's defense. "A failed experiment on Riddle's part, I'm sure."
In a heat of rage, Izar grabbed Acelin's arm, twisting it the opposite direction until it snapped twice. With his free hand, he punched Acelin's face. "I am not a fairy," he hissed, his fangs salivating at the thought of ripping apart Morel's throat.
With his first punch, he made a noticeable dent at Morel's temple. His second punch made the vampire's eyeball bulge and bleed. And his third…
He never got to deliver his third punch. Two hands shoved at his chest, sending Izar flying backward. Before Izar could collide with another tree, he manipulated his body into a back flip, touching the ground first with his hands before landing on his feet. However, as soon as his toes touched the ground, Acelin lunged, knocking Izar off balance.
The vampire moved with great fervor, ripping Izar's arm away from its shoulder. The Black heir screamed, feeling his arm hang awkwardly at his side, part of it detached from its socket. Blood poured and bone snapped. But Acelin was not finished. Both his palms slapped opposite of Izar's cheeks and the vampire twisted.
Izar's eyes widened and he fell to the ground as his neck snapped. The pain had been too great that a sound hadn't even escaped from Izar's throat. The Black heir pressed his cheek into the snow, unable to move. He should be dead. A neck breaking in half would have killed any other human.
Unfortunately, it didn't kill him.
Already, he could feel the bones try to mend themselves. He could hear them groan within his body as his venom healed his neck and arm. Green eyes studied the thick crimson liquid as it slowly tainted the white snow, rivaling beckoning talons. Even if the blood was coming from him, Izar still thought it was memorizing. Beautifully morbid.
Izar heard Acelin distance himself from his fallen body, as if he were gathering and strengthening himself before attacking again. It was an unnecessary pause. A vampire did not need to reenergize himself to strike the killing blow. They were uncontrollable creatures.
Then what was making Acelin pause in his killing blow?
The Black heir tried to turn his head, knowing if he kept his current position it would heal awkwardly and incorrectly. But he could not move. Instead, he stared at his blood, remembering Voldemort as he boasted about creating the most superior creature. Had the man been too arrogant then as well? Or was Izar just destined to fail at everything he did?
No.
Izar's eyes sharpened at a sudden revelation. Voldemort did not invent this creature to mimic a vampire's attack, he created it to blend in with humans. He made it so they would not become fanatical when they were thirsty. He made it so they could act like normal human beings while living for all of eternity.
Izar had been going about this the wrong way. He should not have met Acelin's uncontrollable attack with his own unrestrained assault. His creature was not a vampire. Only part. Izar was meant to be controlled and collected. Restraint was a strong advantage over the vampire's hazy mind.
"I'd rather not kill you," Acelin noted softly. "You are useful. And I'd like to know what you are."
Forcing himself to turn through the pain, Izar straightened his shoulders and neck, allowing them to mend correctly. He kept his face planted in the snow, keeping an ear out for Acelin's whereabouts. For the moment, he would lay low, wait until he was mended enough to attack.
"I'm nothing special," Izar whispered, feeling almost despondent when he realized that his confession wasn't too far from the truth.
There was a long stretch of silence before Acelin sniffed. The vampire ventured closer to him and Izar's eyes narrowed into the snow. His healing was almost completed. Just a minute, perhaps less. He remained as still as possible, even when he felt Acelin blow air on the back of his neck.
"You and I are much alike," the vampire confessed. "Both used. Both manipulated."
A finger touched his healing neck, and for a moment, Izar thought the man would break it again. "Manipulated?" Izar prompted, trying to steer the vampire away from his neck.
No such luck. Lips traced the fractured bone at the nape of his neck. "I thought I loved her," Acelin murmured. "Maybe I do. Or maybe it's just her manipulations…" he trailed off, kissing Izar's warm skin as it neared its healing. "I gave up everything for her. Much like you have for Riddle."
Despite his confusion over Acelin's words, Izar began to gain more control over the rest of his body. A quick shrug confirmed his shoulder was just as completed in its healing as his neck.
