Forging the Bond
by Soledad
A "Pathways in the Dark" story
Part 11 of "The Toreador Chronicles". Follows "Revelations".
For disclaimer and background information see the Introduction.
Rating: Adults only, for really disturbing discussion topics. Sex isn't the only thing that might harm underage readers, you know.
Author's note:
Owen Thurman, played by Christopher Wiehl, was Buffy's short-time date in the 1st Season episode "Never Kill a Boy on the First Date". We never saw him again, but at least one piece of fanfiction assumed that he went to the UCLA and ran into Angel in LA again. The rest is entirely my doing.
Bethany, played by Daisy McCrackin, is a character from the 2nd Season "Angel" episode "Untouched". All the background info about her is canon. She's an interesting character whom I thought would be a great addition to the Legacy House.
Summary: While the fight between Camarilla and Sabbat vampires is still going on in LA, Brian, safely guarded in the Hyperion, gets acquaintanted with the local Legacy members and learns a lot about things that bump in the night.
The next four days were like some surreal dream for Brian. He was practically imprisoned in the Hyperion – whenever he tried to leave, some security guy told him in a friendly but firm manner that he wasn't allowed to do so… for his own safety. Not even Larry would give in, despite the good, hard pounding Brian gave his willing ass each night. Well, at least the guy was gorgeous and provided Brian with the best sort of distraction imaginable.
He got to know the other residents of the Hyperion, too – well, at least the mortal ones, as the second floor was still off-limits. Having gotten used to the euphemisms everyone was using here, Brian strongly suspected that "the owner and his family" would be some undead freaks, too, but knew better than ask. They'd never tell him the whole truth anyway.
But he had met the leader of the Luna Foundation's local branch: a skinny, bespectacled Englishman about his own age; him with the posh accent and the impossible, three-piece tweed suits. At first he dismissed the bookish young man and his softly rounded, always nervous-looking blonde wife as a pair of ridiculous breeders… until the day when he witnessed the Precept, as the Luna employees called their boss (except Gunn who just called him "English") shooting some freakish creature accurately through the heart.
With a crossbow. After which aforementioned freakish creature exploded into dust. Just like that.
"That's nothing," Bethany, the red-haired psychology student, who had been watching the scene with him through the window, commented. "You should see him when he comes home after an all-night hunt, with a battle-axe in one hand and a sword in the other, covered with demon goo."
"Demon… goo," Brian repeated neutrally. He had been warned not to antagonize Bethany, who was – supposedly – a psychokinetic. Which was an urban legend, of course, but so were vampires, and yet vampires turned out to be frighteningly real.
Bethany shrugged. "A common occurrence in our field of work."
"You seem to walk knee-deep in this freakish stuff," Brian said. "How did you get yourself into such mess to begin with."
"Not voluntarily, you bet," Bethany replied with a wry smile. "Ever heard of Wolfram & Hart?"
Brian nodded. "Some kind of law firm, isn't it? An acquaintance of mine, Phillipe Navital has dealings with them sometimes – and he doesn't like it a bit."
"Wolfram & Hart is a law firm that represents the interests of Sabbat vampires and other unpleasant people who are in league with the Sabbat," Bethany explained grimly. "Some of those people are very rich and influential businessmen who are stupid enough to believe their wealth and influence would be doubled if the Sabbat took over the city."
"It would not?" Brian asked, although he could guess the answer already.
Bethany shook her head. "For the Sabbat, we mortals are nothing but cattle. LA is a dangerous enough place as it is, but if they took over, it would become a slaughterhouse. I heard you've had a 'Sabbat incident' already – well, the rest of them aren't any better."
"But if they are so strong, how do Alain and the others plan to keep them off the city?" Brian asked.
"By hitting them first and killing as many of them as possible," Bethany replied simply. "If they can do that, the Sabbat would retreat… for a while. This war has been going on for centuries, and it will continue as long as one party manages to completely eradicate the other one. And we mortals can only hope that it will end with the victory of the Camarilla, or else we'll be moved considerably lower on the food chain."
