And that's it for tonight. There are still five already written chapters waiting to be posted ( tomorrow ), and after that, you'l have to wait for me to write the damn thing. I'll try to finish "Each a monster" before the end of the year... perhaps... I hope.
Blood! Blood everywhere! Damn you, Hans! But don't worry, Gal and I still love you.
Each a monster, part 18: Their inhumanity glaringly exposed for all to see
Hans' eyes widened when he saw her.
The girl was the Petrova doppelganger. Somehow, she hadn't died. Somehow, she was still alive. And if she was still alive...
Klaus could create other hybrids.
If the Original Bastard wasn't already doing so, he might not know yet. But one day, sooner rather than later, he'd hear about the girl. He'd come back, he'd kill anyone who stood in his way, and that included Alaric and his friend, since they were obviously trying to help the girl. He'd come back and destroy many more lives. Because that was what the Originals did. They destroyed everything one could hold dear.
They always did.
The life of a girl, the life of the doppelganger, or the lives of innocents?
It wasn't even about his revenge.
Sure, he wouldn't complain if it allowed him to get back at Klaus. There was nothing that mattered more than his revenge. But that didn't mean that his decision couldn't be for the best whatever his own feelings were.
The doppelganger had to die.
A glint of madness disappeared behind a much stronger gleam in the vampire's eyes.
Alaric saw this, and his blood ran cold. He knew that look. He knew that gleam. He had had the same in his own eyes many times before. And that hadn't boded well for anyone.
He had seen it even more often in Theo's eyes. A couple of times in other family members', too. Landyn had been frightening, the two times he had seen her with that look. But the worst of all had been his father, Edward. Only once he had seen his father ready to kill someone, and though Edward Saltzman hadn't acted upon it, it had made Ric understand that for all the differences between his father and those from the main house, the man was still a Satzman.
And a Saltzman was a natural born killer. Even when they decided to ignore it.
Hans had certainly not ignored it. And that look in his eyes, there was no mistaking it.
It wasn't even a real gleam... It was so much more, and so much less at the same time. There was no light, no illumination on the face of a determined Falkenbach. It wasn't about passion, it wasn't about hatred. For them, the look in their eyes, it was something so bright and fierce that sometimes, the hunter wished he could be blind rather than to see it.
Because that look in his ancestor's eyes, it was their inhumanity glaringly exposed for all to see.
The thought bolted in his mind, horrific in its clarity.
Hans would kill Elena as soon as he wanted to. And no one could stop him.
Alaric walked between the vampire and the doppelganger without thinking of the consequences, only thinking that it was the thing to do. His mind had gone in battle-mode, even though he knew very well that he couldn't outdo Hans Falkenbach.
The pain in his body was terrible as a hand pierced his skin, going so much faster than any human hand could go. Hans had aimed for the heart, and the hunter being taller than Elena, the attack had stricken right between his two lower left ribs.
Who said that a Saltzman's instincts were for him to stay alive? No one ever. Alaric's intincts were meant to help him achieve his goal. Even if he had to lose his life in the process.
He stared at his ancestor's face. Hans still seemed cold and inhuman, his face hadn't moved an inch, but Ric knew better. If the vampire really wasn't affected with harming his own blood, then he wouldn't have stopped. Hans would have pierced through the man who had put himself in the way, and his hand would have ripped Elena's heart out of her chest.
The vampire could do that.
Ric knew he could.
His ancestor had the strength, the determination and the capacities to do just that. Luckily he didn't seem to have the mind to do it.
But he could have done it.
Because he was more then seven hundreds years old, because he was a vampire, because he was a Falkenbach. And killing wasn't a bad deal for any of those aspects of his personality.
Alaric's eyes then wandered to Damon.
The younger vampire had frozen the moment everyone had moved. Ric's movements weren't so fast compared to Hans', or even Damon's, but his boyfriend had done nothing to stop him, because he hadn't understood. He hadn't understood what was going on, he hadn't understood what the older vampire was going to do. And even if he had, there had been nothing he could do.
He wasn't fast, strong, old enough to antagonize Hans without losing his life right away. If the older vampire might have had a soft spot for someone here, it'd have been his own fesh and blood, not some random vampire he had just met.
Alaric had known that, and had acted, because he was the one most likely to stop his ancestor, and maybe, not to die in the process.
Maybe.
If possible, the hunter'd rather not die this time, even if he had the ring on his finger. Dying was painful, and a hassle, and not fun at all. And there was also the fact that someone could pass by, see him being killed, and leave screaming to rouse the whole neighborhood before anyone could compel them to shut up and forget.
Blood dripped from his clothes, from his wound, from his stomach, outside of his body, on the ground, on Hans' arm which was still half in his stomach, inside his body, around the other organs, in one word, in every place where it wasn't meant to be.
Ric felt a bit dizzy, but his mind was still focused. He wasn't a bloody Saltzman for nothing, he thought, inwardly smirking at the horrid pun.
He saw Damon becoming paler than ever, he heard Elena gasping behind him, he felt as Hans was struggling not to take his arm out right away and aggravate the wound, not to let it bleed all out in a single minute. He heard someone, a vampire, rushing to his side in a blur.