As soon as Morel's fingers pulled at his tattered robes, Izar threw back his elbow, connecting it with the vampire's forehead. Acelin growled, diving at Izar before the younger wizard rolled away. Jumping to his feet, Izar forced himself to remain calm as Acelin turned to him—his eyes dilated in crazed hunger.
It was far easier to sidestep the vampire's attacks when he was calm. His creature did not rear an ugly head, it only gave him enough strength to defend himself and send his own blowing attacks. His forearms were a bloody mess as he used them to block Acelin's claws. With each attack from Acelin, Izar slowly backed up, leading them closer to the frozen creek. The vampire never seemed to acknowledge his whereabouts as he put all his effort into assaulting Izar.
The Black heir calmly stepped on the ice, careful to balance, before leading Acelin forward. Because the vampire hadn't watched his surroundings, Acelin became vulnerable as he struggled to remain standing on the icy ground.
Izar acted quickly, reaching out and pushing at Acelin's chest. Through eager eyes, Izar watched as Morel tipped backward before swiping the man's legs out from under him. Before Morel landed on his arse, Izar delivered a powerful punch to the man's face.
Acelin grunted, his neck snapping to the side with the action. Reaching out, Acelin tried to defend himself against Izar's onslaught but the younger wizard grabbed both man's wrists and twisted them until they became useless.
Surprisingly, the ice stayed intact with their added weight. "Our positions are reversed, I see," Izar breathed in the vampire's ear as he straddled Acelin's fallen lap. He reached forward, piercing his sharp claws into the man's neck. Blood trickled down his fingers and began staining the ice beneath them. He knew he hit a main artery when the blood began to increase in volume.
Vampires needed blood to survive. They needed it in their system in order to gather strength. If one bled a significant amount, they lost their stamina. Already, Izar could see the predatory light in Acelin's eyes dim.
The man spluttered, his eyebrows creasing as he laid uselessly beneath Izar's dominant form. Even if he wanted to get up, Izar had his knees locked over his legs, holding him in place.
"Faced with death," the man started, pausing to lick the blood running from his nose. "You start to see your life for what it really was. The mistakes you've made. What a bloody fool you are…" Acelin gave a bitter laugh. "We aren't so different from each other, Izar."
It wasn't the first time the man said it. Izar was reluctant to press the man for detail, but found himself doing it anyway. He could humor the vampire until all the precious blood ran from his system. "Care to expand?"
Brown eyes turned from the snowy tree branches to Izar's face above him. Acelin blinked, as if struggling to remember their current topic of conversation. A small spasm shook Acelin's body and the blood seeping around Izar's claws turned black. "I'm not a Dark Lord like you believe me to be," Morel gasped out.
Izar's claws almost retracted from Morel's neck, but they remained stubbornly in place. "Everyone claims you to be the Dark Lord of France," he murmured back. "Even you claim the title."
"No," Acelin attempted to laugh, but more blood escaped at the action. He closed his mouth in a stubborn line, forcing himself to calm before responding. "I'm just like you. Just a protector, just a meager pawn. Though, I wish fervently that I was more than that. I wish I was worth more to her."
Her. Her. It was always her. Acelin's mind seemed to revolve around her and Izar could only imagine he was speaking of Marjolaine. And then suddenly, everything began piecing together. Izar's wariness of her, Acelin's obsessive admiration for her… "She's behind it all," Izar whispered in surprise before he covered it expertly. "Marjolaine. She's the Dark Lord… the Dark Lady. She's was acting behind you all this time like a coward!"
Izar reluctantly retracted his claws from Acelin's neck. But the damage was already done. Acelin wouldn't be getting up by himself anytime soon. He would need assistance and he would need blood before he could properly defend himself or attack.
Morel didn't seem to realize Izar had let go of his neck, for the vampire pressed his eyes closed, appearing almost serene. "I know what you must feel like, Izar, because I feel the same way," he began, ignoring Izar's exclamation. "You are powerful enough to challenge Riddle… perhaps powerful enough to keep up with him. And he makes you feel important. As if you are his only," Acelin chuckled again, sounding grey and weak. "But you aren't. He's always one step ahead of you, isn't that right? To him, he's the only important one. The only worthy. Yet you are so twisted by his manipulations that you believe you are something important."
