Disclaimer: I do not own Vampire Academy or anything surrounding it (but I do own this plot :D)
JPOV
….sunset...gasping...can't breath...the flight?...crash? No, land...bullet...gunfire...wound….blood...a cry for help…I could not stop it...reaching...gun? Stake?...someone help!...
My head was on fire: it felt as though Hamlet's rage burnt within me with such a fury as to keep me pinned to the ground. I was confused. Disorientated. What had happened? Where was I? The usual questions one asks when in distress. Of course, the answers to either would prove overwhelmingly useless in the long term: I should have been asking how to get out or, perhaps more importantly, where was my charge?
I forced my eyelids open, but to little revelation. Such was their resistance to the act, that the image that came was foggy and blurred at best. Yet, even when the picture did come into focus, it proved as unenlightening as before: I was in a room, dark and cloddy. I couldn't see much for the light, and even less due to the pounding that echoed through my skull like medicinal trepanning turned torturous. Involuntarily, my hand drifted to the source of the sore and came back stained; the warmth of the clogged blood transferred itself onto my palm and I stifled a groan.
Shit. I thought. I was not so incompetent to miss the signs of post-kidnapping imprisonment when I saw them. The question was, who was behind it? Well, I had a pretty good idea; even without my mental facilities in full and cohesive working order, I could probably guess that La Luz had something to do with this.
Shifting slightly, I tested my muscle movement, figuring that some sort of exploration was needed and, if I was caught, some fighting too. My leg hit against something solid. I froze, before prodding it with my toe again. The unmistakable feel of flesh graced my senses once again - it was a body, that was clear. Next question, dead or alive? Honestly, I couldn't tell you. My senses, while still vaguely operational, had taken a severe beating over the past couple of days. I shuffled over tentatively, placing may bruised and bloody palm on the body and felt its warmth. A wave of relief flooded over me and I edged closer still, positioning myself on my knees and feeling my way to the face of the body. He was male and after further assessment I realised he was also Ibrahim. The revelation sent a wave of elevated relief and sudden concern over me; I brought my cheek down to his mouth and felt his breath against it. He was breathing. He was alive. I began working on waking him up: there was no benefit to him laying there motionless, particularly as my internal barometer for danger was off the charts. I began shaking him lightly, a gentle persuasion to awaken, but when this proved ineffective, I switched to a more forceful approach.
"Huh!?" He moaned, jolting after I had hit his humorous.
"Ibrahim, it's me. You're okay. You're fine." I whispered reassuringly, bringing him into my arms and holding him close.
He, dazed at first, regained a sense of awareness and sunk into my embrace. "Did you just hit me?" he said, his voice croaked and dry, but the amusement still lingered.
I smiled a little. "You wouldn't wake up. I'm sorry."
"No, no," he said, wriggling out of my arms and wincing his way up to a sitting position. "It's fine." From the subtle movement of his clothing, I deduced he too was inspecting his head. "Ah, well…"
My concern peaked. "What is it? What's wrong." I said, genuinely both ready and willing to perform any sort of surgery he may require blinded by the darkness.
However, I was spared the effort. "Oh, no: nothing. I just haven't been knocked out in a while."
I scowled, both miffed and relieved that he could not see it. "Well, I'm glad you're enjoying yourself." I muttered, the sarcasm bleeding through.
He chuckled, the act not doing any wonders for his parched vocals. "Have you seen the others?"
"No," I said solemnly, "I can barely see you." I added, weakly attempting a joke.
My words provoked his actions: his hand coming to my face to cup my cheek. "I am right here. I always will be."
I smiled, knowing that with his hand placed against my cheek, he could feel it. A moment later, I spoke again. "Can you remember anything?"
Silence met my question at first, but after his throat Ibrahim responded, "Bits. I remember the flight: after that it is a little...foggy." I nodded again, the act provoking a deep unease within me which caused me to wince, catching Ibrahim's attention as his palm remained on my cheek. "You alright?"
"Fine. Just a little nauseous, haven't exactly been eating well in while." I said, pulling away from his hand and repositioning myself so that I sat cross-legged as my legs were starting to ache in the kneeling position.
