Forgive me for the long lapse between chapters! Also, please forgive any errors you might find in this chapter. It's been in the works for weeks now but only came together quickly this evening as inspiration took hold! Now, PLEASE heed the rating on this one ~M~ for blood, references to torture, and other macabre images.

Please Review! (Also if you find mistakes, please send them my way, as I said, my editing was not my finest for this chapter, I'm afraid)

Much more to come!

Enjoy~

~TLD

Part Twenty-Six: Of Monsters and Mercy

Pugsley sat in the cool dark of his room. The only sounds interrupting the seamless silence were the occasional creaks in the old decrepit house, the rhythmic pounding of small feet pacing in the hallway, the deadened moan that meant his father was still lying in anguish beside his mother's bedside, and the clicking of the computer mouse as he scrolled idly through his usual virtual haunts.

He'd excused himself from the vigil taking place in his mother's room and outside in the hallway. His father's moans and his brother's pacing were too much for him to bear.

He wasn't a moper. He'd never been.

Pugsley was a man of action. And sitting around for his mother to… well, sitting around waiting was simply out of the question.

So he put his mind to the task of figuring out where Wednesday and Joel had disappeared to. He'd seen the darts in their necks and the vampires dragging their lifeless bodies away, but in the frenzy of bringing his mother in the house and putting out the remaining fires, he hadn't gotten a clear idea where they were headed.

Just as a new idea popped into his head, a new sound disturbed the symphony of creaks, footsteps, moans, and clicks, immediately catching his attention. He froze, and for a moment thought he'd imagined the sound.

But just as he went back to clicking away, the sound rose again.

Pugsley rose slowly, creeping after the source of the sound as if sneaking up on prey.

A voice? he thought, trying to place the noise. It didn't sound completely human, but certainly not mechanical. Maybe some kind of animal then, he thought.

The tiny creaks of his footfalls were masked in the other creaks and groans of the house, but he kept his pace slow, stopping to listen and to track the location of the sound.

As he passed Pubert in the hall, he noticed his little brother's eyes seemed swollen, though no tears were to be found. He seemed absorbed in his own thoughts, jumping slightly when Pugsley patted him on the shoulder.

Pubert's shocked eyes leaped to Pugsley's face, but Pugsley smiled a tight grin and squeezed Pubert's shoulder in brotherly comfort. Distracted, Pubert nodded heavily and returned to his pacing.

Just then a loud CLANG erupted from the kitchen downstairs. Pugsley shook with surprise and hurried toward the source of the sound. A quick backward glance revealed that Pubert hadn't even reacted to the loud noise.

Pugsley hurried to the kitchen door, and just as he was about to burst through, he paused.

The noise, he realized. He listened.

Without the distortion of traveling through the winding corridors of the old mansion, Puglsey recognized the sound easily now. Not animal, but human. Not a noise, but words.

He didn't recognize the words. He doubted anyone could. They were of a language so old none still lived to speak it. Either that or Mama made it up, he thought, snickering to himself.

He relaxed fractionally. Mama's just talking to herself again, he thought. Probably brewing up some concoction to cure Mother. He took a deep breath, suddenly realizing he'd been holding it in.

Just as he was about to turn from the door and head back upstairs, a new sound reached him. And this sound curdled his blood.

"Tell me, witch," the voice whispered seductively. "What is the rest of the spell? Tell me…."

Pugsley recognized that voice.

"Wednesday?" A soft voice whispered her name with an edge of derision.

Wednesday smiled to herself.

She preferred it this way. She worked hard to surround her name with an infamous reputation. She was proud of the way that people spoke her name in whispered voices or with a telltale shudder that revealed them to be cowards. And when people addressed her directly – HA! – if they could muster enough courage to do so, Wednesday loved to hear that edge of anger to their tone that was an attempt to cover up their deep-seated fear.

But, it had all become too easy. Too commonplace. If she was being honest with herself, hearing that fear in their voices had become normal and, well, very boring. But this? Derision? She delighted in the challenge of it.

Soon, she thought, smiling. Soon they too will fall.

