Disclaimer: I own nothing. Incredibly thankful beyond words for the world that Toby Whithouse has created and for the character of Hal that Damien Molony has brought to life. All mistakes are my own.
Thank you Saemay and TJ4EV for catching that detail that needed just a bit more. Hal is smarter than I gave him credit for. And I'm glad you like my ending. :D
I hope you all enjoy. I had fun exploring something a bit darker. I welcome any feedback. xx
Ch 13: Blood
The carriage has been quiet for hours, both men lost in their thoughts. They are forced to make a brief stop to change horses halfway through their journey and when they re-enter the carriage, Federico finally reveals his plan, "Once we arrive in London we will deposit you a safe distance away from the headquarters. You will infiltrate the operations and do whatever you can to negotiate Sylvie's release. I will spend the day gathering the wolves in London and those whom I sent messages to in outlying areas. We are lucky in one thing; timing. The full moon is in two nights..."
As Federico keeps talking, Hal is more and more impressed. His strategising skills would make any commander proud. Hal detects a flaw however and interrupts, "I fail to see how this will work when you all will be transformed into brutes. I don't say this to be derogatory. You simply will not have the capacity to enact any plan when you are in wolf form. You will be useless."
Federico gives Hal a mirthless smile, shaking his head, "Again, so certain. And so deluded. You have no imagination, no understanding." Now his demeanor changes, a note of pride entering his voice, "We are a pack."
Hal frowns. "Excuse me? What do you mean a pack?"
Federico continues, "We have found a way to work together, to keep a part of our human consciousness even in wolf form."
Hal is unconvinced. "How?"
Federico looks at him pityingly, "Love, friendship, trust. That is the key. To vampires these are foreign concepts. We have nurtured our relationships; we truly are like brothers and sisters. The wolf part of us instinctively recognizes the bonds the human parts of us have made. We work together, as normal wolves do, in a pack."
Hal remains quiet, considering. If this is truly the case, the ramifications are astonishing. A pack, a true pack, could very well bring down the vampires.
Sylvie wakes up again, grateful. The monsters had followed her into her dreams. Then she hears the sounds that had woken her: screams, a muffled voice pleading, a woman's high wail, a child's cry. She wishes she could claw her way back down into dreaming.
Her arms have gone numb from being chained up; her body aches from sitting on the cold, hard ground. Hours must have passed rather than minutes. They'd left her in only her chemise, though even that hadn't escaped their knife, and she feels the cold seeping into her bones. Only her neck feels warm, it stings from the bite. She looks around to see if there is anything in the cell that might help her but her eyes cannot make anything out besides the slivers of light coming in the cracks around the door and the slot in the middle.
A sudden change in the light and the noise of the door opening makes her cringe back into the wall. Silhouetted against the opening is Jacob, the light filtering through his fair hair forming a halo around his head. "Feeding time," he says flippantly as he approaches her with something in his hands and kneels down in front of her. The screams and cries are louder now that the door is open. Her chains rattle slightly in time to her trembling.
He chuckles at her reaction, "Do you think I mean myself?'' He holds up the contents in his hands so that she can see by the light - a cup with steam swirling up in one hand and some biscuits in the other. He sobers and says more gently, "You need to drink this. Here, I will help you." He presses the cup to her lips but she refuses to open them. "It is merely tea. By my calculations it has been at least a day since you have eaten. You need to keep up your strength. Be a good girl and drink up. Trust me, there is nothing insidious about the food."
The light doesn't illuminate him directly but she can see him well enough - his expression is open, his eyes sincere. She parts her lips as he tips the cup. The warm tea is heavenly and she is disappointed when he removes the cup. But he follows it with a biscuit and he sits comfortably down in front of her. She notices the burns on the side of his face are still there, but partially healed already. Hal had been peppered with small dots from his fight; they had not quite disappeared by the time she'd left weeks later.
Jacob seems to be in his element as he feeds her with impeccable timing. It has a practised feel. As she finishes the last of the tea and he puts the cup on the floor she asks, "Are you in the habit of hand feeding your prisoners?"
"Only the pretty ones." He grins at her impishly. He has been very gracious but now she's noticed that his eyes have strayed down to the neckline of her chemise.