He didn't seem convinced if his hesitancy was anything to go by, but he elected to not press the issue. "Did we crash?"
I shook my head, then realised he couldn't see it. "No, I remember landing. But after that, nothing." I paused and considered for a moment. "Is it possible we were betrayed again?"
"By who?"
"The pilot."
"Matthias? Well, that would be very unfortunate." Ibrahim said with no little bitterness. "But I do not believe so."
"How come?"
"You did not see the cheque that Vincent had procured for his troubles."
"Ah." I said. "They could have outbid him?" I pointed out.
This made Ibrahim chuckle a little and, though I could not see it, I could feel the smirk. "Outbid Vincent Alexander Cronan the Third: a veritable member of the British aristocracy? Not impossible, but highly improbable."
"Touché."
I sighed, flopping my exhausted face into my palms and slumping into a slouch. How had it all gone so wrong? Everything I had known lay out of my grasp and in utter tatters: the values, structure, everything. It was completely fruitless trying to get it all back - nothing would be the same after this, if there even was an 'after this'. Genuinely, I highly suspected that this was the end for me, but a small part of me was, however minorly, somewhat satisfied that even in my short existence, I had done good; I had saved lives, brought down an entire criminal sect in the very heart of Turkey and even managed to fall in love on the way. In all, I had made my life count and in doing so, had come to appreciate it. They come first. Bullocks. Fuck it - they may come first in some cases, but we - us dhampirs - were just as important. Of course, I would not stand idly by and watch if some helpless Moroi was in danger, but their vulnerability as a species was vastly overrated; Ibrahim, Vincent and hell, even Hamlet were proof of that. Surely, they had to see that now. So, even if that was my last day alive, I hoped that I had made a difference and had planted, however small it may be, the seed that would blossom into something much more than just myself.
And it was that thought that perhaps stopped me from completely breaking down.
It was also embedded within that notion and all subsequent feelings of empowerment that followed that I found the confidence to rise out of my slouch, back onto my knees and embraced Ibrahim. He, surprised at first, responded cautiously, his movements tentative and wary, but soon settled in; his lips matching mine with weighted passion in the darkness that was our imprisonment. In all honesty, I was somewhat glad when the interruption came, for such was my mood and pure, unadulterated desire, that I would have probably taken him there and then.
As it was, however…
The light caught my eye instantly, and I broke away. Turning around, I barricaded a very much dazed Ibrahim behind my body and assumed a defensive stance, only to be met with a bold smile. "Ah, there you are."
"Vincent?" I gaped when I saw him and felt Ibrahim stir behind me. There stood in front of us: the British Moroi, armed with a torch that shone a dim, yellowish light into the abyss that surrounded us.
"Found them!" he called back, thus provoking the appearance of Emyl, Harriet and, as I now knew his name, Matthias (seemingly having not betrayed us).
"You guys okay?" Emyl asked, holding up a torch towards us, a little breathless, as Vincent wrapped his arms around me, engulfing me in a hug.
"Fine, a little bruised." I said, breaking away and giving Vincent a reassuring smile.
He nodded and went to his friend, only to be met with an extended arm. "I may need a minute…" he said. I frowned as Vincent stifled a snort, which came out anyway, before the realisation hit me.
Maybe I shouldn't have been kissing Ibrahim with such intensity…
Regardless, we soon had quite enough to divert attention and keep us occupied.
"How long have you guys been awake?" I asked.
"Not long at all," Emyl replied, taking a seat on the ground. Vincent plonked himself next to Abe with Matthias beside him and then myself. Harriet perched between Emyl and myself, her expression still with its natural sympathy, but with a harder edge that made her stronger.
"We managed to find one another and Matthias had the torches." she said, sending an affectionate smile his way.
The pilot returned it and nodded. "Always must be prepared." he said, his Turkish lilt thick, but his English remained perfectly audible.
"You guys have any clue what happened? Where we are?" I asked.
"It's all too hazy." Emyl said, shaking his head.
"It also feels like we've all be hit over the head with a baseball bat, which is not really helping much." Harriet added.
"Fortunately, my mental faculties remain somewhat more intact." Vincent chirped up, leaning forward a little. "We were attacked upon landing, lead, as a matter of fact, by a woman."
