She didn't scream, which was good. He would hate to have to gag her, she was to be his sister and mate. It'd be improper. By the time he had brought her back to their new home, she had passed out, from shock or fear or perhaps both. Either way, Nick got to carry her up the steps in his arms like a child, listening to her heartbeat. Before, he wouldn't have been able to, but now she felt light as feathers and air, not flesh and bone. It'd be so easy to simply tighten his arms and break her in pieces like china, but he wouldn't dare.
"Where should I put her, Father?" he asked.
"In the bed, over there," his sire and father replied, and Nick obediently carried her over to the bed, the same one he'd woken in, a four-poster iron-wrought bedframe with sheer hangings and silk sheets the colour of burgundy. The bower was important, a nursery suitable for an infant djamphir, as the sense of touch was first to return and strongest. He could testify to that personally. Very gently, he let her down in the burgundy silk sea, easing her out of her clothes with all the care he would give a lover, wrapping her in up gently in the sheets, brushing out her hair until it spilled across the pillows like a separate silk river, gleaming dark mahogany.
Father and Big Brother had explained to him what they were. Djamphir, what the humans mistakenly called vampires, a mispronunciation. Most of what was said about them was complete rubbish. The sun didn't hurt them, neither did holy water or crosses or garlic. They could be killed by burning, decapitation, or being stabbed through the heart...but then again, just about anything could be killed like that, so it wasn't that surprising. They didn't sleep in coffins or need grave dirt. Blood was needed, but normal food was fine, too. And they didn't fucking sparkle, as Father had said crossly.
"I'll be back," Father said as he fixed his sleeves and put on his jacket, after he had given both Jenny and Abby his blood and murmured quiet words in another language. "There's arrangements that need to be made. We can't stay here, it's very dangerous. We'll be leaving in a few days, once the girls are awake. I'll have taken care of everything by then." He turned to look at Stephen. "You and Nick are in charge of keeping them safe. You shan't leave the house or let anyone in that isn't me. Understand?"
"Yes, Father," they said in unison, watching him leave.
Nick glanced down at Jenny's still form beneath the sheets, idly musing. Father would be tired. Even for a 400-year-old master djamphir like himself, making four fledglings within a year was an exhausting feat. But that was alright, because now he had them, his new family, to protect him. Nick smiled with the knowledge, running his tongue across his new sharp teeth as he knelt at Jenny's bedside and brushed her hair because the repetitive motion soothed him, as did the scent of her hair. He hadn't ever had a family before, not really, when he was still human, soft and breakable. Now he was all sharp and shiny new with a father, brother, sisters, and mate.
"Where will be going, do you think?" he asked.
"I don't know," Stephen answered as he bolted the door behind Father then began to check the windows to make sure they were locked as well. He was the eldest and therefore his younger siblings were his responsibility. "But we won't stay in the UK. The Order is here."
"What Order?"
"Order of Puritatem Hominem. The Purity of Mankind. They're the ones that hunt down and kill our kind. It's more of a worldwide organization, but their main headquarters are here. Father is going to teach us to hunt, and it can't be done here."
Nick turned that over in his mind, a sweet, dark thrill of excitement coursing down his spine at the thought of being taught to hunt. He knew just how good of a hunter his father was, drawn from blood-memories passed from sire to fledgling. Father had been born in a country strife with war and conflict, even after he was remade, and he had learned the art of causing the sweetest pain from his human parents. To be taught to do such things himself made Nick wriggle with eagerness. He liked South America. Before, the heat had been what bothered him most, but it wouldn't anymore. Open flame would hurt, but heat wouldn't. Just last night he'd gone and placed his hand on the electric stovetop, just to see. It'd tingled and warmed his palm slightly. He had a feeling that if he could touch a stovetop without hurting, then the humidity and heat of South America wouldn't be much of a hurdle.
He set down the brush and began to braid Jenny's hair. He was quite good at that, too. When he was a boy, his elder sisters had forcibly ingrained such knowledge into him. She was very still, but that was alright; he could hear her heartbeat, even if her chest didn't move as she breathed so shallowly. "Will they sleep a long time?" he wondered, glancing over to the other bed in the large room; Abby's still form was curled up behind the sheer hangings. It was a bad idea to keep two newborns in the same bower, they had a tendency to attack as soon as they woke. The bruise on Stephen's jaw was testimony.
"Not as long as we did, no."
"Why?"
Stephen glanced at his younger brother. He didn't mind answering questions; he'd been full of so many of them himself when he woke up. Connor had answered most of them, though there were always more to be asked. "Because we were dying. My heart was on its very last when Father remade me, so was yours. It takes longer for us to wake because we had to heal everything first before we could finish being remade," he explained, recalling every word that his sire had told him verbatim. "They don't have to heal anything. They'll be awake soon."
They were silent for a moment, but then Stephen spoke again, his voice very quiet in the stillness of the room. "I am sorry."
"For what?"
"For Helen." Stephen no longer cared about things from his human life, they were trivial at this point, but that was something which had always itched at him, even after his remaking. He had been very, very stupid and very, very naïve and had allowed his naïveté to sour a friendship that was almost brotherhood. He had distanced himself from his team, his family because of that harpy, and he had gotten himself killed over her, too. He couldn't stand being separated from his family again, especially not for her, and he wanted to know that things were right with him and his brother.
Nick made a face at the mention of his former wife. The thought of her and Stephen no longer brought forth that sharp, bitter twist of regret and loathing in his chest, nor did he feel any resentment over the affair. That had all been swept away with his new life, the other things folded up and put away like unwanted toys. "I never liked her very much, anyways. I loved her when I was human, but I didn't ever like her. But that's gone now. I forgive you." He looked up at Stephen, a tentatively hopeful look in his eyes as he offered, "If ever we come across her again, I'm sure Father will let us have her. We can kill her together, if you'd like."
