Chapter X: Bottles of Blood

Almost two hours later.

Blearily, Lucian woke up, his back stiff on the seat, his arm fast asleep, the heavy hand of Raze shaking him by the shoulder. Almost snapping, he shrugged the hand off, making a half-hearted attempt to raise his head, squinting around him. His vision was blurry, the vague sense of the ceiling above. No scent of danger from Raze. Somehow he had ended up splayed across both seats, his boots off, his head lying on something soft. Raze's coat, by the scent. Yawning, he let his head fall back, freeing his arm from under himself and curling up again. The nap had only made him drowsier, but at least the headache was gone. The air felt colder than before, the stage-coach moving at the same pace, the pebbly sound of wheels turning on cobblestone. They must be nearing the city already. Any second now, Raze would be shaking him by the shoulder again. Dangerous to be sleeping this close to their destination. Finally, he sat up, his hair out of sorts, yawning and stretching the neck muscles. He had been dreaming, running from something.

Where was…

…huh?

Rubbing his eyes, he let his vision adjust, shades of blue and silver emerging from the darkness, a startling scene spread out before him. The curtains had been drawn across the windows, and the blood-seer was curled up into a tiny ball, Raze sitting beside her, stern as ever, but now holding the two bottles of blood. One of her arms was folded under her head, the other wrapped around Theophrastus, her finger stuck between the pages as a place-marker. Her head was right next to Raze's knee, yet she was fast asleep, smelling content as a groomed cat next to its mother. Except its mother was a werewolf. Somewhat taken aback, Lucian squinted at her and then eyed Raze.

Raze grimaced suddenly. "I…she fell asleep…and the bottles would have fallen." His gravely voice was coming out surprisingly muted.

"Did I say anything?" Awkwardly, Lucian scratched the back of his neck, fighting the smirk growing on his face.

"No," the man conceded broodingly.

He shrugged as if to say 'there you have it' and started looking for his boots. As expected, they had been placed neatly on the wooden floor. He pulled them on one after the other, making sure the trousers covered the leather. Shaking off the tiredness, he stretched his left arm out, feeling numbness along some of the fingers, the result of having slept on it for over an hour. He frowned at the closed curtains, finding his watch and checking the time. 8:39 pm. Not too bad. They were still on schedule.

"You heard the knock?"

Raze nodded, meeting his gaze and then looking away. "Two minutes ago." If Goar had knocked on the ceiling two minutes ago, then it was approximately eighteen minutes before they reached the first district. Soren would be waiting for them there.

"She drank something?"

"Half a bottle. Passed right out."

"Good."

Lucian kept working his arm, trying to get feeling back in it. They should probably wake the blood-seer, though she looked ever so comfortable curled up beside Raze. He'd expected there to be tension while he slept, but instead, Raze had become the bloodseer's personal nursemaid now that the opportunity had presented itself. Probably one of the fiercest lycans in his horde. He glanced to his left. Oh no, Raze's coat was all crumpled. Whatever were they to do? Forgetting his arm, Lucian casually picked up the coat from the seat…

"Is this yours, Raze?"

Raze said nothing, brutally staring ahead.

"Because that was the finest sleep I have ever had." Frowning thoughtfully, Lucian shook the garment out. "I swear, it was like being on clouds, the perfect pillow. Leather is so yielding. Or maybe it's the scent." He sniffed the garment, squinting and holding the coat up higher as he investigated. "Parched horse-hair, axle-grease…and…mmm, tobacco. If I had a mother, I'd want her to smell just like that." Tenderly, he began to fold the coat, glowering over the creases… "I'll keep this until we get to the ship. With a good iron, I should be able to get the wrinkles out…"

Raze reached out and swiped the coat from his hand, stuffing it under his arm. "You were tired."

"Tired of being unloved?"

Growling softly, the lycan threw the coat at him.