With an exaggerated yawn, Wednesday stretched out her arms, and rose – albeit somewhat stiffly – from her prone position on the floor to a more comfortable seated position.

She opened her wide, black eyes with languid grace, but her disinterested expression bent slightly into amused contempt with the arch of one black eyebrow as she surveyed her surroundings.

The small room was dimly lit by the flickering light of a single, hanging bulb in the middle of the room. As Wednesay watched, the bulb swung slightly, as if pushed by a non-existent breeze. The walls and floors were bare, though they bore the traces of previous use. Holes and bits of chipped paint indicated where pictures might have hung, and the waterproofed floor showed signs of once being covered in carpet.

A muffled cough drew Wednesday's attention to the far corner of the room. The light was dimmer there, but she could clearly make out the shape and form of someone sitting there.

Tensing involuntarily, Wednesday shifted her position on the floor into a slightly more defensive posture.

The shape laughed softly.

"If I was going to hurt you, I'd have done so already," the soft voice sneered.

Wednesday's eyes narrowed at the girl's tone. It was definitely a girl, Wednesday was sure. She didn't have to wait long to learn the speaker's identity, because just then, Melody stepped into the light.

Her flaming red hair and her blistering red eyes pierced through the dim light with such ferocity that Wednesday was surprised she hadn't seen them before. Though her posture was overtly threatening and her fangs glinted against her parted lips, Wednesday stared back with a mixture of defiance and indifference.

"Well," Wednesday drawled, "I imagine you'd be hesitant to try, after what happened at our last encounter."

With a hiss and a flash of red, Melody was across the room, her hand squeezing against Wednesday's throat. Wednesday dug her nails into the girl's hand and her feet kicked wildly off the floor, but she couldn't break her grasp.

"Know this," Melody spat in Wednesday's face, "if it weren't for the Queen's order that you be left unharmed, I would take you apart, piece by piece, have you writhing in agony for days, weeks even, until you're screaming, begging me for the death that might never come." She smiled, thoughtful, "Maybe I'd change you, keep you myself. Torture you for eternity." She smiled hugely now, relishing her imaginings, as Wednesday's face turned blue.

Almost as an afterthought, she dropped Wednesday, who fell, sputtering back to the floor. She heaved in great gasps, trying to keep from passing out.

Just then, a click in the door lock caused Melody to turn away from Wednesday. As she headed for the door, she turned back slightly, "Who knows, perhaps after Lilith is done with you, she'll let me play with you." She smiled again and then turned back to the door.

With a groan, the door swung inward and Veronica stood in the doorway. Melody smirked, and as they swapped places, she sneered, "Your turn. Enjoy."

And as the door clicked shut, Wednesday sighed heavily. Staring down angry glares was becoming rather tiring for one day. She crossed her arms around her chest, pushed herself into the corner of the room, and closed her eyes.

Joel paced his empty cell like a tiger in a cage. It'd been hours now since Lilith had drawn one cold hand across his cheek, smiled, and announced, "I'll go see what we have on tap," before striding across the cell, shaking a still-unconscious Ethan until he spluttered into wakefulness, and hoisting him roughly to his feet.

Just as they reached the threshold, she turned back and threw Joel a look, a glint in her eyes that made her look equally dazzling and dangerous. But her words were for Ethan.

"Ethan, dear," she said acidly, "We must fetch Joel something for dinner." She turned her eyes back to Ethan's sick grey face. Joel heard her voice lower and become menacing, "Surely you have something that you would be happy to share with your brother." Her eyes bore deeply into Ethan's, communicating, Joel assumed, far more than her words suggested.

Joel's assumptions proved correct as Ethan's eyes jolted wide and his breathing caught as he processed what Lilith meant. Joel watched his jaw tighten and his eyes narrow slightly in anger, before he controlled his expression. "Yes, my Queen," he answered stiffly, bowing slightly to hide the look of rebellion in his eyes.

The door had slammed shut with a hollow thud that made Joel suddenly, horribly claustrophobic. That's when he began to pace.