"What are you going to do with me?" she demands. The memory of the other prisoners, of his bite, of the other two... she tries not to show her fear.
"A very... enticing... message has been sent to your husband while you slept. It should arrive shortly. I estimate another day before his arrival." He says this distractedly, leaning closer to her.
"What will happen then?" She asks shakily, trying to get his attention back.
"That depends on Monsieur Harry, when he finally makes an appearance." He reaches forward to move the locks of her hair that obscure her neck.
Shying away carefully she tries to reason with him, "If he is as terrible as you say, you would not dare hurt me. He will hurt you."
That smile again. This time she sees white tips protruding. "Surely Harry won't mind if I have another small taste." He gets so close she can feel his breath on her skin. She starts kicking her legs but he casually holds her knees down with one hand while he brings the other one up to caress her neck. The caress moves downward.
She keeps talking, hoping to stop his progress, a note of desperation tingeing her voice, "He will come set me free."
Jacob chuckles, "Were I a betting man I would lay every shilling I own on the odds that releasing you is the very last thing he would consider doing." His head comes up; his eyes meet hers, "I am laying my life instead." His eyes blacken.
Her question comes out as a ragged sob, "What makes you believe so?"
He dips his head again, softly, gently, kissing the skin at the base of her neck. "Oh, because I know a secret that you don't..."
She should have known it was he she has to fear. His henchmen had simply come to chain and scare her. He is here to hurt her.
London. At last. The streets are dark and empty, the occasional streetlamp casting pitiful pools of light, vainly trying to dispel the suffocating mist. Hal grips his knees with white-knuckled tension, the uncertainty of what lays ahead trying to send his monster's heart into a frenzy. As the carriage halts outside the known perimeter of vampire territory and he makes to exit, Federico grips at his sleeve, halting him. Hal looks over his shoulder.
"You have a day and half before we take any action, two before the sunrise after the full moon. We will advance, regardless of whether you come out or not. Understand this: we have enough capacity in wolf form to remember some things; the humans and the wolves will be safe as we hunt. If you haven't left... you will need to hide or you will not live to see the dawn."
Hal swallows thickly and nods before disappearing into the night.
He walks through the crisp night breathing in the stink of the city, of humanity, hoping some of that general miasma transfers onto him. He knows he's taking a risk storming into the compound after leaving the werewolf, despite the precautions he took to minimize any scent transfer. But the risk is acceptable; the urgency is too great for any further delays. He needs to get to Sylvie. He stops to pull his jacket off and removes the items from his pockets, silently cursing Federico's last action despite the good intention behind it. He throws the jacket into an alley and hides his weapons upon his body. He hopes they are a last resort - he's counting on his reputation to be his shield.
As he nears the brick building being guarded by a single vampire, he lets his control slip.
He must be Lord Harry now.
This time when Jacob enters she doesn't speak to him at all. No pleading, no negotiating. Everything has been said. She doesn't cower away from him; she doesn't look away. She steels herself; she refuses to scream this time.
She's lost track of how many times he has visited. He has quite an... appetite.
Before departing the last time he'd at least had the mercy to extended the chains holding her so that her arms could rest on her lap rather than be up over her head for hours on end. She'd immediately tried to attack him, as best she could in her weakened condition. However, her arms had refused to respond, she hadn't been fast enough and he'd easily avoided her pitiful attempts. Now as he walks near she notes how careful he is to circumvent around her to the wall, with the eye and movement of someone skirting around a dangerous tied hound, staying just beyond the reach of its leash. He pulls the chains through the ring in the wall, securing them so her arms are once again immobilized, before coming to sit in front of her again. This time he sits staring, just staring at her for so long she almost says something.
Then his hands grab her thighs just above her knees, as he gently but firmly parts them.
Hal flings the front door open and strolls in with all the swagger of a Lord entering his manor. He tuts as he casually flicks ashy dust from his waistcoat, "Jacob, you really should teach your staff some respect for their betters," He coldly eyes the four vampires who are making a move towards him, and returns his gaze to the centre of the room to pierce Jacob with a disdainful glare, "and for their elders."
Jacob gives the men what's clearly a signal to return to their posts around the room as he rises from behind his desk. "Why it's Hal Yorke, as I live and breathe!" His lips quirk at his jest.