"Abuela?" I asked.
Vincent paused, "Possibly, but she did not exactly look old enough to be an Abuela, if the metaphor can be trusted. Blonde haired, not dissimilar to yours, Harriet." he said and Harriet shuddered at the thought of having anything in common with a member of La Luz. "Either way, La Luz appeared to know exactly where it was that we would touchdown, so to speak." He said.
"They knew from the co-ordinates of my plane," Matthias said. "It is a very usual route; I thought we would not be followed."
"Hamlet knew of our connection," Ibrahim, having managed to sort his predicament out, pointed out, gesturing between himself and Vincent and Matthias. "It would not be unreasonable to guess that La Luz did too, and a plane is easy enough to infiltrate. Too big to keep track of all the time."
"Indeed," Vincent said with a sigh, "It seems our carelessness and rash decision has proven rather costly." he cast a glance towards Matthias. "I do apologise, old friend."
Matthias shook his head. "You have done me good. And if I die, I die knowing I have done good."
He sat, clapping his hand on Vincent's good arm. Vincent returned it as something caught my eye.
The ground. The stone.
"You have no idea how right you are." I said, rubbing my fingers against the surface of the ground and using the light to inspect the material in more detail: a very distinct and very familiar one indeed. Vincent frowned over towards me and I swallowed before continuing."I've just worked out where we are."
My eyes met Emyl's and in an instant, I knew he had worked it out too. With a stoic and haunted expression, he picked up where I had left off: "We are in the Royal Court."
The Royal Court was a decided structural mess.
On my first day here, I had gotten lost and the map that Croft had given me proved to be of little alleviation. The place was undergoing a massive shift: with the arrival of the new monarch came new ideas and, more significantly for this particularly point, new interior design. The Court was lurching itself out of it older and outdated decor and into the new world of growing technology where computer-based engineering was taking over from traditional security measures. It was this process of transition that had resulted in an awkward and uneasy blend of old and new, in all aspects of Court life.
Including the prison system.
Whilst the new and high-tech cages were under construction for maximum criminal containment, the old system still lingered like a stubborn cancer, leaving behind a deep, underground dungeon system that looked as though it had been plucked from the medieval period still in operation.
And it was there where we found ourselves.
This revelation brought with it a number of answers to a few of our questions, but also a substantial wodge of fear. The threat of our enemies was both metaphorically and literally looming above our heads, and no amount of distracting rationalisation and planning could detract from it.
"I suppose it says something that we are not all dead." Emyl said, attempting to lift the heavy weight of fear off our chests, but to little avail.
"But for how long?" Ibrahim said.
Emyl sighed, but maintained his composure. "I think what we need to do is-"
Whatever he was going to say was cut abruptly short upon the distinct metallic sound of a lock being upon. At once, the dark room was flooded with blinding and painful light, combined with a swarm of dhampirs thundering down the stairs and into the room. Being no strangers to painful situations, we were quick to recover and Emyl and I were up on our feet in no time, the Moroi firmly behind us, but also standing. The dhampirs lined the room, enclosing us into a tighter circle as one stepped out in front of them all.
"Buenos noches, mis amigos." He said, with a gruesome grin that offset the almost innocent colour of his muted green eyes and golden curls. He was around six foot or so, a little shorter than Emyl, but still a lot taller than myself, which gave him a slight edge, and given his age seemed reasonably located in its mid-thirties, he also had the edge of more experience too.
"Good evening to you too," Vincent said, his voice steady and eerily polite.
The man smiled. "Ah, I see you are responsive." he said and with the Spanish away, his American accent came through thick. "Abuela will be most pleased."
"Indeed." Vincent said, continuing this line of dialogue. Having spent quite a lot of time with the man, it had been made clear to me that talking was somewhat of a coping mechanism for him. I wasn't about to begrudge him of it, but I was wondering if I could use this to our advantage and plot a means of either escape or quick dispatchment of the new arrivals. In both cases, a positive outcome seemed unlikely: these guys weren't messing around. Not only armed with stakes and guns, but the various bulges on their bodies appeared indicative of the many other weaponry that they had concealed. The were attired in clothing easy to move around in and identical, a uniform of sorts. These were not minor pawns, we were looking at the rooks, the bishops, the knights: soldiers of La Luz and ones who were packing some serious punch.