And he closed his eyes.
To die or not to die, that was the question.
Well, not so much.
He felt the coldness of the Gilbert ring on his finger.
And that was it.
He really, really needed to sleep. To shut down the pain.
Hans blinked as he saw his umpteenth-times grandson fall in his arms, or, more accurately, slide down his arm. He should have known, with one of his own around, that it couldn't go well. That somehow, unless this particular Falkenach was one of the cold-blooded bastards, he wouldn't let him kill a girl without an explanation.
Something unpleasantly cold grasped his internal organs, with a touch that froze everything in him, his feelings and perceptions, the physical and the spiritual, not the way it froze when he let his Falkenbach side win over his morality, but in a way he had experienced only twice.
The death of his daughter, and the death of his wife.
A touch on his arm, a scent near him, a voice in his ear, broke the ice that was invading his being.
"Hans, Love, let him go."
And the vampire saw his wife, his beautiful, amazing, wonderful Galswinthe.
Gal wasn't supposed to be alive, to be here, even less to talk to him. Kol had killed her, "to stir up trouble". Many, many decades ago. Centuries ago.
But she was here, and he did was she told him to do.
Galswinthe sighed when Hans obeyed her, still looking like the world was going to collapse under him, under her, under everything, and that then the world was going to end. She'd have to deal with him. Later.
For now, Alaric was dying on the ground, a gaping hole between his ribs, blood flowing out of his punctured stomach, and she couldn't have that. Of all her scions, he was one of those who deserved the less to die.
She looked around, and as always, the men were useless. Rolling her eyes, she ignored the thunderstruck Hans and the pale-as-death Damon, and only glanced at the young girl already kneeling down next to Alaric, her hands on the wound to stop the blood flow.
Gal winced, suddenly fully aware of what had happened. Hans had recognized the doppelganger as soon as he had seen her, and as Elena was the luckiest girl in the universe, she just had to meet the vampire who wanted her death more than even Klaus had wanted her for his ritual.
The vampire took a deep breath and bit into her wrist, before feeding Ric her blood.
She really hoped it would suffice to keep him alive. One Falkenbach vampire was enough to deal with, thank you very much.
If not... Well, it'd be the teacher's choice, she mused while glancing at Damon. Ric didn't strike her to be the type to become a vampire, but if he accidentaly became one, she wasn't sure he wouldn't accept, if only to be with his boyfriend a bit longer than expected.
She looked back at the wound, arching an eyebrow at Elena, who quickly understood and withdrew her hands, ready to press onto the wound again if it wasn't any better. The two women watched for a second the gaping hole reverting back to an almost flawless skin – only, drenched in blood. Gal breathed in relief, and frowned. Her eyes wandered on the teacher's torso, and she swore.
"The wound isn't gone! It's smaller, but it's still here. Damn it!"
The was a little hole almost invisible in the pool of blood, but it was here, fleecing slowly, almost gently, and if she hadn't seen it, they could have left the man to bleed to death without meaning it.
"You have a witch around here, don't you? Bring her to Alaric's apartment while we'll take him there. Vampire blood can only help him so much, and this time I believe it won't be enough."
Elena nodded and left running for Bonnie.
Hans and Damon stared dumbly at Galswinthe as she stood up.
"What the freaking hell are you waiting for?! I can't just put him on my shoulder like a potato bag when he's injured! One of you two morons go and fetch a car, and faster than that!"
Hans blinked, opened his mouth to talk, but she snapped at him.
"You almost killed your grandson, you idiot! Now you shut up, and you do what I order you to."
Grandson, great-great-great-...-grandson, whatever.
Gal was pleased to see Damon disappear to his car, while her own husband was staring at her dumbfounded and covered in blood.
"Honestly, men are useless, sometimes."
At that, Hans stopped trying to talk to her, obviously hurt, but also painfully aware that she was right. And for now, she thought it was for the best, because his past actions – and not only nearly killing Ric, but all that he had done since their daughter's death - had made her very angry with him.
Damon came back quickly, and they managed to put Alaric in the car so that he wouldn't bleed all over it – not that, for once, Damon minded, but because it would be better if the hunter could survive the ride.
Alaric's apartment was closer than the boarding house or the hospital, but climbing the stairs wasn't easy with a bleeding and unconscious man. Nevertheless, they succeeded.
When Elena came back with Bonnie, the young witch seemed completely panicked, but she managed just well until the moment her skin touched her teacher's.
Bonnie blanched.
Damon realized she had never come into physical contact with Ric, and wondered if Falkenbachs too triggered a special feeling for witches. Apparently, the answer was yes.
Galswinthe's upper lip twitched. Hans suddenly came back to the land of consciousness. Elena didn't understand a thing, and frankly, no one who didn't know that Alaric wasn't a regular human being would have either.
Bonnie stepped back, and run to the bathroom. There, she vomited everything that had once been in her stomach. Realization downed on her.
Alaric Saltzman wasn't just a normal human being, though she was sure he wasn't exactly supernatural either. And whatever he was, it triggered something more dreadful in her mind than even what the contact of a vampire would cause.
The young witch shivered, but went back to her patient. She'd ask later, once he'd be healed. But she'd ask.
