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: 16+, for this part.
Author's note: There are some Buffy-related spoilers in this part, but none too obvious. Besides, they are used in a vastly different context. Consequently, under Beast I mean the bestial nature of vampires, as mentioned in the Kindred: The Embraced series, and not the similarly-named character from Angel – The Series.
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.
Alain was not willing to tell Brian about the fight that was still going on in the underbelly of LA – at least not any details. From what little he was willing to reveal at all, it seemed that the Camarilla was slowly gaining ground on the Sabbat – but it wasn't easy. Not even with the help of their allies, whom he was not willing to name, either. But Brian had a pretty good idea anyway, after having seen the seemingly so skinny Englishman with the crossbow.
"Do you really combust into a cloud of dust if killed?" he asked.
"I probably wouldn't, since I'm too old and too strong," Alain replied thoughtfully. "But a wooden stake through my heart would kill me, yeah. That, or decapacitating. Or fire. Or direct sunlight, if I haven't fed for days… nah, for weeks, in my case. But a fledgling like Owen, or your friend Emmett, or even an older but weaker Kindred, yep, they would decompose in seconds."
"What about garlic?" Brian asked, warming up to the topic and curious how many of the legends were actually true. "And crosses? And holy water?"
"Holy water burns us all," Alan replied, "just as acids would burn you. We can get used to the sight of crosses, with enough willpower – how else could I play the organ in Father Callaghan's church? Garlic is simply unpleasant – we have an allergic reaction to it – but it can't really harm us."
"What about guns?" Brian asked. Alain shook his head.
"Bullets can't kill us," he said. "Sure, they hurt like hell, and the blood loss is just as dangerous for us as it would be for mortals, but if we can feed right after getting wounded, we can survive any possible bullet wounds. You'd need a phosphorous gun to kill one of us," he cocked an eyebrow. "Planning to get rid of me already?"
Brian grinned. "Nah, just gathering information. Knowledge is power."
"That's certainly true," Alain agreed and slumped into one of the seats in the foyer. "But why are you still up and around? It's four a.m. Switching to Kindred schedule already?"
"In your dreams," Brian retorted. "Nah, I've trouble sleeping. And when I do fall asleep, I keep having those weird dreams that make me wish I haven't."
"Weird dreams?" Alan was fully alert again, all of a sudden. "What kind of dreams?"
"I'm not sure," Brian shrugged. "I rarely remember afterwards. But it has something to do with dark corridors and freaky creatures and lots of blood… What's wrong?" he asked, because Alain had become very pale, even for a vampire.
"Merde!" the artist always cursed in French, and it gave even his more vulgar expressions a certain elegant flair. "I should have known that this could happen."
"W-what?" Brian tried very hard not to freak out – with very little success Alain took a deep (and completely unnecessary) breath to calm down. Frightening the mortal won't help, he berated himself.
"Nothing major… or irrevocable," he replied calmly. "Those aren't real dreams… In a less conscious state like in sleep, you actually see through my eyes."
Brian frowned, trying to understand… and failing.
"Have you put some weird vampire whammy on me?" he demanded.
"Of course not," Alain laughed. As if he'd need to use such methods! "It seems that we've accidentally formed a bond, though. It must have happened when I fed from you, after fighting Yitzhak. Perhaps I had some of my own blood on the lips, from the injuries, and it got into your blood stream."
"Fuck!" Brian was seriously panicking now. "For all those arcane laws of yours, there are too many accidents happening here for my taste."
"Don't worry," Alain patted his hand. "It will fade, eventually. It was only a tiny amount, and we haven't repeated it, so you're in no danger to become my thrall – unless you want it, that is."
"Would that make me stop aging?" Brian asked, hoping for a way to have his cake and eat it. Alain shook his head.
"No, it doesn't work that way. For that, you must become a ghoul – a creature between mortal and Kindred. You wouldn't age, and you'd be able to live in the sunlight as before, but you'd be dependant on my Vitae – my blood – or on someone's from my bloodline."