"I would rather you dead," the dhampir who had stepped forward said, sounding almost bored, "but it seems that you may have some use left in you."
"How wonderful for us." Emyl said, flatline and sarcastic.
It was a response that did not rub well with the grumpy dhampir, whose expression darkened more as he sneered toward us. "Oh, you have no idea what's coming your way. Take them up!" he commanded and his minions moved, coming upon us like an unstoppable wave: a veritable tsunami that grabbed each of us and pulled us apart. We knew it was futile to resist, but that didn't stop the squirming and all together hard time we gave these soldiers as they brought us out of the shadowed dungeon and into the Court complex.
We were cuffed and surrounded, prisoners in tow. As we walked through the complex, I could see the audience begin to form. Strigoi were nowhere in sight; it seemed that they had their uses elsewhere. I strongly suspected that they, if they were still here at all, remained outside and guarding the Court for any possible outside invaders. But the Court itself was flooded with a dhampir-heavy population. We passed a few Moroi, mostly ones who had defected over if their fearful expressions were anything to go by. But even within the ranks of La Luz, there were a notable number of Moroi too, which gave a different edge to the group, particularly if they were all as well versed in the art of battle as Hamlet.
We made our way through the Court in silence, save for the thudding of our footsteps and the clink of the soldier's weaponry. Our little group's, for slightly obvious reasons, had been confiscated. How Matthias had managed to keep his small torches, I would not know, and I had a feeling that I would not want to know. There were murmurs around us: talk of Abuela, Madre and Tio. People of authority, it seemed. I wondered if the man we were being led by was the Tio of their discussion, or maybe just another foot soldier.
We were led to the throne room and I had to suppress the smirk that threatened over my face at the irony of the situation. It was nice to know that the hypocrisy ran deep in this group. Part of me wished that when those doors opened, Abuela would just be sitting on the throne, surrounded by her followers, looking every bit as regal and monarchical as Tatianna ever did.
This was not, however, the case.
The doors opened to a room destroyed. All of the lavish furnishings had been plundered and broken, either taken away or discarded at the side of the room, resulting in it exhibiting an almost post-apocalyptic feel. The members of La Luz were scattered about the room and looking on, many with their arms folded as they looked upon us with disgust, yet also victory. I watched them all, taking in their positions and expressions and kept myself on edge and ready to fight.
But by far, the most intimidating sight was that of the woman who stood in the middle.
She was a Moroi in her fifties, maybe even sixties, but had preserved her form such that she radiated power. Her deeply tanned skin and dark hair gave her a darker quality that what only exaggerated by the dark brown, bordering on black, iris'. Her facial structure bore more resemblance to a serpent than a human and indeed her gaze pierced us like venom from a viper as she looked upon us with eerily controlled anger.
This was Abuela.
This was the woman behind it all. We were shoved in front of her, on our knees, and she looked down upon us as a Queen would to her peasants: that same bored, irritated expression laced with anger over being interrupted. In her defense, we had caused her a lot of strife. The fact that this made her so angry made smile, and I didn't care if she saw.
"These are them?" she said, addressing the man who had lead us here. Her hispanic voice was cold, detached and deep, as though she had spent her entire life shouting and screaming resulting in that broken edge. The response was a nod. She flicked her eyes back and her countenance remained in its poisoned neutrality. "How interesting. It appears that you have been causing me a lot of difficulty."
We remained silent as she continued to look between us. Through narrowed eyelids, she approached Ibrahim. My whole body tensed up and my heartbeat pounded in my ears. Ibrahim remained as calm as ever, cocking his brow as Abuela stepped towards him, inspecting him closer. She smiled. "You are the spirited one?"
Ibrahim did not respond, instead smirked.
Abuela inclined her head and sighed a little. "No, you are not. Too cocky. Too common." she said. Ibrahim remained smirking, as if trying to provoke her. Mentally, I begged him to stop; he was going to get himself killed if he wasn't careful.