"So, in order to avoid a bloody massacre, Alain and his cronies must perform a bloody massacre?" Brian asked in distaste.
Bethany shrugged, her green eyes hard and cold.
"Would you hesitate to put down a rabid dog to protect yourself or those who are important to you?" she asked. "You can't even imagine the things the Sabbat and their allies would do to reach their goals. Look at me. I was born a psychokinetic, but my ability only surfaces when I am in danger. So Wolfram & Hart arranged for me to get gang-raped, in order to bring that ability out, full force. Angel saved me, gave me shelter, and helped me to find ways to deal with this cursed 'gift'. Do you think I wouldn't do everything I can to help him… and to see Wolfram & Hart brought permanently down?"
Brian had to admit that she had a point. He said so. She smiled faintly.
"Every single mortal in this house has a similar story," she said. "And most of the younger vamps, too."
"Oh," Brian said in satisfaction. "That's why the second floor is off-limits, isn't it? There are vampires in the house."
Bethany nodded. "Yeah, but only fledglings. Newly-embraced ones who aren't strong enough to fight an all-our war with the Sabbat yet. Like your friend Emmett. They are just as restricted to the house as you are… for their own safety. It's a custom of the Sabbat to kill the weak first and go for the strong afterwards."
"Well, if that isn't a reassuring thought," Brian grinned mirthlessly. "Being closed in a house with a bunch of green vampires who have no control over their blood lust."
"Don't be ridiculous," Bethany replied sharply. "They are closely watched, every minute of the day. Besides, they sleep during daytime anyway, and can't enter the floors where the mortal residents live. Those places are warded."
"They are what?" Brian frowned, getting the feeling of some weird Goth movie. Bethany sighed impatiently.
"Really, your ignorance will be the death of yours one day. Warded means protected by a spell. You'd have to invite a vampire in, for him or her to enter your room."
"Bullshit," Brian said succinctly. "Next you'd tell me you have here warlocks, too."
"Nah," she said. "No warlocks. Wiccas. White witches. The Precept's wife is the strongest one among them."
"That meek little breeder?" Brian asked incredulously. "You gotta be kidding me!"
Bethany gave him a sour look. "One doesn't need a shrill voice or the spectacular looks of a drag queen to have powers," she said. "I'd mind my manners around Tara Maclay, if I were you. She's not quick to anger, fortunately, but she's incredibly strong. Do not mess with her; in your own best interest."
"Really?" Brian asked. "If she's such a big shot, why does she always look like a scared rabbit?"
"Family history," Bethany replied. "The women of her line were all witches; and the men, scared shitless from their powers, made them believe they were possessed by demons and needed to be shut away to protect the rest of humankind. She would have lived out her life in a windowless room, too, if not for her friends," she shrugged. "It was years ago that her father tried to drag her home by force, but some memories need a long time to fade. Yours wasn't the only rotten childhood, you know."
Her darkening eyes spoke volumes, and Brian wisely refrained from asking. One did not provoke the crazy, psychic woman.
"Anyway," Bethany said, yawning, "I've got early lessons tomorrow, and an essay that needs to be finished. Stay put and don't do anything stupid. This will be over in a few days, one way or another. Let the vamps and the professional demon hunters deal with it."
That was certainly a sensible piece of advice; the only problem was Brian being too restless to "stay put". He didn't have the patience to surf the 'Net, either, and it was way too late to call anyone in the Pitts, too. He knew the Foundation had an extensive library on the ground floor, but honestly, all those dusty old books about occultism, ancient history, religious beliefs and strange legends weren't exactly his cup of tea. And the people here seemed to have something against TV – they had neither a satellite dish, nor cable access.
At least not in the guest rooms. He could only guess what was hidden away in the labs. Or better not.