"How many of your line are still there?" Brian asked.
"Just Oliver and his lover boy," Alain shrugged. "But they are barely more than fledglings. Their blood doesn't have the power to sustain you. Besides, you're not the type who'd like to depend on someone… anyone."
Unless it's Mikey, Brian added for himself, but basically, Alain was right, of course.
"But Owen is a vamp… a Kindred," he corrected himself hurriedly, because Alain's eyes still had some of that silver gleam, "and still depends on his… his maker, doesn't he?"
"It's called Sire," Alain said, "and Owen is a specific case. Most fledglings become independent after a few months. It's a case of mutual agreement then, whether they want to keep in touch with their Sire or not. It's deeply personal, and so different in each case."
"Somehow I don't think you'd let me waltz away into the night, should I choose to become one of you," Brian said. Alain nodded.
"You're right, I wouldn't. Embracing you would be the way to keep you for eternity."
"There's only one person I'd wish to spend eternity with," Brian replied, "and that's not you."
"Perhaps not," Alain allowed, "but I could be your way to that end."
For a moment, Brian stared at the artist in confusion – then he began to laugh.
"No way," he said. "Mikey would never…"
"Perhaps not at the moment," Alain agreed. "But his husband won't live forever… perhaps not even much longer. As a Kindred, you'd have the time to wait."
"You're disgusting," Brian scowled. Alain raised an eyebrow.
"Why? Because I speak out your secret thought loudly? Or are you trying to make me believe that you don't want the professor out of your way?"
"Of course I do!" Brian admitted. "But first and foremost, I want Mikey happy."
"I believe you," Alain said, "but don't you understand that he'd never be happy with anyone else? All the others, no matter what he might feel for them or they might feel for him, are just poor substitutes."
"He loves Ben!" Brian protested, because no matter how much he hated to admit, that was the truth.
"With the about ten per cent of his being that's not completely focused on you, yes, I don't doubt that he does," Alain replied. "But I've seen the two of you together, and trust me if I tell you that you've formed a bond a long time ago. You're both incomplete without each other, and you'd never be able to find fulfilment in anyone else."
"And you could tell that by simply seeing us together?" Brian asked sarcastically.
Alain nodded. "Your body language, your ability to understand each other almost without words, speaks volumes."
"Well, we've been friends since the age of fourteen," Brian pointed out.
"It's more than that," Alain said. "You're burning up with desire for each other. But beyond that, you're in synch a way very few mortals I've seen in half a millennium have been. When you're together, even your auras become the same hue after a while."
"Our… auras," Brian repeated blankly. "I didn't know you were into that esoteric crap. Someone who's supposedly five hundred years old should have a better grasp on reality."
"Auras are real," Alain replied. "Just because you can't see something yourself, does it mean that it can't exist? Do you deny the existence of infrared or ultraviolet light, too, just because they're outside your limited spectrum?"
"It's not the same," Brian protested, but Alain interrupted him.
"It's exactly the same. Kindred are capable of things by their very nature that mortals would think impossible. Seeing auras is a talent, like the ultrasound sonar of bats. Nothing less, nothing more. A… reward for our choice to live in the Dark, if you want to put it that way."
"Would I also see… things if I decided to become one of you?" Brian asked.
"It's hard to tell," Alain replied with a shrug. "Each individual Kindred has his or her very specific gifts; although these usually only surface after a few decades in the Dark."
"Well, that sucks," Brian declared with a scowl, and Alain laughed.
"We have to mature in unlife, just as we've matured in life… well, some of us have," he added, grinning. "We're not getting older, and we don't die of natural causes, so what's the hurry?" He yawned and stretched like a big, graceful cat. "Caine, but I'm tired… and hungry, too. Fortunately, the people here always keep bottled stuff in the house. I'll snatch me some of it before crashing down in one of the guest rooms."
"I thought they were off-limits for bloodsuckers," Brian commented.