It was just as Joel had suspected, he wasn't going to be allowed to find his own prey. And as his 'relatives' did not share his aversion to human blood…

He paced restlessly as waves of dread rolled over him. Each sickening wave hit him like a ton of bricks as he imagined various faces of the doomed human they'd toss at his feet. Guilt warred with the burning hunger that was just beginning to take hold. As his conscious mind felt more and more faint, the beast in his chest grew in strength, and he felt it growl in pleasure and desire as each new face swam in his thoughts.

Joel swallowed hard, trying to draw his thoughts away from the bloodlust that was making his mouth water and his eyes warm.

Perhaps it was lucky, then, that as the door opened, the face he saw next drove all thought from his mind.

Two overlarge, unfocused eyes seemed to stare right through him. Her pale, watercolor blue irises seemed to swell and pulse with unshed tears, forever locked as if behind glass. Her skin was pale, but unnaturally so, as if her normally plush complexion had soured from weeks of darkness and blood loss.

And the blood.

Joel's jaw dropped in shock of all the blood. Clotting blood stained her soft blonde hair, dripped in dried streaks across her face and neck. Gashes on her arms drew his eyes to her slack fingers, and traveled down her body, following the trail of purpling bruises down her bare thighs and knees, to bloody bare feet, that rested, seemingly unconcerned by the cold floor on which they sat.

"Your dinner, brother."

Joel's eyes jumped up, finding Ethan's face for the first time since the girl had entered the room. His face was contorted in barely concealed fury, blatant disgust etched across his forehead.

And suddenly, Joel understood. She was Ethan's prey.

Pet, he corrected himself, remembering Ethan's sadistic habit of kidnapping his prey and torturing them for weeks until anemia, shock, injury, or Ethan's own capricious pleasure finally killed them.

Looking again, he saw the bite marks mottling her skin. Every inch that was not covered by what looked like the remains of a sweet, white nightshirt, was swollen in reds and blues.

Joel's eyes burnt with anger and his fangs slid out in a furious hiss.

"You sick bastard," Joel hissed menacingly.

Ethan's fangs glinted and a ferocious growl filled the small room.

The girl didn't even flinch.

Joel tensed for a fight, relishing the idea of ripping the sadistic bastard to shreds, but, in a huff, Ethan, shoved the girl, knocking her to the ground before Joel's feet, and disappeared through the door.

With the heavy click of the lock, Joel felt his righteous anger slowly spoiling. Ethan may be the more sadistic monster of the two, but Joel was still a monster, himself.

Isn't that why, as the girl's torturer left the room, Joel's mouth began to water with the scent of her blood?

With a spike of revulsion, he threw himself across the room, putting as much distance between the girl's motionless body and himself as possible.

From the far corner, he saw her stir. With shaky hands, she pushed herself up to a sitting position, and dragged herself with one arm – the other tucked carefully against her ribs – against the wall facing Joel. Her feet dragged lifelessly behind her, and he bit back tears at the sheer unspeakable damage done to this girl. She didn't wince, she'd didn't cry. Her unfocused eyes gazed away as shallow breaths racked her chest.

She's gone. Joel thought sadly. Whoever this girl was, whoever she'd been before she'd be brutally beaten and torn, that girl was gone. All that was left was the broken, suffering shell of what used to be.

Joel's heart wanted to cry – wanted to wrap the poor girl in his arms, try to soothe her injuries and chase away her demons. But his body ached. His injuries mocked him, picking away at his control, at his consciousness, begging for the blood to mend him.

I'm a monster, he thought, his self-loathing reaching an all-time high. No better than the lot of them.

He could see no escape. No way to save his girl and himself… and, oh God, Wednesday! Joel's forehead crumpled to the ground as the image of the terribly battered girl was superimposed with long, black hair, and deep black eyes.

Monster! The word burst through his mind like a scream and a muffled moan escaped his lips.

He brought his clawed hands to his face, tangling them in his hair, as if the answer to his situation lay in the palms of his hands.

He knew it didn't make sense, and he didn't know if God listened to the prayers of the damned, but the thought burst unbidden from his heart.