"I prefer Harry."
Jacob steps around the desk and raises an eyebrow as he approaches Hal. "Do you? Your wife would disagree."
"Well she does not know me at all, does she?"
Jacob looks Hal up and down, considering, "No, no she doesn't. Not as I know you." He smiles, then pats Hal on the shoulder.
Hal frowns down at the patting hand, and says haughtily, "Well. Would you care to appraise me of the situation? The last time I was here regrettably I wasn't feeling quite myself. What mess am I here to clean up after this time?"
Jacob steps back bristling. "I was not to blame for Madrid! I still fail to see why you were called into the matter at all... and this so called 'werewolf underground' that has sprung up here... they are a nuisance, nothing more. Snow has ordered me to quell them once and for all and I have everything in hand. I -" He cuts off abruptly, eyes narrowing. Then he controls his temper, eases back into a smile. "Forgive me for being such a poor host, launching into matters before even offering you a drink. You must be parched, having made the trip from that backwoods town you reside in so quickly. Shall I have someone brought up?"
"No," Hal says, a bit too quickly, "No, I'm perfectly content at the moment. Plenty of convenient refreshment along the way."
"Was there now? It pleases me to hear that."
"You succeeded Jacob; you've encouraged my return. I would like to get straight to business. Why don't you gather up any necessary paperwork that I should attend to while I go deal with the girl once and for all -"
"Harry, surely just a bit of a celebratory drink, shared amongst old friends. In honour of your return to the fold." Jacob walks over to the cabinet where he extracts a decanter and two glasses.
"I said I am content. You forget your place -"
"Oh, but I must insist. I'm sure you'd agree that were you in my place you would as well. Come Harry, let this seal our renewed partnership and then we can get on to business. There is no rush, it isn't as if we don't have time."
Jacob fills the two glasses with the red liquid and turns back to Hal, holding out one of the glasses.
Hal hesitates, staring down at it. He wills his eyes up to meet Jacob's, who says encouragingly "Take it Harry."
Hal takes it, trying to do so without his hand trembling.
"A toast then," says Jacob loudly, "to Lord Harry." He drinks the contents in one gulp and puts the empty glass down.
Hal hesitates one second before bringing the glass to his mouth. He lets the liquid touch his lips but doesn't dare open his mouth. The smell... He looks at Jacob who has his eyebrows raised expectantly.
Finally he parts his lips and carefully tips the glass, letting the blood just touch his tongue.
For years he has resisted the call of blood, only lapsing the once when he'd mindlessly killed Sylvie's dog, but this... it is like comparing bilge water to the finest sherry.
Squeezing his free hand, his nails digging deep crescents into his palm, with supreme effort he pulls the glass away and places it on the desk. He licks his lips. Only a taste.
Jacob claps slowly. "Bravo Hal, bravo. I confess I wasn't certain you would drink. Genuinely impressive!" His eyes focus behind Hal as he gives a quick head tilt. Hal turns slightly and sees the vampire on his right move towards him, but focuses back on Jacob as the man continues, "You have overlooked one thing in your performance. You smell like a mongrel Hal. Did you really think I wouldn't see through your duplicity?"
Bugger, his precautions hadn't been enough. Hal makes to grab the vials he'd ensconced in his boots but the two vampires that have been hovering behind him quickly grasp his forearms and wrench his arms backwards before he can reach. Hal struggles as Jacob approaches him, but the two guards hold him firmly. Without unlocking his eyes from Hal, Jacob orders, "Search him," to Charles, who had come to stand by his side. The other vampire goes for the boots first, removing the four vials and his dagger, then pats him down, finding the stake he'd tucked into his breeches at the base of his spine. Charles offers up his finds to Jacob, who dismisses the stake and knife but carefully takes the four vials full of blood, frowning. He looks to Hal with a questioning raise of his eyebrows, then unconsciously touches the side of his face, where red raw skin gives way to shiny new skin at the edges in an almost healed burn. "Where did you get these? Have you befriended a werewolf? This... this is... very enterprising. I wonder what Mr. Snow will think about wolves collecting their blood to use as weapons against vampires?" He walks over to his desk and puts the confiscated vials into a drawer. Suddenly, as if a thought has just occurred to him, he whips his eyes back to Hal, "Was this your idea?"