Alain gave him a warning silver glance. "Not one of the mortal guest rooms, boy. One that's reserved for the owner's visitors."
"So, the owner is…" Brian trailed off, and Alain nodded.
"The Hyperion belongs to the Prince of the City. That's why it's the safest possible place for you as long as the fighting goes on on the streets. This is where he collects his mortal protégées for their own safety, whenever things turn ugly. Them, and the fledglings who aren't strong enough to fight yet."
"I won't match any of those categories, though," Brian said.
"True," Alain said. "But I pleaded your case to the Prince, so that you'd be given the same protection."
"Pleaded? You?" Brian couldn't quite trust his ears. That was so not Alain, who usually took what he wanted, regardless of the circumstances.
Alain sighed. "You still don't understand what feudal system means, do you? The people of the Luna Foundation wouldn't grant you shelter without the blessing of the Prince – not in this House, anyway, and there isn't another one that would be half this safe. Aside from the small convent of Coptic nuns, that is, but they don't allow males within their walls. I had to make sure that you were safe. Swallowing my pride wasn't such a high price. I protect what's mine..."
"I'm not yours!" Brian protested, his temper flaring. Alain gave him another of those silver glances.
"Not yet," the vampire said in a silky-dangerous voice that sent cold shivers down Brian's spine. "But I'm working on it."
"You sound like the Borg," Brian replied, half-laughing and aped the artificial voice of Star Trek's cybernetic villains almost perfectly. "You'll be assimilated. Resistance is futile."
"You can't even begin to imagine how right you are," Alain rose. "Well, I'm off for a snack and then to bed. You should do the same."
"I was hoping I won't have to go alone," Brian said. "But since you scared Owen off my scent, would you care to make up for my loss?"
"That would be… unwise," Alain replied. "I'm coming from a long night of fighting, and the Beast is close to the surface. I could kill you by accident, should I get carried away."
With that last, sobering remark he left, leaving a slightly shocked Brian behind.
Another couple of days were spent following the same pattern. Brian remained trapped in the Hyperion, under the watchful eyes of the Luna Foundation security. Fortunately, Larry provided a most enjoyable outlet for his frustration, and even Emmett managed to pull himself together for a few hours each day, so that they could work on Girard's winter collection. They stayed in contact with the designers of the fashion house via Internet (most of them were mortal and therefore had no idea what was going on on the streets) and made some decent headway, despite the less than ideal circumstances.
On the evenings, Brian usually met Owen in the library. The young vampire seemed to like his company and explained him some details concerned unlife. As an academic and an English major at that, Owen had a much better grip on the bigger picture of Kindred society and culture than Emmett, whose interest rarely went beyond the surface. Brian listened to Owen with morbid fascination, his curiosity to learn more battling with fear and disgust.
On one of those evenings, he got to meet the Prince himself. Angelus, as the other bloodsuckers called him – even though the Luna people simply called him Angel – was a tall, dark-haired man, clad in black, with dark eyes and a ruggedly handsome face. He was very pale, even for a vampire, and a frown seemed to be permanently etched onto his high forehead. He radiated strength, danger and a strange sort of animal magnetism that loosened Brian's thighs even from across the foyer.
He moved towards the dark vampire instinctively, without even realizing what he was doing, when a pale hand grabbed his arm. Glancing back, he recognized the spiky-haired punk Alain had some kind of encounter with at Lady Heather's establishment.
"Don't," the man – the vampire, according to the unnatural coolness of his hand – said with quiet warning in his surprisingly deep voice. "This isn't your league, mate. Would be a bloody shame for your pretty face… or for your pretty arse."
"Why would he want to harm me?" Brian asked with a shrug.
"He wouldn't," the punk vampire replied. "This isn't about what he wants. It's about what he is."
"Why, what exactly is he?" Brian asked.
"A monster," the vampire – Spike, Brian remembered, his name was Spike – answered grimly. "A brooding and relatively tame monster on a good day, which is bloody boring if you ask me, but at least on those days he's only moderately dangerous."