God please… Mercy… please, just let me save her. He'd been thinking of Wednesday, but when he opened his eyes, he suddenly understood what he had to do.

With a deep breath, he stood, his hazel eyes heavy. The smell of her blood on the air tickled his throat, making the beast within purr expectantly. No, he thought savagely, forcing the beast down, you'll not conquer me today.

And in a flash, he remembered his words to Morticia, I may not be a man, but I'll not consent to live as a beast.

With slow footsteps, he crossed the cold room, his hazel eyes locked on the girl's slack, empty face.

"Forgive me," he whispered. To whom, he wasn't sure.

The girl didn't look up or acknowledge his approach in any way.

Joel kneeled before the broken girl, bringing his face level with hers. The scent of her body, so close now, nearly unhinged him. The sight of her weak, crumpled form tortured him, begging him to protect her, to save her. Before it was a conscious thought, Joel reached out a hand to her and cupped her swollen cheek with a soft hand.

Where the ferocious hiss and the bone-grating growl from earlier had made no effect of her, this gentle touch caused her eyes to flick into focus. And suddenly, he was gazing into her direct, though foggy, watery-blue gaze.

It was the directness of her gaze that froze him.

Shame almost made him break her gaze, but he held it, his soft hazel eyes, holding and soothing her.

After a long moment, the pressure on his hand increased as she leaned lightly into him. The tears that had been locked in her eyes started to well, and a sudden, tiny whimper smothered in her throat.

Joel was shocked by how quickly he understood. She must be in unspeakable pain.

He stared deeply into the watercolor depths, drawing her into his thrall. This much he could do for her.

He drew her in, washing away her pain, basking her in warm, tender caresses, easing her fears, erasing her memories of torture, filling her with a wave of contentment.

As he watched, her pain-stricken eyes melted and her vacant expression of shock warmed into a small smile. She closed her eyes, as if savoring the moment of bliss.

Joel leaned into her, rubbing his cheek against her, before burying his face in her neck.

She wouldn't feel the bite. She wouldn't feel the draining pressure of her blood being drawn away. She would feel only pleasure as her life slowly slipped away.

Joel crushed his eyes shut, fighting the self-loathing that threatened to distract him from what he knew he must do.

With a surge of intensity, he wrapped her more tightly in his thrall, and sank his teeth into the soft, pulsing vein in her neck.

The flash of images that slammed into him hit him so hard that he didn't hear the soft 'Oh' as her breath slipped out in a pleasurable sigh.

He saw her then, smiling and beautiful, her soft blond hair bouncing in the sun. Her parents, her friends, laughing. Images of sweet summer evenings and loving embraces filled his head. "Danielle!" her parents cried, cheering her on in some sporting event or another. And more, images of parties and vacations, school dances and sleepovers, raced through his mind with startling intensity, as if all the happy memories were pushing through at once, desperate to be relived.

Her body shivered delicately, but from pleasure or cold, Joel couldn't know. He clung to her tightly, her sweet blood soaking his parched mouth, filling the aching holes in his chest, but kept his hand soft against her cheek.

And then he saw it.

Ethan's form in the woods, a smile luring her in. Ethan's cruel hands caught in her hair, dragging her across the floor. The searing agony of Ethan's bites. Ethan striking her, breaking her bones, leaving her bleeding on the floor. He saw her tears, felt her pain, desolation, fear, and helplessness. And her screams rang through his mind.

The rage was building in him, more potent than he felt he could stand. In a sudden move, he pulled back slightly, wanting to escape the torturous visions that pierced his mind.

But before he could escape, her hand was there, cupping the side of his face, as if caressing a lover as he drew kisses down her neck. Her hand was soft, not forceful. It was as if she drew comfort from having him there and was reassuring herself that he was still with her.

The movement was shocking, and it froze him.

He could feel her body weakening as she slipped into the sleep of blood loss. He scolded himself for his cowardice, and as the final hideous images of Ethan's sick torture filled his mind, he grasped Danielle's hand with his free hand, and sent her all the comfort he could muster, as tears ran silently down his face.