"Soft and sweet as a newborn," Lucian smirked, catching the coat and flinging it right back. Raze caught the garment, aiming for the lycan-master's face, still making an attempt to keep his voice down…

"I was trying to…"

Lucian ducked, snapping the coat out of the air. "Raze, you took my boots off. If that's not genuine affection, then we might as well throw your new friend out the window and call it a day…"

"She is not my new…"

"…friend and frankly, it's adorable. Not that I'm jealous," Lucian muttered, rolling the coat into an rumpled ball and abruptly chucking it in the centre of the stagecoach floor. Laughing softly, he looked at the beaten coat and then at Raze, resting his hands behind his head and daring him to pick it up with a raised eyebrow. They would still have to have that discussion later regarding Raze's conduct towards prisoners, but the lycan knew he had redeemed himself somewhat. It was the rare moment when Lucian admitted he held some appreciation for his subordinate's efforts at keeping him comfortable. Raze was rapidly losing his sombre demeanour as well, the lycan starting to laugh as he realised what Lucian was doing…

Penny in the pan…

…or Victoria's Head, as some lycans called it.

It was a popular children's game among the lycans at the London Den. Place a penny in the centre of a pan, the first one to grab it wins. As with most games however, there was an element of cheating involved and more often than not, the first one to grab the penny usually got kicked in the groin as well. A test of speed, dexterity, and how quick one could dodge a blow.

Eying the coat, Raze licked his teeth and then put the bottles to his left side, sitting forward, his hands on his knees. Lucian remained where he was, but tensed his arms, still smiling and again shrugging. Go ahead. Raze edged his left knee forward. Lucian considered the man's neck, watching the veins. They would both dart for the coat, but he was smaller than Raze, so he would reach it first. But then he'd have to dodge, which meant Raze would likely attack from the left…or the right? Probably right. More space to get around, plus it would force him to…

The blood-seer sat up.

Suddenly they were both staring at the curtains, grimly pretending they had not just been arsing around, Raze quickly retrieving his rumpled coat from the ground. Thank God they were speaking English, thought Lucian, his reckless moment of cheer quieting.

The woman seemed to be oblivious to their game however. She yawned loudly, looked woozily at the book, mumbled the page number and then crawled closer to the window. He squinted. She was almost swaying in her seat. She turned to face Raze, holding her arms out for the blood. Sombre, the lycan handed the bottles over and then crossed his arms. There was no longer a trace of a smile on Raze's face. The stagecoach was making more turns. They were nearing the first district of Budapest.

"We will be stopping soon," Lucian grunted in Russian, lowering his hands to the seat. "No spying. Take a seat on the floor, stay out of sight and keep silent. If you compromise this endeavour, I will leave you behind. Agreed?"

"Agreed," she nodded, slurring the word a bit, rubbing her eyes sleepily. Keeping the bottles steady, she stood up shakily and lowered herself to the wooden floor, the book left on the seat. Strangely, the woman was having some trouble with her balance. Like the book, she looked a little worse for wear. Barefoot and skinny, the breeches and shirt ill-fitting. At least she was being assertive with her answers. Not terrified, not ill-mannered…a little shaky, but assertive.

More concerned with his schedule, Lucian reached into his pocket, drawing his watch out.

8:49 pm.

The boat would be leaving at half past nine.

A few more minutes to waste before they reached the district border. Pocketing the watch, he played with the window-latch again, feeling somewhat tempted to peer out the window as they neared the first district. Tempted to see the changes wrought upon Budapest since the 1896 Millenium Exhibition…

Almost three years ago, he had read about it in the papers, scouring the London press, keeping the clippings in a desk in his study. So many changes. The construction of the Francis Joseph bridge, the new underground metro system, the Fisherman's Bastion with its seven towers. All the industry of a millenium washing upon an ancient city. Once they reached the docks, they could probably even see the new Parliament building being constructed across the river. Over two hundred meters long, it was said to have six hundred and ninety-one rooms, white neo-gothic turrets, golden statues and stained glass windows. He highly doubted all the statues were gold, but that was the rumour.