Abuela was unfazed by Ibrahim's antics and instead turned to Vincent and smiled. "Hello." she said. "And what do they call you?"
Vincent kept his head down and clamped his mouth shut.
It seemed Abuela was running out of patience. She signaled to the dhampir that led us here and he smiled, marching over to Vincent and punching him across his face. "The lady has asked you a question, mate."
Vincent grunted and met Abuela's gaze, looking past the man that stood between them. "Charles." he said.
She smiled. "That was not so difficult, was it?" she said. "I know you are man of great eloquence, Charles." she emphasised. "Padre has told me much about you." Vincent flinched a little and the nausea within me rose as I realised that this 'Padre' was in fact Hamlet; a twisted subversion, given his disguise as a reverend. "And you." she said pointed to Ibrahim. "Must not forget: every hero needs a sidekick." she said, smirking towards Ibrahim.
I could feel the rage boiling within me, but I kept it in check. Ibrahim may not be hubristic, but he did have a certain level of pride within him and this woman was pressing on his buttons. I only begged that he would be able to keep it together, just so that he might survive a little longer. He managed to keep his expression, but there was a decided shift towards anger in his eyes, but this was perhaps only noticeable to me as Abuela seemed most satisfied with his reaction.
She eyed him again. "You know, I expected so much more of you, Mr Mazur. Particularly given our former...correspondence."
"The feeling is mutual." Ibrahim replied so quickly that I did not think he fully thought it through.
The dhampir snapped his head round towards Ibrahim and squared up; bounding forward, he moved and smacked his fist against Ibrahim, sending him to the ground.
Abuela smiled, but reined him in. "Now, now, Tio, let us not get ourselves over-excited." The dhampir stepped back a little as Ibrahim pushed himself back on his knees, wiping his mouth against his shirt as he did. Abuela recast her eyes over the rest of the group and paced in front of us. As she did, I saw the gleam of a gun lodged into the waistband of her trousers and I made a mental note of it. "I want to know what you know." she declared. "You see, you have caused me a lot of trouble and so, I wish to cause you the same. Fair, no?" she said and was met with a series of glares. "I think so. I want to know where your little friends are hiding. That is all."
Silence.
"Oh dear," she said with a pout, "I am not unreasonable, I will give you a second chance. Where are they?" she asked again.
And again was met with silence. We knew what would happen if we gave up Croft's location. La Luz were already culling the members of Court who had fled into hiding, and St Cat's was the largest of the safe haven's that we had which remained unknown to the database at the Royal Court - a failsafe for a situation somewhat like this. Croft had hundreds of lives under his protection there, and there was no way that we were going to compromise that.
As you can imagine, this did not bode well with Abuela. She narrowed her eyes, speaking only one word: "Okay." and in one swift move, she pulled out the gun and shot Matthias in his head. I jumped back as he fell flat and rigid. Harriet screamed as the rest of us looked in shock. Abuela smiled. "You ready to cooperate?"
"You didn't have to kill him…" Harriet said, staring solemnly at the dead body.
"You didn't have to stay silent." she responded. "It is interesting, the choices we make." She stepped towards Harriet, who shuffled back. Emyl occupied a ready position for attack and I could see Ibrahim do the same. So could Abuela. "I see you are well-liked, pequeña flor. I wonder, did you give yourself to all these men?"
"How dare you!" Emyl snapped, lurching forward towards Abuela. The whole room moved, Tio the closest shoving Emyl back.
Abuela remained unaffected and, if anything, amused. "Ah, I see: just one then."
There would have been a time where Harriet would have cowered at a statement like that, but not anymore. She raised her head and glared boldly at the elder woman, the defiance within her erupting over her former weaknesses. "You know nothing, old hag."
With a comment like that, I expected Tio to respond - to smack her down as he did Ibrahim. But he hesitated, looking to Abuela for instruction. She, by comparison, hardened; seemingly suffering a similar situation as her commander. She wanted to hurt Harriet, but something was holding her back.