Hal keeps his face smooth.
Jacob draws near again, searching Hal's face. Then he taunts him, "The lovely Mrs. Yorke believed she could hurt me with one of these vials. She learned her lesson." He smiles cruelly.
Hal struggles against the guards again, "Where is she? What have you done to her?"
It's Jacob's turn to tut as he shakes his head, "Really Hal, she came as quite a shock. I'd heard stories of your past... reform attempts, how domesticated you became - but I did not think you could ever be this obsequious. A wife?"
"If you've harmed her -" Hal says through clenched teeth.
Jacob sighs, "How trite. How many times have we heard similar words spoken? And laughed at the poor milksops while we forced them to watch just exactly how much harm we can do. I'm dearly disappointed in you Hal. The man I knew would never form such a trivial, transient connection."
"I am not that man anymore."
Jacob ignores his comment and continues, chuckling, "I laughed incredulously at Regus when he told me."
"Regus!" The name is an expletive from Hal's lips.
"I never thought he could ruffle your feathers." He laughs more heartily, "The poor bugger almost pissed himself when he realized he let your whereabouts and situation slip." He sobers up, "I do confess, I can see the lure of a human wife. She is quite a siren, simply mouthwatering." His smile is smug.
Hal renews his struggles, murder in his eyes.
"Do not fret, I can guarantee that she is alive. She is... relatively safe."
Hal's demeanor changes suddenly. He goes quiet, his face falls.
"Let her go. Please. I will join you if you let her leave unharmed."
Jacob examines Hal again and says evenly, "Sorry Hal. I don't want you. What good would a conscientious vampire be to me? I may as well recruit the Pope. No, I need Lord Harry. Or Henry Yorke would do just fine. "
"That man is gone."
"No. That man is simply asleep. I wish to wake him."
"Why? I don't understand... why do you wish me to come back? I thought you hated me, resented me. First I receive word that you'd been searching for me, then I find myself welcomed on my last visit when I was certain you would rather kill me, and now this... why are you doing this?"
"Hal do not be obtuse. It isn't as if you can claim a lapse of memory!" He stands very close, steel blue eyes piercing hazel green ones, "I am doing this because you asked me to."
Sylvie sits numbly; the tears had seemed to flow for hours but now her eyes are prickly - tight, but dry. Her stomach is hollow, every part of her aches and burns. She's tired, so tired. And she's cold, so cold. Her hands are deadened weights hanging on either side of her head.
She has attempted to hold on to good memories, in hopes of blotting out the images and events of the last couple of days. But it is too much; her mind is having trouble concentrating. The memories skitter as soon as she conjures them up, to be replaced only by sadness and pain.
She thought she knew him, she thought his past did not matter. But... how could she love someone who would do things like this? Who would not stop these things from being done? Bile rises up at the thought of her awkward, reticent husband - the man she had tried to coax out of his shell of tight control, the man she'd held crying in the night when he woke from nightmares, the man she'd shared her bed with night after night - participating in this sort of inhumanity.
But he isn't human, is he? He kept telling her that; she just refused to believe it. And now she will likely die at his hands.
She's been holding the darkness at bay by holding onto the pain, but her energy and will have been draining away; her body is too weak, her mind too numb. She succumbs to the darkness...
Hal lets himself be led by the two vampires holding him on either side, walking in a daze behind Jacob as his words repeat in his head over and over. You asked me to.
He blinks as he tries to concentrate on what Jacob is saying now, "Perhaps I should use some of that filthy dog blood on you? Would Sylvie find you as appealing if you were burned?" They come to a stop in front of a door.
"Are you taking me to her?"
"Of course. I wouldn't want to deny husband and wife from reuniting. And then we shall see about waking you up properly. I think you'll find my methods very compelling." Hal detects an odd note of sad resignation in Jacob's voice.
"Whatever you have in mind, I can resist." Hal tries to ignore the taste that still lingers on his tongue. "I have resisted for seven years and I have been able to resist for much, much longer. How can you be so certain I will actually become what you want?"