He ran his hand through his hair again, trying to smooth it down somewhat. It irked him having to appear in front of vampires without clean clothes or proper hygiene. Raze appeared ready, his coat back on, his neck taut, while across from him…

That was strange…

The woman was now resting her head on the seat, her fingers sluggishly tip-tapping away on the green bottles like playing music on a pianoforte. Yawning again, she reached up behind her and found the book, opening it on her knees and flipping to the front, squinting at the frontispiece illustration. The picture did not seem to be to her liking and grimacing, she began to flip the book like a fan, searching through the pages for illustrations rather than words. Not an ounce of tension in her body. She might look rough, but the sleep had done a world of good for her. She even smelled content.

Really content.

He frowned, sitting forward… "What page are you on?"

"I am flipping." Her tone was matter-of-fact. Her voice was still scratched and harsh, but he was steadily growing used to the sound.

"Are you enjoying the book?"

"No," she said insolently, letting her legs drop straight, crossing them at the heel, the book falling as she leaned a bit more into the corner. Raze was scowling at her tone. It was strange seeing an old woman with the mannerisms of one used to being young. She seemed on the verge of falling asleep again, but sniffed lazily, raising her head up… "Do you always fidget so much when you sleep?"

"Yes," he answered tersely. Why were her pupils dilated?

"Were you dreaming?"

"No."

"Liar," she said languidly, uncorking one of the bottles and taking a healthy swig, her fingers no longer trembling. The blood seemed to wake her up a bit more and she exhaled with deep satisfaction, corking the bottle and looking up at him. "Why are we stopping so far from the docks?"

"What makes you think we're not already there?" He replied guardedly, scrutinising her and getting off his seat, crouching down and keeping his balance on the moving floor. She was being very blunt. He sniffed the air around her. Dust. Blood. He touched her forehead with a palm. Cold. Not abnormal.

"Because I'm quick…" she sighed heavily in Russian, curling her legs up again to give him room, her head starting to droop against his palm. "…and you're dead. The only reason you want me to hide is so you can…talk to someone. You require passage. No spying means someone secret." Like a pair of dolls, she hugged the bottles closer. "If it were a lycan, it would not matter. Mortals do not hinder…which means you're dealing with another vampire. A traitorous exile…" The blue eyes were starting to glaze, but she hissed suddenly, frowning piercingly at him. "…or a Bloodless coward."

"Give me the bottles."

"They're mine."

"Raze, hold her…"

She kicked out, but he grappled the blood from her hands, leaving Raze to keep her still, getting back onto his seat and turning the bottles, hurriedly searching for the labels. The woman was drunk as a fish swimming in vodka, her arms trying to claw at him, her voice harsh and loudly hissing… No labels. He pulled the cork out of one, sniffing it. Blood. A few spices. It smelled alright. Swishing the bottle, he took a cautious sip, ignoring the woman's cry of protest. It tasted like…

…ugh.

Not good.

He glanced at Raze…"You didn't smell her breath?"

"Can you smell it?" Raze grunted, holding her arms and looking down.

"I can now," Lucian replied sharply, gesturing to the seat. Raze pulled her up, laying her out, taking his coat off again, forcing her to lie back on it. Her teeth had sharpened and she was weakly trying to bite him, except the jaws kept clamping on air. The woman was turning into more trouble than she was worth. It was not a well-known nickname, but 'bloodless coward' was synonymous with Kraven among the lycans. How the hell did she know that?

"You told her?" Raze grimaced, his gravely voice deepening.

"Of course not," Lucian scowled in answer. He was still trying to find a date on the bottle, his fingers running along the glass. An old system used by lycans when they bottled blood. Embedded dots, hard to see, but he should be able to find it with his fingers. Numbers in a four-dot matrix. There had to be…something. Everything was smooth. He felt texture along the bottom of the bottle, closing his eyes for a moment.

One dot…
Two dots on a diagonal…
Three dots in an L…
Four dots…

…and a B.

Oh, that was…disgusting. 1754. Bikavér. It was the lycan's version of the Chinese '1000-year-old egg'. The kind of drink that should come in a tiny sip, not half a bloody bottle. It meant Bull's Blood in Hungarian. A genuine wine among mortals and a play on words among the immortals. Where the hell had Goar found a genuine bottle of lycan Bikavér? No wonder the lycan had been holding them carefully.