Izar sat back, pressing his hands into Morel's chest as the words absorbed themselves into his mind. He hated them. He hated Morel. And he hated himself for even thinking that the vampire could understand his relationship with Riddle. The man didn't know anything… no matter how true those words sounded.
Acelin cracked open his eyes smiling thinly up at Izar. "For years, since I was a boy fresh out of school, I made my own way through the political ranks. I was happy with where I was at." His smile dimmed. "And then she came along and forced me to take more power, more political followers. Because of her, I lost myself along the way. I lost my pride… I lost my mortality! My daughter!" Morel's face creased into a pained frown. "But at the time, I thought it was worth it because we were in love. Because I was important. But I never was. It was just her. It was always just her pulling me along for her own uses."
The atmosphere around them suddenly grew bitterly cold and almost negatively charged.
Voldemort was here.
Izar continued to sit on Acelin. Judging from the vampire's widening eyes, he had felt the change as well. A dark shape seemingly flew through the woods, descending upon them like a bottomless shadow. Voldemort stalked the outer perimeter of their current position, never stepping forward or making his presence known. Even with Izar's sharp eyes, he could only see the Dark Lord's silhouette. Izar spared the man a sharp glance before looking back down at Acelin.
Unwanted pity swelled through Izar's chest. He understood what Acelin had gone through. And a part of Izar wondered if he was being blinded by his own admiration for Voldemort.
"Did Riddle know?" Izar questioned down at Morel. "Did he know Marjolaine was the Dark Lady of France?" Just as he knew you were a vampire?
Acelin's fear over Riddle's appearance suddenly vanished, leaving behind a bitterly amused vampire. "Of course he did," Acelin spat, blood speckles staining Izar's robes. "He knew. Rather surprising he didn't tell you about it, hmm? I suppose he wanted you to believe I was the one who was behind the attacks last year on your life. No. She was. He knew—"
Acelin Morel's head was suddenly sliced off at the neck before the vampire could finish. For a long moment, Izar stared down at the rolling head, too shocked to react. When he finally grasped what had happened, fury burned his throat.
"He was mine!" Izar hissed, slamming down his fists. As his fists descended upon the frozen creek, uncanny creaking sounded as the thick ice began to crack.
"You weren't even going to kill him," Voldemort retorted calmly, ice to Izar's fiery rage. "Besides, I banned you from every mission, including this one. He was not rightfully yours unless you had my approval."
Izar lunged, his claws lashing and teeth exposed. Voldemort caught both his wrists and pushed him away. Izar took a few steps back to gain his balance before glowering at the Dark Lord. "I hate you," he whispered with heated sincerity. "I hate you."
The Dark Lord stiffened. "Go home before you do something you regret," Voldemort demanded sharply, taking an advancing step forward. His red eyes were bright in the dim forest. "You are out of control."
"You knew all along that it was Marjolaine, not Acelin. And you knew he was a vampire yet you didn't even think to tell me? You always keep things from me. You always think its some sort of test for me. I'm trying to be something in this war. I'm trying to assist you and your war. And you're making it incredibly difficult for me to prove myself."
Voldemort remained silent, his eyes locked on Izar's. Suddenly, the Dark Lord tossed something toward him. The Black heir grabbed it in midair, staring down at his wand he had left behind at the battlefield.
"Go home," the Dark Lord whispered once again. "I find it useless to speak to you when you are foaming at the mouth."
Izar stepped back, gathering his magic and tightening his hand over his wand. Mentally, he conjured up and image of Grimmauld Place, dimly aware he had never Apparated so far before, but eager to be anywhere but the Dark Lord.
Izar glanced up, finding himself challenging the crimson stare directed on him. "Good luck, Tom," he bid farewell before Disapparating with a sharp crack.
The feeling of Apparating so far of a distance was nothing short of nauseating. It was if he were being squeezed into a constricting tube that transported him to Britain at a neck-breaking speed. His eyes slammed shut as he was spit out and thrown on the dusty ground of Grimmauld Place.
He barely had a moment to gather himself before he heard hurried footsteps coming in his direction. Merlin. He hadn't put up his glamour yet…
"Izar!" Regulus shouted from the parlor.