"I guess this isn't one of the good days, then," Brian said.
Spike shook his head. "This is one of the times you won't like to cross his way, pet," he replied. "To fight the Sabbat successfully, Angelus has to set the Beast free – and after a killing spree of this magnitude, the Beast isn't easy to cage again."
"Killing… spree…" Brian repeated blandly.
Spike raised a scarred eyebrow sardonically. "Let's just say, mate, that some of the sewers under the city are liberally coated with dust," he said. "I assume you know what that means?"
"Dead bloodsuckers?" Brian guessed. Spike grinned at him.
"I see you're learning. Good pet. So, listen to ol' Spikey and leave the dark and brooding one alone."
"An excellent suggestion," Alain, walking up behind them, said. "Now, Spike, may I suggest you the same thing, concerning Brian?"
"Or what?" Spike challenged, not because he'd have any serious plans, just to yank on the artist's chain.
"Or I'll break every bone in your body," Alain replied in a deceivingly mild manner. Spike stared back at him with the same false friendliness.
"I'd love to see you try," he said in a low, seductive voice and sauntered away.
"You shouldn't make new enemies so quickly," Brian murmured. Alain laughed.
"Don't worry; that was just one of the mind games Spike is so fond of. Provoking people entertains him very much."
"Could you really break his bones?" Brian asked.
"Perhaps; perhaps not," Alain replied with a shrug. "It's hard to tell. He's more than three hundred years younger than me, but his bloodline is incredibly powerful. The Order of Aurelius used to be a vicious Sabbat sect for quite a while before Angelus got reformed and brought his Childer over to our side."
"A Sabbat sect?" Brian repeated in shock. Alain nodded.
"And one hated and feared even within the Sabbat. Why, until a century or so ago, Angelus himself was known as the Scourge of Europe. Dead bodies marked his way wherever he moved in the Old World. And Spike got his nickname from his favourite pastime: torturing his victims with railroad spikes. They've left their old ways – there are guarantees for that, so don't worry – but it still doesn't hurt to be careful around them. Especially for a mortal, and even more so when they've just come from a fight."
"And you said this place would be safe," Brian said sarcastically.
"It is," Alain said. "Or it was, as long as you needed it.
"Does it mean I don't do anyway?"
"No. The fighting is over."
"You've won, I hope?" Brian asked. Alain nodded.
"We have – for now. For quite a while, there will be no more Sabbat attacks on the city. Those who've escaped will have to lick their wounds first, and to regroup. I daresay we've prevented the takeover for the next couple of years… perhaps for a decade or two. Long enough for our fledglings to gain strength and learn how to fight properly."
"Have you…" Brian hesitated, "have you lost many people?"
"A few," Alain said. "Nobody you'd know personally. Not very well at least. You won't see some of the studio guards again, though. Or some of Victor's so-called security."
"Cannon fodder, huh?" Brian commented. Alain shrugged.
"They were hired for that; they knew the risks. But they weren't the only ones fighting. We all were out there: Victor, Phillipe, Louis Fortier… even the women. This was about the very existence of us. The Sabbat don't take prisoners – if we are very lucky."
Brian shuddered by the imagination what those monsters might do to helpless prisoners.
"Is that what I would be doing, too, should I decide to become one of you?" he asked uncomfortably.
"It is," Alain said simply. "But you'll also have the strength and the instincts to do so. The Becoming changes one's imperatives, too. You'll see the world in a different way. You'll understand."
"I'm not sure I want to understand your ways," Brian said.
"I think, you do," Alain replied. "You just don't want to admit. Denial is always a complicated thing. But you'll get over it."
"I will?" Brian asked doubtfully.
"Oh, yes, you will," Alain said with a thin smile. "You're not born to be the victim. I knew it the moment I first set eyes on you."