So, since sleep was stubbornly avoiding him, he got dressed again – somehow he didn't think his hosts would appreciate if he went down just in a morning robe and nothing beneath – and opted for the library anyway. It was still better than sitting in his dark hotel room, alone.
The library room was, surprisingly enough for a hotel, a cavernous space. Perhaps the people had taken out a wall or two to create it. The smell of fine leather and aged parchment filled Brian's nose and made him think of old mantle-and-dagger movies, as he stepped in towards the shelves, truly curious now. On almost two dozen shelves were hundreds of books, varying in size and age. But all of them very old. Most of the titles were in Latin or other languages he haven't even heard of before. Little chance for distraction here, then.
He looked around to see if anyone else would spend their night awake. Not surprisingly, the reading room was empty, save from a tall, well-built blond guy of about twenty or twenty-two, in form-fitting jeans and a short-sleeved shirt. Since Justin, Brian had developed a mild distaste for bond twinks, but the elegant, even features of this young man had nothing in common with Justin's cheeky grin of falsely innocent eyes. Despite the closeness of age, this young man was definitely an adult. And one who had seen a lot, if the slightly haunted look of his eyes was any indication.
He heard Brian coming, however quiet the older man had been, and looked up from his book with a friendly smile.
"Hey, you're Alain's protégée, right? Or should I say newest obsession?" he rose from his seat and extended a hand. "I'm Owen Thurman. English major at the UCLA."
"Brian Kinney," Brian shook the proffered hand, which was suspiciously cool to the touch – vampire? Or just cold in that thin shirt?
"I know," Owen replied, gesturing him to take the other seat. "We all know who you are. It's a rare thing for Alain to get so attached to a mortal, or so I am told. I don't really know him, not personally."
"But you are…" Brian trailed off, not sure how to ask the question – or if he should ask it in the first place. Owen shrugged off his concern.
"Oh, I am a vampire all right," he said, "but I try to keep out of the undead politics as well as I can. It's not so that I'd have chosen this life… unlife… whatever."
That didn't sound very promising in Brian's ears.
"I thought these Camarilla guys were not supposed o turn anyone against their will," he said, more than a little worried.
"They're not," Owen agreed, "and they don't do it, not usually. Well, it wasn't exactly against my will, either. It's just…. My choices were fairly limited: becoming a vampire or die a slow and extremely painful death," he shrugged again. "Turns out, my choice provided me with a long and sometimes rather painful unlife, but that's something nobody could know in advance."
"Sound… unpleasant," Brian said carefully, not really sure how to comment. The fledgling vampire pulled a face.
"Trust me, it is. But it serves me well, for my own stupidity. Why the hell did I want to visit a secret cult everyone warned me about?"
"I might get the morale of the story better if you started at the beginning," Brian said. Perhaps if the guy talked long enough, the night would be over.
"I guess so," Owen grinned at him charmingly, showing a row of perfect white teeth; shit, but the guy was eminently fuckable. "All right then. I grew up in a small town called Sunnydale – ever heard of it?"
Brian shook his head, "Nope."
"You will, if you keep socializing with the undead," Owen promised. "Well, it's built over a place called the Hellmouth – long story; you'd better look it up in the Demon Database of the Internet…"
"There's a demon database?" Brian was flabbergasted. Apparently, there were more freaks on the planet than he'd assumed – and he'd never had a good opinion about his fellow humans to begin with.
"And a pretty good, accurate one at that," Owen nodded. "Moderated by one of the best demonologist we know. You should really take a look one day. It's… educational. Okay, Sunnydale. It's one of the worse Sabbat nests in California… perhaps even beyond. But we were your average middle-class family in happy denial that anything but the American Dream could exist. We were very good at ignoring the fact that Sunnydale had the highest mortality rate of the entire state, and the most deaths had… unusual circumstances, to put it mildly."
"Like twin puncture wounds on the victim's neck?" Brian asked sarcastically, but Owen nodded.
"That, and worse. But as I said, most people are big at denial, and so were my parents, my sister, and even I. Until I met that new girl."