Izar hunched in on himself, hurriedly waving his wand over his face, mainly his ears and eyes before moving on to his fangs and claws. Usually, when he put up his glamour he needed a mirror to assist him. Hopefully he had completed enough glamours to succeed without aid. The last thing he needed right now was Regulus finding out about him being a creature.
"Regulus," he croaked, struggling to his knees as Regulus came jogging into the room. It was a bit difficult to swallow the fury toward Voldemort and act nonchalant toward his father. "I made it before midnight," he teased lightly, allowing Regulus to assist him to his feet.
His father's face was a mixture of emotions. Guilt, suspicion, relief… most of them didn't make any sense to Izar's hazy mind. And he especially didn't understand when Regulus leaned forward, peering into Izar's face with great intensity.
For a fleeting moment, Izar thought he hadn't constructed his glamour correctly.
"You look... hideous, Izar," Regulus moved his gaze away from Izar's face and to the rest of his torn and bloody body. "Did the Dark Lord assist you in time?"
Izar snorted in dry amusement before his father's words sunk in. His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "How did you know Voldemort came to France?"
Regulus paled, chuckling lowly before backing away. It was then when Izar realized his father was dressed in his Death Eater robes with his charcoal mask clutched in gloved hands. There was no sweat or exhaustion coming off his father. So that could only mean Regulus hadn't been at France but he was currently being called.
"He came here after you left," Regulus admitted, shifting ever so slightly. "We will talk later, Izar. I must depart. He's been furious all evening. I'm sure he wants to ease some of his anger by initiating a raid tonight. I find myself pitying the unfortunate Muggles and wizards he targets."
Izar bowed his head. He could not find fault in Regulus for telling Voldemort about his whereabouts. He'd rather his father confess than to be tortured under the Dark Lord's wand.
Suddenly, his head was taken by affectionate and gloved hands. Regulus breathed warmly across his face before leaning forward and kissing Izar's blood-stained forehead. His father smiled brightly as he tried to smooth Izar's wayward waves. Charcoal eyes gazed at Izar with raw emotion, emotion that rivaled a love so strong that Izar found himself wondering if he could ever possess himself.
"I'm glad you made it back safely, my son. I was so worried about you. If anything were to happen to you…" his father trailed off, shaking his head in denial.
"Nothing will happen to me, you don't need to worry," Izar reassured, a bit bitterly as he thought of his immortality. He curled his fingers around Regulus' hands before letting go. "Go have fun tonight."
Regulus' eyes creased in pain, no doubt from his burning Dark Mark. "Keep an eye on Aiden for me. He's been distressed as of late."
Keeping in a retort about how Aiden had only been with him for two days, Izar watched as Regulus Disapparated.
He needed something strong to drink.
{Death of Today}
A warm shower and a glass of wine really did wonders for Izar's nerves.
He was currently lounged across the couch in the parlor, staring into the lit fireplace. The grandfather clock steadily counted out the seconds as the hour hand neared one o'clock in the morning. Regulus had been absent for at least an hour. And Izar's Ministry bracelet had warmed over forty minutes ago, before stopping ten minutes later as Izar ignored its call. Raids weren't supposed to run very long, but perhaps Voldemort had been rather uptight and decided to extend his stay. The Dark Lord's ire was felt through Izar's Dark Mark. Over the hour, it didn't seem to lessen its intensity.
Briefly, Izar wondered if Voldemort's anger had to do with Izar's disobedience or the fact that he caught the Dark Lord on his silence about Marjolaine.
Izar sighed, tipping back his head and cushioning it against the couch. He had calmed down immensely this past hour and began to see a flaw to the way he acted in France. Granted, he was still angry with Voldemort for remaining silent about Morel's status as a vampire and Marjolaine's role in the war. But he wasn't angry enough to attack the Dark Lord like he had attempted in France.
Thinking back on it now, Izar knew he shouldn't have taken Acelin Morel's words to heart. While Acelin and Marjolaine's relationship was similar to Izar and Voldemort's, it was just as different. Marjolaine and Acelin weren't mates. And Acelin thought he was madly in love with her, which had blinded him to her manipulations.
