So, the ten next chapters... and, as much as I don't like to sound like a beggard, you're welcome to leave reviews.


Sorry if you think there isn't enough Dalaric in this chapter, but for now, Ric is very busy with his family problem. I hope you can forgive him.


Adjusting to our reality, part 11: A mark of shame

"I should have slept on the sofa."

Cassandre's voice woke Alaric up.

As a civilized man, as a family member, and as a man who knew what his cousin had been through, the teacher had decided he'd sleep on the sofa while she'd sleep in his bed.

"As if. Get ready, we still have a lot to do before you can move on."

Ric stretched, his muscles somewhat sore.

Move on was a big word. Moreover, a word that meant pretty much nothing for a Saltzman, in this situation. None of them ever even had to move on, because they weren't affected by their own acts. However, some of them knew it wasn't supposed to be so, and that made them uncomfortable.

Most of these Saltzmans were the ones who deserted the main house, such as Alaric, his father and Cassandre's father.

Theodoric was certainly not amongst them, and neither was Landyn.

Alaric took a shower then ate a bit, while Cassandre was doing the same, only not in this order.

Then they drove out to the wood surrounding Mystic Falls.

"No one should come, but stay attentive. We never know, around here."

They finally found a spot far away from the road, concealed from view by bushes and trees, and settled there. The hunter hoped none of the fanged residents of the town would choose to take a walk during the time they needed to do what had to be done, especially Stefan, who habitually went hunting sooner in the day, but once again, you never knew.

They didn't need any blood-lover to smell what was going to happen.

That he couldn't tell his cousin about.

"How did you find me?"

She looked at him, far from convinced by his feigned ignorance.

"Do you really need to ask?"

"Landyn has me monitored."

That wasn't even a question. Even those who wanted to get away couldn't in the end.

"Well, she doesn't ask how you spend your time, but she has your license plate controlled every now and then. And, of course, she makes sure you don't get yourself into trouble."

What Alaric had gotten himself into lately was way worse than any trouble he could have had with the law, but he was glad his aunt didn't know about that. As long as nothing involving authorities came to the light, he was certain she would leave him alone.

Truth to be told, the teacher hadn't exactly thought it through when he had decided to leave everything and start a vendetta. If he ever died at the hand of a vampire, his family would request an investigation, even if his death was reported as an animal attack. If he disappeared without a word, it'd be one hell of a ruckus in Boston.

But he had an excuse. His wife had been murdered-or-so-he-thought, for God's sake.

"I guess she wasn't exactly pleased to hear that you chose me over the ones from the main house to do the job?"

"If she actually had emotions, I'd say she was furious as hell. But you know her, the most you can get is the neutral face or the creepy smile."

Ric was good enough at that too, but well, everybody in their family could pull off a poker face pretty easily. That was the thing when you had no feelings about one thing in particular: you knew how to fake it for other emotions as well.

"You didn't tell me how he died."

Here came the difficult part.

But Cassandre had to talk to someone about it, not some police officer or detective who knew nothing about who she really was, not only as a human being, but also as one who was cursed.

And Alaric had to know in order to do what had to be done correctly.

"He silenced me with his hand and twisted my right arm. But, you know, it's nowhere enough to stop us from fighting back. So I escaped from his grip by turning around, and I bashed his head against the wall until he let go."

"Surely you didn't have much trouble with the police?"

"It was self-defense, and you know our lawyers... no detective could have found anything to blame me for."

Cassandre was certain her cousin understood what she was talking about. He had made it through worse than her thanks to them. After all, he had almost beheaded the assaulter with the man's ow, knife when the robber had tried to carry out his threats against a child.

Almost professionally.

One motion only.

And blood had poured down on the floor.

And the man had fallen down.

As dead as one can be.

At least it was legitimate in both cases.

Ric searched for an empty vial and a knife in the bag he had brought along. He cleaned the blade with a tissue and some disinfectant. It would be stupid for his cousin to get an infection out of that.

"Let's get to work."

Cassandre nodded and took off her shirt.

He did the same.

Last time he had participated in that kind-of-a-ritual, he hadn't been the one holding the knife, as evidenced by the star-shaped scar on his left shoulder.

He let Cassandre watch his scar for a while before judging it was enough.

"I don't think there is any material purpose in doing that, but it's still a good way to never forget what we are. No one in this family has ever been able to feel a thing after taking someone's life. It shouldn't be, yet it is. The ease with which the Saltzmans are able to kill is inhumane. If you choose to forget that, you will only end up killing someone else. Again. And again. And as you're one of us, Cassandre, you won't ever feel guilty about it. You may chose to feel guilty about the fact that a family lost a loved one, you may want to feel guilty about the fact that you took away a man or woman's life. But you won't ever feel guilty about the killing itself. Not even if you wish for it."