Stephen grinned at the thought of making her the prey for once, chasing and stalking and making her smell of fear. "I'd like that very much."
James Lester looked up as Temple walked into his office, an acerbic dismissal on his tongue. But it dissipated the moment he realised that he wasn't looking at Connor Temple. The human persona, the stumbling boy that tripped on his own feet and words, had been folded up and put away like an unneeded overcoat. He set down his pen and straightened up in his chair. "Please have a seat, András," he said smoothly.
"Too kind, James," András replied as he sat, resting one ankle on the opposite knee. To the casual observer, he didn't look any different than usual, save for a drastic 180 in the wardrobe department, but James could see the tiredness in his eyes, the way his aura wasn't quite so vibrant at the moment. Exhaustion like that could only mean one thing.
"I see we've moved ahead of schedule," he remarked, opening the locked drawer in the bottom of his desk and taking out the files there.
András let out a quiet sigh. It was only a mild statement of fact, but he had known James long enough to read all that was unsaid within that simple sentence. "Unfortunately, yes. You know I didn't intend to, but as the saying goes, the best laid plans of mice and men make absolutely no difference to Helen sodding Cutter," he replied, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, brow furrowed. The weariness was catching up to him quickly, leaving him with a dull ache behind his temples and a discomforting sensation in his joints. It would go away in a fortnight or so, given that he rest and eat well. "It was hard enough keeping Stephen a secret, but Nick as well...I couldn't do it. Besides, James, you're always harping on about wanting to get rid of us. Well, here's your chance. You'll have an entirely new team to mould to your wishes."
The bureaucrat let out a breath. It was true, he often lamented the ragtag civilian team, but, as much as it pained him to admit, he'd rather have Cutter and the island of misfit toys than a new team to break in. He looked at the files resting on his desk for just this occasion, the personnel files of hand-picked individuals to replace the team. He had hoped it would be some time yet before he had to take those files out, but as András said, Helen Cutter had this rather nasty habit of buggering up everyone else's plans. "Where will you be going?" James asked at last. Keeping four fledgling djamphir in London, so close to the Order, was inviting death, even for a master of the Báthory line.
"South America, most likely. Where the night is dark and full of terrors and where people still believe in magic," András replied, then, after a pause, added, "And a detour to Csejte, of course. Anya will want to meet her grandchildren."
"Do you think she will accept them?" James mused. The inner workings of djamphir relationships were still largely a mystery. They were pack hunters, but little other than that was known of them. Some operated in familial units, with the sire as the parent, but it was far more complicated than that, nothing like the human idea of family. András had been turned by his mother, his actual mother, not simply his sire. Therefore, any djamphir sired by András would be her 'grandchildren.'
The other man snorted. "Are you kidding? 400 years, and she's no different from any other mother. She'll ask what took me so bloody long," he replied wryly.
"I still wish to know what makes them so unique," James said. He wasn't so lucky to have known András all four hundred and thirteen years of his life, but he had known the djamphir for over half of them. In all that time, András had never shown much if any interest in siring others, even once he was a master and yearned for such a thing. And yet, just two months after the discovery of the first anomaly, András had come to James and informed him that one way or another, he would be turning the civilian team. Even a mage as old and powerful as James wouldn't think to argue with a Báthory, though both agreed to give it time, time enough for them to learn about the anomalies and the creatures, because once turned, it would be a good deal of time before they would act themselves again. Of course, that was before Helen Cutter decided to bugger it all up by killing Stephen and Cutter.
András sighed heavily. "I don't even know," he replied. Oh, he had some ideas, but they were impossible to articulate properly. They were all just so...vibrant. Full of such life and light whilst all having their own personal darkness, walking contradictions of themselves. They weren't afraid to get their hands dirty but didn't let it harden their hearts. And he could tell already that they would be prodigious.
When djamphir were turned, they did not lose their souls. Rather, they became the distilled essence of what they were when they were human, what was left after the softness of moderation and mercy and conscience was burned away. As a human, Nick had been a man of love; as a djamphir, he was one of all-consuming passion. As a human, Stephen had been a hunter; as a djamphir, he would be the most ruthless of predators.
"But I have all the time in the world to find out, now, don't I?" he remarked with a smile, allowing his wisdom teeth to extend down over his human set. Another misconception of humans' was that djamphir had only two sharp canine teeth. It wasn't true. Rather they had an entire second set of needle-sharp fangs that could retract into their gums, far more efficient for hunting and killing prey.
James, for his part, didn't flinch at the sight. He'd been around the djamphir for too long to be unnerved by the sight of wisdom teeth. "I'll have everything taken care of, András," he said. "But would you at least do me the courtesy of letting me know when you're safe?" As much as he preferred to keep it secret, James wasn't entirely heartless. He had known András for the better part of two centuries, and the other man was his oldest and most valued companion. He would be rather...distraught, should anything happen to the djamphir, or his new family.
"Of course." András rose to his feet and straightened out his jacket neatly. He had to get back soon; it was only a few hours before sunrise. Djamphir weren't actually vulnerable to sunlight. The sun was always shining on some part of the world, after all, but it did make them tired, weakened their power, and could even make them ill through prolonged exposure. They were nocturnal hunters, therefore sleeping during the day was quite logical, however it soon gave rise to the myth that pulling them out into the sun would cause spontaneous combustion. Newborns were particularly vulnerable to day sickness. "Say hello to Victoria and the children for me, yes? I think it'll be some time before I have the chance to do so in person," he mused as he walked out of the office.
James watched him go, then sighed and drew the personnel files closer to him.
Bloody Helen Cutter.
Of course, if she ever ran into András and his new family, he had a feeling she wouldn't much of a problem afterwards.