Izar wasn't madly in love with Voldemort. He was perfectly aware of everything the Dark Lord did— the good and the bad. Which made Izar's situation different from Acelin's. Izar knew of Voldemort's manipulations and he welcomed them subtly. It was always a game between him and Voldemort, a game that was simple proof that they were interested in one another. It was fun and sensual. But at times, Izar grew weary of them. Weary of losing. Of being left in the dark. He supposed he just wanted to be as involved in the war as Voldemort was. He wanted to know everything. He wanted to be on the same level as the Dark Lord.
And he knew that would never happen. It would always be something he strived for.
Granted, there were things Izar understood he needed to learn by himself. But tonight's proceedings weren't included on that list.
As far as the Dark Lord killing Acelin before Izar could do it himself was understandable. Izar had disobeyed the Dark Lord, it was a suitable punishment. And there was also the fact that Izar had been soft and confused when he learned of what befell Acelin. Izar had been too soft to kill him.
At the time, Izar thought they were very similar to one another. But he knew, now, that there was one thing Izar had that Acelin didn't.
Dominance. Izar fought Voldemort just as hard as the Dark Lord fought him. Whereas Acelin never lifted a finger against Marjolaine. He let her manipulate him and his life, never once thinking that he could manipulate or fight against her. He bowed to her and became a submissive wizard for her to play with.
Not Izar.
Never.
A lover to a Dark Lord or Lady needed to keep them on their toes. They needed to enjoy manipulations and power struggles. And dominant battles were incredible exciting—intoxicating. In short, as Izar realized earlier, both the Dark Lord and his lover needed to be a bit… insane. Acelin was too sane. Too soft.
Realizing and analyzing tonight's proceedings made Izar feel calmer and more confident about his relationship with the Dark Lord. Things would never be normal for them. To the onlooker, their relationship may even be viewed as abusive or unhealthy.
A light smile played Izar's lips as he opened his eyes. Even if he came to accept his relationship with the Dark Lord, it did not mean Izar forgave the man. They would be having a small chat soon. One Izar was sure wouldn't end the way he wanted it to.
He glanced at the Black tapestry across the room, knowing now was the perfect time to destroy the tapestry or create a new one that held false information.
He hadn't planned on it being… mended.
Eyes widening, he stared at the Black tapestry. In particular, he found his eyes traveling to his spot on the tree, only to find a skull in its place. Shakily, Izar stood from his chair, growing cold as he approached the Black tapestry.
Impossible. It had just been scorched before Izar left for France. How could Regulus unravel the Dark magic so quickly? It was rather ironic that his father started on this end of the tapestry, because the other end was just as charred as it was before.
Izar reached out, touching the skull over his name with a light caress. What had his father thought when he discovered it? Despite the fact that Izar had been prepared to see a skull above his name, it didn't stop him from being hollow when he was face to face with it. No wonder why Regulus had seemed so anxious when Izar arrived back home tonight.
A heavy knock sounded at the door and Izar ripped his fingers away from the tapestry. He quickly walked from the room, approaching the front door with steps that seemed too slow for his liking. His stomach knotted with a sense of dread as he opened the door to reveal Severus Snape and Lucius Malfoy standing next to one another. Both wizards looked worse for wear as they looked up at Izar.
Behind Izar and up the stairs, Aiden began to cry in his bedroom.
Merlin.
"No," Izar whispered hoarsely as he realized what was happening. He should have read the signs before! He should have known, for bloody sakes!
"He came here after you left." Regulus' voice echoed in his mind. Voldemort had been here. Perhaps the same time Regulus had found a way to mend the Black tapestry. If that were the case… if that were true…
Izar's vision became blurry as he reached out to brace himself against the door but his hand slipped, causing him to fall ungracefully to his knees. He shook his head. "Is… is he alright?" Through the fall of his hair, he looked at Snape, knowing the man wouldn't sugarcoat his response.
Onyx eyes traced his features. "No," Severus croaked.
If Izar's heart hadn't stopped beating so long ago, he knew it would have swelled in size before shattering.
Regulus…
