Disclaimer: If you recognize it, it's not mine. For something new though,then credit falls to my brain and my muse who sometimes chooses to dwell there. Writing for the sheer joy of it and not for profit...yadda bladdah.
Hey all! Now that my -:incoherent grumbles:- midterms are over (we're on tri-mesters), I'm feeling much more inclined to write. I figured a short update was better than a really late long one...someone correct me if I'm mistaken.
Seriously considering advice from last chapter to donate Raoul to Ethan & Irving Relief fund but he gets off today. ;) A thousand thank you's to reviewers! You rock my world!
Again, short update. Hope you enjoy it anyway.
Erik helped Philippe down the steps into the cellar, his companion grimacing with each step but strangely not complaining. Thankfully, no one else was seriously wounded. Aleta stood from her post near Ethan's bedside and began to inspect Philippe's wounds once he was set down against the wall.
"What happened?" she breathed.
"Werewolves."
"And where are the others?" she demanded.
"Somewhere between chasing them away and trying not to lead them here, I imagine. I took him from the fray and didn't look back."
Aleta frowned but started to doctor Philippe's wounds. "They had better find shelter soon," she murmured after some time.
Erik nodded but returned to his own thoughts. True Philippe was the only one seriously wounded (when Erik had left, that is) but everyone had been smacked down from the sky or slashed by a vicious claw across the chest or scarred in some other way. Shifting out of Aleta's way, Erik manually inspected his calf and tried not to bring her attention toward himself; the beast's teeth had ripped through more than his trousers but Erik was not about to let pain stand in his way for long…nor sit and listen to the collective worries about whether the werewolf "virus" could jump the species barrier, so to speak. He swiped a few clean bandages while Aleta was distracted with Philippe.
For all the Circle's efforts, only two were brought down and the vampires took more overall damage; one or two were easily disregarded by such a large pack, not that werewolves were particularly known for close family ties.
Erik had just finished wrapping his wound when Aleta turned around: "Donald will not be pleased. You shouldn't have left. It might be nearly impossible to earn your way back into his good graces, especially after that episode with that mortal harlot earlier today."
Anger flickered behind Erik's eyes but he merely glared, interrupted from any response as the remaining members of their group poured into the basement. Dane carried an unconscious Margaret and set her down next to Ethan, three jagged streaks bleeding freely at his exposed shoulder. Irving had a hand clenched over his ear, hand stained dark; he released his grip and idly noted that the wound had closed before staring at nothing (Erik recalled that Irving had been flung into a group of gnarly trees in the midst of the fight so his injury was not sustained directly by any werewolf). Annabelle's normally lovely appearance was rumpled and disheveled. Sebastian held the tiny body of his sparrow Emma, unheeding of his own injuries. Donald scanned his troops critically with fire behind his eyes, a new scar ran down his face with a smaller cut running parallel, both covered in a layer of crusty blood.
"Any confirmed bites?" he barked.
Erik kept his silence as no one confessed if they had.
"Aleta, will you confirm?"
As graciously as possible, she replied, "I'm a bit busy at the moment. It can wait."
Erik relaxed slightly, recalling what Philippe had told him of Aleta's abilities in matters of the truth; a lie would not withstand her judgement. Philippe lay with his eyes closed, his breathing regular. However annoying the man was, Erik was glad to have a friend and against his better judgement would be sorry to lose him. It was possible, too, that he felt a bizarre twist of empathy for an outcast among outcasts though Erik doubted it.
"You!" Donald rounded on Erik. "Why did you leave?"
Coolly, Erik replied, "I merely brought Philippe here."
Disgruntled that Erik didn't cower in the face of his anger, Donald continued in an increasingly dangerous tone, "You are not to abandon your brethren in such a cowardly manner again, is that clear?"
The pair stared down for a few tense moments as the rest of the room (those conscious) watched uneasily.
"I am not one to follow orders, sir," Erik finally intoned darkly. "My own judgement has brought me this far."
"But it will not take you much further should you match against mine. That you will be certain of."
Erik said nothing, caught between the desire to put the last word in and the knowledge that it wouldn't do much good.
"I repeat: you will not abandon us again." Erik's point that taking Philippe to safety was far from abandoning but was cut off as Donald continued: "We were grossly outnumbered and you managed to strangle one to death by yourself. Your strength, speed, and experience are needed, not your mind or any noble attempts it happens to concoct."
Erik said nothing, neither consenting nor arguing further. Donald broke his gaze and returned his attention to the wounded.
"You shouldn't have done that, you know," Philippe mumbled, eyes still shut. "You'll just make trouble for us and while you certainly don't seem to mind, I will. The whole 'I take orders from no one' thing seems heroic and all that but not when that's—" he wagged a finger in Donald's general direction "—what you're up against."
"You and I both know that neither of us were ones to listen to reason."
Philippe made an attempt to laugh that sounded more like a grunt before opening his eyes. "I suppose I should thank you," he stated seriously before coughing briefly. "But as it stands, my ribs feel cracked and I'm in no such mood to be courteous."
Erik shook his head.
Donald spoke again, raising his voice for the benefit of the group: "We shall call for reinforcements."
The members of the Circle, those who could, shuffled over to Donald and stood in a circle. Irving swayed momentarily, caught by the ever-disgruntled Sebastian and steadied by the never-disgruntled Dane. Donald muttered something unintelligible but a copy of the same message flashed in Erik's mind. There were no words but the message was clear. Directions. War. Haste.
∞†∞
Authoress Rambling: Power Struggle, power struggle. Erik's just not the sort to fall into line and quail at authority, come on.
What's to come: more vamps, more werewolves, more Christine, but you knew that already. ;) Cast your vote: how many werewolf casualties before the end? How many vampire casualties? and Who's first?
On that happy note, Happy Valentine's day! (espeically to all the other singles out there!) and take care!
Love it or hate it, Please let me know! (Any willing blood donors to help the wounded? -:wink:- okay...reviews still going to Ethan & Irving Relief Fund to help ease the suffering of ailing vampires everywhere)