So instead, she turned to me. Walking away from Harriet, she stood right before me, looking down upon me with her snake-like eyes. She grabbed my chin and forced it up, the action causing Ibrahim to flinch substantially, provoking a smile from the old woman. "Oh, how very quaint." she said, turning my head as though to inspect me further. She sneered and tossed me down and I collapsed to the ground with a grunt. "I must say, Mazur: I prefer the other one." she said, wandering back in front of us. "I am getting tired now: just tell where your allies are, and we can be done here."
And again, she was met with silence.
With an irritated sigh, she re-cocked her gun and pointed it at my head. I saw Ibrahim's expression falter, but the look I sent him kept him quiet. Abuela leaned down, leering at me to speak. "Where are they?"
I responded with a glare.
She sneered and smacked me round the head, shoving me to the ground. Firing a round, she shot the space behind me: a warning shot. I stayed quiet. She came round and stood on my hand, her heel piercing through my flesh and nailing me to the ground. I cried out, but clamped my mouth shut. She frowned and snapped her head towards Ibrahim. "Have anything to say, Mazur? Your whore is in rather a lot of pain." And she stomped down harder.
To his credit, he stayed silent, and Abuela, realising she wasn't getting anything out of us, changed tact. She relinquished her foot's hold on my bound hand and winced, burying my face into the ground to muffle the pain. Through my pain, I could hear Emyl's. Glancing up, I saw Abuela digging her heel into the back of his knee; Emyl's face was screwed up in pain, red with his attempt to keep himself from screaming.
Harriet was on the verge of tears. "Please, stop."
Abuela smiled. "Tell me where they are."
"I don't know, please let him go." She begged.
"No, I don't suppose you do," Abuela said, ignoring Harriet's play for mercy. "But you do…" she said, hissing into Emyl's ear.
"Go to hell." was his response as he spat at the older woman.
She smiled and dug further, causing Emyl to whimper a little. She stayed there a little longer, a slight frown furrowing in her worn brow, before releasing her foot and wandering back to her initial position. "This is not working." she said.
Tio gruffed. "They are dhampirs, trained ones: they won't talk."
She shrugged. "With the right incentive, anyone will talk." she said, spinning around and striding towards Harriet. She picked her up by a strand of her hair. Harriet yelped and flailed, squirming to break free. I saw Emyl pushed himself to his knees, wincing with the pain that it brought them. "Leave her alone."
"Tell me where they are." Abuela retorted. This woman was certainly nothing if not persistent. I could see Emyl falter a little, but he kept his mouth shut. Abuela sighed, tugging further on Harriet's hair, forcing her forward. "Oh well. You see, I have a lot of soldiers and I am sure they can find something to do with this one…"
And with that, Emyl's rage boiled over. "You bitch!" He sprang forward, only to be pulled back by one of the other dhampirs. Vincent, seeing Emyl's suppression, took a deep breath and the air began to shift as he slowly built up a storm. Abuela snapped her head round and gestured for one of her follows to address Vincent. A large dhampir walked over and smacked Vincent down, effectively knocking him out. I could see Ibrahim mustering the strength to launch an attack of his own, but the same dhampir who had incapacitated Vincent loomed over him.
"I wouldn't." he said, grinning sadistically.
With all this, I no longer felt the pain my hand; it was significantly overpowered by the anger I felt towards this psychotic woman, currently holding my dear friend and threatening her with the unspeakable. As Emyl continued to cry out amidst his restraint, I planned an assault of my own; pushing myself up and readying to move.
But it never came. Instead, we were all stopped dead with the sound of what came next:
"Gloria, I sincerely hope you have not forgotten our deal."
I froze.
That voice.
It was a voice that had followed me through my childhood, raising me up where I would fall, supporting me like a crutch, only then to let me go and find my own feet. I voice that I had associated with acceptance and love, not this. Never this. The shock and the horror rang through me deeply that it rendered me motionless. Even Emyl's enraged cries were replaced with a whimper of betrayal as his jaw dropped and tears sprung in ducts of his eyes.
How wrong had we all been… how wrong had I been! Sergey Kravitz… how had I been so foolish? Kravitz was not the mole - a mere scapegoat - for the mole in our society, the traitor in our midst, stood right before us and confessed their sin…
"I agreed to help you, only if you left my daughter alone…"
Julia Conta.