Alaric took a last glance at his cousin's face.

Cassandre looked back at him with eyes filled with an emptiness he knew all too well.

"Because we are natural born killers."

That was right. They were.

He pushed aside the strap of her bra. Then he put the edge of the blade against her skin.

Alaric pressed the knife against her shoulder, and a reddish drop emerged from the growing cut.

One inch. Two. Three.

He withdrew the blade.

Turned it so he could trace a second branch, which would be the exact same length as the first one, and that would meet it in its middle.

Alaric pressed the knife. A scarlet drop ran down the young woman's back.

The blood fell down in the vial's aperture without making a sound.

He withdrew the blade.

Turned it so he could trace a third branch, which would be the exact same length as the two other ones, and that would meet them in their middle.

Alaric pressed the knife. A ruby drop slipped down the blade.

The lifeblood hurried its way to her lower back and into the vial.

He withdrew the blade.

Turned it so he could trace a fourth and last branch, which would be the exact same length as the three cuts that had preceded it, and that would meet them in their middle.

Alaric pressed the knife. A bloody drop rolled in the vial.

He withdrew the blade.

And that was it.

Cassandre had said nothing, and had stayed still all along the process.

"You're okay?"

"It hurts a little."

Ric cleaned his knife once again, then handed her the vial.

She took it, unsure of what to do.

"In fact, it doesn't really hurts. It's more like a dull feeling of burning, or maybe tingling. What do I do now?"

"Wait a bit for the blood to stop flowing."

"I meant with that."

The teacher glanced at the vial she was holding in front of her eyes.

It was true that keeping some of your own blood in your purse was kind of gross.

His was still in the cardboard he kept shamefully hidden under his bed.

"You can throw it away if you want to."

"What did you do with it?"

"I kept it."

There was no reason to it. It was the tradition, nothing more. No purpose, explanation, or goal. Only the fact that having it amongst his things used to have the same effect on him as his scar. A reminder that even if he was a human being, he wasn't as humane as he should have been.

They waited, and before they knew it, another hour had passed. Alaric drove Cassandre back to his loft, then decided to go for a walk.

He was near the center of Mystic Falls when he thought that he really needed a drink.

But he wouldn't go to a crowded place. Not after what he had done. The hunter wasn't asking for much. His family really had strange traditions. At first he had thought it was ridiculous to hurt yourself in the name of tradition. But that was before the accident. When he had killed for the first time, Ric had understood it wasn't, in fact, so stupid. The pain inflicted was an offering to make up for the lack of guilt. The scar was a mark of shame for the one who could kill relentlessly without the slightest remorse.

What he needed was a friend.

On the front porch of the boarding house, he met Elena who was leaving.

The teenager looked at him with surprise. He could understand that. He himself hadn't expected to come, and he had called in sick for today one hour only after Cassandre's arrival, the day before.

And if he wasn't wearing his blank face right now – and hell he had no idea about whether or not he was wearing it – he waspretty sure he had to look like shit.

"Damon's here?"

Elena nodded, so he went in, but before she left she asked him about the events of the night.

"The guy you punched and his friends... They were taken to the hospital. You knew about it?"

"I really wonder why. They must have pissed off someone else, and that didn't went well."

That wasn't exactly an answer, he knew it. She'd have to deal with it.

She left mumbling about a spell Bonnie was working on.

He found Stefan in the living room, reading a book. The hunter didn't even need to ask, the vampire immediately told him Damon was upstair. From the sounds that came from the ceiling, Ric guessed his friend needed company. The vampire seemed to be talking to himself.

Ric climbed the stairs. He saw Rose staring at him via the open door of the room she was staying in, so he gave her a polite hello. She rolled her eyes and made a gesture towards the noisy room that was Damon's.

"What did you do?"

The teacher shrugged his shoulders. Why would it even be his fault?

"He's been like that since he came back yesterday. When we try to talk to him, he just ignores us."

Wondering what was going on exactly, Alaric opened the door, only to find Damon shaking a wolf skin rug all over the place while holding a stake that he pretended was speaking to the rug. The vampire stopped to look at him. He was definitely pissed, and what he said then made no sense.

"I'm currently picturing this stake as you, you as a werewolves hunter, the carpet as a werewolf, and enjoying myself very much."

It was more likely that he was taking his anger out on the rug. Which was a lot better than doing it on a living creature. But yet, it was strange, even for Damon.