"Check her pulse," he ordered rashly, leaving the bottles on the seat, running his hands through his hair again, almost pulling the scalp. Damnation, why did something always go wrong? Obedient, Raze crouched on the floor, enormous in comparison to the tiny blood-seer, keeping her jaw closed with one hand, two fingers on her wrist. She was still mumbling groggily, vaguely struggling against the hand. How could she drink half a bottle? Was her tongue not working?

"When did she drink it?"

"After you slept. She complained about the taste, but I thought it was just trouble-making." Raze was speaking in an quiet tone, but his voice sounded gruff, the deep rumble being the closest the lycan ever got to sounding unnerved. "Slow pulse." Releasing the woman's wrist, the lycan sat heavily, his one arm managing to hold the woman down. Her mumbles were getting quieter, but still loud in comparison with the silence they would need from her in less than three minutes. Grim, he seemed to be considering something, looking at his coat… "She knows too much, Lucian."

"A blood-seer that knows too much," Lucian repeated with a mirthless laugh, looking up with a frown. "I want you to think about that sentence, Raze. Get back to me when you have a better point."

Raze shook his head angrily. "The sarcasm is unnecessary, Lucian. She knows your name. She is old, not foolish. If she knows you are alive, she knows who has lied about you." The lycan seemed to have brooded over this point for some time, his logic the result of two hours of silence. "The blame lies on Tanis. Tanis should never have used your name in her presence, but she is the one that will compromise us."

"You seem remarkably protective of my name, considering that you keep dropping it about, Raze," Lucian gritted tightly, sitting back, trying to demonstrate calm by pulling his watch out again. 8:57 pm. "She knew my name before Tanis told her, and that was my fault, not hers."

"How?"

He scowled at the lycan for a moment. "…I let my age slip."

"You told her?"

"I may have called her young."

"Why?"

"I was being ironic," Lucian growled, irritated by the lycan's ability to pinpoint his carelessness. "Now be quiet and let me think." They would be stopping any second. Though not on par with lycans, vampires still had an astonishing sense of hearing. He only needed five minutes of silence. Hopefully, she passed out soon, otherwise by the end of the night, he would be helping Goar drown himself in the Danube.

The stagecoach began to slow.

He glanced at Raze and the lycan immediately covered the woman's mouth, the angry mumble turning into a quiet whisper. Still too loud. Standing up, Lucian pulled the coat from underneath her neck and laid it over her head, ignoring the piercing blue eyes, whispering to Raze…"Keep track of the pulse. Five minutes. If she starts to suffocate, remove the coat, but she stays silent. I don't care how you do it, but no hitting. If she is dead when I get back, you can find another den." Raze nodded grimly at the orders, his hand firm under the coat, finding the the woman's wrist again with his free hand.

Inhaling resolutely, Lucian collected himself.

Composure was required for this meeting. Regardless of whether he held more power, he had to appear in control in front of Kraven's minions. His accomplice could not hesitate based upon Soren's word. They both had to trust in each other…

…even if one of them was smuggling illegal goods behind the other's back.

The stagecoach came to a complete stop, three shallow rasps from above, the scraping of the horse-whip against the roof as they slowed, the signal that Soren was not alone. The last person he felt like seeing, but business was business. Confident and forcing an expression of ease on his face, Lucian turned the handle and stepped outside, slamming the door firmly behind him before anyone would have a chance to see what the stagecoach held. Five minutes for the meeting.

Soren was waiting on the street.

And so was Kraven.

Damn.

A/N: Poor Lucian and Raze...things always seem to go a little bit wrong for the lycans. Don't worry, we're almost at the ship. (We just have to get through Kraven and Soren in the next chapter.) Thank you to Sheen, Mackenzie, and xo-harlequingirl-xo for the reviews and favourite! Hope everyone enjoys the new chapter and please read and review!

Important Note: There has been a slight change in terms of location details. Instead of the first district, Ordoghaz is now located in the third district (oldest part of Budapest), and the stagecoach will be arriving at the docks through the first district instead of the twenty-second. (The reason being, the twenty-second district wasn't established until 1950.) I've adjusted previous chapters to reflect this.