Brian was relieved to get home that night. The Hyperion was a place way too weird for his taste, and while he lived in a house full of vampires, at least Alain, Peppone and Sarina were known qualities. He noticed with a certain amount of wry amusement that the merciless war between Alain's people and the weirdoes like Yitzhak had actually found its way into the mess as "isolated fightings between street gangs influenced by new, experimental drugs".
"I assume you guys are sitting in the TV-studios as well," he said to Alain.
"Of course," the artist replied with a faint smile. "The Vignes siblings and Edward Blount have… interests in several TV and radio companies."
"Yeah, but can he force the reporters to keep their mouths shut?" Brian asked doubtfully. He knew enough reporters to know how doggedly they could follow a thread, regardless of the consequences.
"We let them have exactly the bits of information we need them to spread," Alain replied in a bored tone. "Besides, some of them belong to us.
"Is there something you guys do not control?" Brian asked dryly.
"Nonsense," Alain said. "We do have some influence, but we don't control the world of the Kine. Our numbers are too low for that."
"Especially if you keep massacring each other on the regular basis," Brian commented.
"There's some truth in that," Alain agreed. "But mainly, the Camarilla keeps our numbers low intentionally. Too many of us would endanger the Masquerade as well as the existence of the Kine."
"Too many mouths to feed," Brian added, starting to understand the concept. Alan nodded.
"Exactly. The Sabbat has no such self-restriction, of course, but the brutal nature of their Becoming kills a high percentage of candidates, so that they can't breed like rabbits, either."
"This struggle between your fractions has the unpleasant reminiscence of a religious war," Brian commented.
"In a sense, it is one," Alain replied thoughtfully. "Behind all the big words and flamboyant declarations of supremacy and independence, it all comes down to basic beliefs when we're trying to phrase what divides us. We believe we need to build up our strength for the time when the Antediluvians return. The Sabbat believe the only way to prevent that the Antediluvians would absorb our strength through diablerie is to kill us all, so that the Old Ones won't find anything but mortal cattle when they return."
"So they don't want them to return, either?" Brian asked, vaguely aware of the absurdity of the whole topic but curious enough to keep digging. Alain shook his head.
"No sane vampire does; not even most of the insane ones do. The last person who tried to open a portal for them was the Master of the Order of Aurelius. Fortunately, the Slayer killed him and his acolytes in time – but it was a close call. One I don't wish to see coming ever again."
"Does that mean we're safe now?" Brian asked. Alain shrugged indifferently.
"There are no absolute guarantees for anything. We can be reasonably certain that that particular danger won't occur for quite some time again."
"Is at least that Yitzhak character dead?" Brian insisted.
"We're all dead already, Brian," Alain laughed quietly. "I've been dead for five hundred years myself, remember? But don't worry; Yitzhak is dead – the Final Death sort of dead. I've seen Joaquin Murietta loop off his head; not even a Sabbat can survive that. It was a relief to watch his smoking remains," he added nonchalantly.
Brian shook his head in disgust. "You're a real freak sometimes, you know that?"
Alain laughed. "I'm a Kindred, Brian; that's freakish by definition."
"No kidding," Brian rolled his eyes. "And I'm a certifiable idiot for ever getting involved with you."
"We're not exactly involved," Alain pointed out. "Not yet anyway; although, as I've said, I'm working on it."
He leaned in to kiss Brian's neck, sucking gently on the pulse point, which sent an electrifying jolt directly to Brian's groin. The potential danger – now that he knew it existed – added some extra thrill to what would otherwise simply be a pleasant feeling.
"Come to bed now," Alain said in a low voice, opening Brian's jeans with one hand and grabbing the nape of his neck with the other one. "I've gone without you for too long."
A tiny, sensible voice in the back of Brian's head screamed to him to tear himself away and run. Out of the room, out of the house, out of this entire city of sick weirdoes – if necessary, to another continent. And yet Brian followed Alain to the artist's rooms, drawn to the vampire like moths to the flame.
The End – for now