"Who broke your heart because she was a blood-sucking fiend?" Brian grinned.
"No," Owen answered seriously, "she was the Slayer. The one and only in each generation with inherited powers to fight and kill vampires successfully – well, the Sabbat, anyway, as the Camarilla has always been careful enough to cover our existence. We dated a few times, but it always ended up in some sort of disaster: she fighting freakish things and I nearly getting killed. So we broke up early on; she didn't want to endanger my life. But my eyes were opened by then, and I found that I liked the excitement. So when I graduated from high school and came to LA to college, I began to seek out places I shouldn't have. Until the day when I ended up in a Setite temple as a human sacrifice."
"In a what as a what?" Brian could barely trust his ears.
"Hmmm… how could I explain you the Setites?" Owen thought about that for a moment. "You have worked with Dawn Cavanaugh, haven't you?"
"Yeah," Brian shuddered. "She gave me the creeps like nobody before."
"Well, she is a Setite," Owen said. "A very civilized, moderate one, who doesn't keep contacts with her clan brethren. That should give you an idea about the rest of the Clan."
"Are they Sabbat, too?" Brian asked.
"No, they are an independent Clan," Owen replied, his distaste obvious. "But they happily offer their special abilities and their power of corruption to both sides. They believe that everyone can be corrupted, and that the best way to corrupt someone is to give them what they want."
"Sounds like the professional ars poetica of an ad exec," Brian commented dryly. Owen shook his head.
"Oh, they do more than just talk. They actually give people what they want, and they watch that desire breed even stronger desire. They provide ecstasy and indulgence to their cattle, always encouraging excess, addicting their thralls to pleasures only they can give. Drugs, sex, money and power are their tools, and they enjoy using those while dealing with other vampires… or with mortals. Some of the most powerful Jamaican and Haitian drug lords are Setites."
"Well, if that isn't fascinating," the thought that he'd been the manipulated toy of some blood-sucking fiends while thinking that he could evade reality in the smoke of pot was not a pleasant one for Brian. "But that still doesn't explain how you've ended up as the sacrificial lamb."
"Setites are a strange lot," Owen replied. "The males are the muscle, and they have the resources, both scientific and financial ones. But the true power within the Clan lies with the females. They are the priestesses who guard the secrets of the cult of their dark god… ancestor… whatever. The first one arriving to an area establishes a temple and prepares the way for others. Once a newcomer arrives, she stays at the temple until she has enough power to found her own. Each temple is the centre of a web of corruption, and is always led by a single vampire, though they may be one or more subpriests, depending on the size of the domain."
"All women?" Brian asked with a frown.
"Male priests do exist, but they are less powerful, as a rule," Owen said. "There are exceptions, of course. There always are. In any case, I became one of the retainers of Celine Chevalier, a Setite priestess, without knowing who – or what – she really was. And since she judged me too weak to become a Setite, I was chosen to be their sacrifice. Setite rituals are vile – especially the ones needed for the founding of a new temple. To ritually kill a human sacrifice takes six days." He swallowed hard. "I was well into the fourth day when Angel found me."
"Oh, shit," Brian felt like throwing up. "Is it even possible for anyone to get through torture so long without bleeding out completely?"
"The poison on the ceremonial knife slows down the body functions," Owen replied tonelessly. "It gets adsorbed by the tissue of your body as water gets into a sponge, but it doesn't numb you. The wounds are small and strategically placed. You are supposed to suffer; to feel every drop of blood leave your body, slowly, little by little, until, on the sixth night, a night with a dark moon, you are finally dead… and your soul… ghost… whatever is trapped within the walls of the temple for eternity."
"How did they find you in time?" Brian asked, ignoring the trapped soul part of the whole thing, because it sounded too weird for him.
"Angel's Seer gets visions sometimes, so that they would know when somebody needs rescuing," Owen said with a shrug, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Actually, this was the first aspect of the entire story that Brian found partially believable. He knew even the police used people with paranormal abilities sometimes to find missing persons.
"They didn't exactly find me in time," Owen continued. "I was so far gone already that Angel couldn't even properly Embrace me… do you know how our kind is made?"
Brian nodded. "They drink your blood, then give you some of theirs in exchange, and then you feel like shit for a while, until your body gets used to the changes. What went wrong with you?" It seemed to him that making a new vampire was a far more risky thing than the bloodsuckers would be willing to admit.
"Angel couldn't drink my blood… what little was still there," Owen said matter-of-factly. "The poison is deadly, even for vampires, and it takes a lot to kill one of us. They had to force the poisoned blood out of me with methods I can't even begin to understand, and then Angel forced his down my throat, while I was halfway done with dying already. Then they whisked me to the only Kindred clinic in town and hooked me up on the IV to flush the poison out of my system."
"I bet that was easier said than done," Brian commented.
"Yeah," Owen replied with a humourless laugh. "I hung on the frigging IV for weeks… in fact, it still isn't over completely. I've had to go back to the clinic once a week for the last five months, to get my system flushed. They can't even tell me how long it will take until I'll be clean again."
"You spoke of… pain," Brian risked the remark. Owen nodded.
"It's bad," he said, "especially on nights with a dark moon. And nothing helps, except the blood of my Sire. I wonder if he ever regretted saving me," he added thoughtfully.
"Why should he?" Brian asked with a frown.
"My… dependence on his blood is a fatal weakness," Owen replied simply. "I'm a liability for the whole family. Plus, since we share blood so often, our… connection is extraordinarily strong. It's not easy for me to shield my thoughts or my pain from him, and a distraction like that could be dangerous if he's in a middle of a fight."
Brian leaned back in his seat. What kind of sick shit have you gotten yourself into, Bri? Michael's worried question echoed in his mind.
He looked at Owen again, who seemed so… normal, everyone's favourite son-in-law, the perfect little breeder through and through – and yet he was a vampire, suffering from the aftermath of some bizarre poison that could kill even the undead. Weird shit didn't even begin to describe the situation.
"Have you ever regretted that he'd rescued you?" he asked.
"When all's been said and done… no, I haven't," Owen had apparently given this a lot of thought, as he answered at once. "I wouldn't deny that this is not the most comfortable existence, but it still beats being dead. I mean, the Final Death kind of dead," he grinned at Brian. "Don't fret. This is not how a proper Embrace usually happens. Most people get over the… unpleasant part in a week. Mine is a special case."
"I don't know if I really want to become a monster," Brian said dryly. "If vampires do such things to ordinary people…"
"Not all vampires," Owen corrected. "The Kindred have their share of psychos just like mortals do. Granted, the share might be somewhat bigger…"
"No kidding," Brian commented. Owen shook his head.
"Mortals can be just as bad… or worse," he said. "The biggest human sacrifice known in history was performed by an Aztec warlord who had twenty thousand captured enemy warriors massacred in a mere four days. Having their hearts cut out while they were still breathing, to satisfy their gods. Not even the Sabbat have ever come close to that. The skull racks of Aztec, Maya and Mochas temples could tell you… interesting things about human nature."
"I thought you were an English major, not an historian," Brian said. Owen shrugged.
"I am. But we're all supposed to be well-versed in history; both human and Kindred one. Besides, this is a pet project of mine… for personal reasons, as you might think." He yawned. "It was nice to talk to you, Brian. I hope we run into each other again while you are here."
The dismissal surprised – and annoyed – Brian a little, as he had certain…. Ideas concerning Owen. Vampire or not, the guy was gorgeous; and besides, Brian had been boinking the undead since his arrival to LA, so what would one more count?
"You've gotten very busy, all of a sudden?" he asked, mildly irritated.
"Nah," Owen smiled. "You have."
Brian turned around and saw Alain standing in the doorframe, watching them with unreadable eyes. Eyes that glowed in that unholy, silver gleam again.
TBC