"Harry, do you really doubt it?" The two vampires stare at each other with an understanding born of centuries. Jacob looks at the door and when he looks back at Hal his eyes are filled with regret. He says sincerely, "Hal, whatever it is that makes you switch, just surrender to it now. Do not force my hand." But Hal clenches his jaw stubbornly. Becoming that man would do no one good, Sylvie especially. His only hope now is endure whatever Jacob has planned for him. Jacob sighs, then takes on a practical air, "Very well." He unlocks the door and pushes it inward. Hal barely has time to look before Jacob's henchmen thrust him inside and the door is closed behind him with an ominous thud.
Blood; lots of blood.
The smell hits him with a force that makes him double over; his mouth waters. He gulps in the air as if trying to consume the delicious aroma. He takes a few involuntary steps into the room before suddenly he locks down his control and turns back, banging on the door desperately. "You bastard! What did you do to her? You'll fucking pay for this!"
Jacob's voice comes clearly through, taunting now, "Oh is that Lord Harry I hear already? Do you remember what you taught me some years back? You were very inventive on the proper ways to treat our "guests". Those were lessons I learned very well. However you may rest assured, I only had a little fun, a small taste."
"I don't have to become him to give you what you deserve! I swear the next time I lay my eyes on you, you will be turned to dust!"
"We shall see if that's true. I'm not too worried, I have a feeling an old friend will be emerging from that room. A pretty girl, all trussed up and bloodied - it will be just like coming home. Not long I expect. I take it you haven't tasted her yourself? She's exquisite, Hal. A shame really, I was growing fond of her." There is a pause before he continues, "but I'll leave you to her."
"Jacob!" Hal screams through the door over and over, furiously at first then with growing desperation as he hears Jacob getting farther away, the echoing ring of the man's heels growing fainter until there is only silence. Except for the moaning and crying from nearby cells.
And her heartbeat.
Finally he gives up, shuts his eyes tight and leans his forehead against the door. He hangs on desperately to the flatness of it, his hands splayed wide and hard, as if to melt and freeze himself into it. He wills all the restraint and discipline he's mastered to overcome the hunger that is now raging inside him. He remains immobile a long time, until he feels certain he can control himself.
His legs feel rooted to the spot by the time Hal hesitantly turns around in a slow arc, one hand kept planted firmly on the smooth, cold door. His eyes adjust instantly to the gloom, the sliver of torchlight coming in from the slot and cracks between the door enough for him to see. She is naked. He winces, imagining their treatment of her, despite Jacob's claims.
Her unclothed state decides him. He shrugs off his coat and crosses the room, his eyes concentrating on her hands held in the shackles above her head. He comes to an abrupt stop in front of her and kneels down.
She is unconscious. He can hear her heart beating rapidly. Her normally creamy skin is ashen, the ever present rose in her cheeks gone, leaving her looking ghostly pale. When he touches her cheek he can feel how icy it is even against his cool touch. These are signs of significant blood loss; the heart pumps faster and the blood vessels constrict to compensate for the lower blood volume. With his trained senses he perceives she has reached the edge of the human body's ability to recover from the blood loss on its own. He's not sure he ever believed in a higher power; even as a child he'd given up any thoughts of wishes and prayers. But at this moment he offers up a strangled, "please" into the dark nothingness. She is young, healthy and strong. He convinces himself that will be enough. He moves to cover her but stops himself; he must examine her wounds to be certain she is not bleeding out.
Typically his kind concentrates on the body's pulse points, and the major veins and arteries, when feeding. Wrists, thighs, pelvis, and of course the neck are favourites; the inside of the elbow and behind the knee will also do. The blood flows thickly, requiring less sucking. These spots are perfect for exsanguination, allowing one to easily drain the body of every last drop of the rich crimson ambrosia.
She has bites everywhere.
Língchí. It is a form of torture he'd come across in his travels to the Far East. He had adopted and adapted it; had gotten much pleasure out of practicing it. The vampire version of Death by a Thousand Cuts. Of course this is what Jacob would do. Something from his past, something Harry had shown him. Jacob would have gotten much enjoyment preparing her for him. Hal growls possessively as his anger seethes. He lets his anger fuel him as he takes in her state.
Bites, in different stages of healing, cover her deathly pale neck and shoulders, her breasts and stomach; her arms and thighs are peppered with them. Some bites are deep enough that the indentation of other teeth were left behind as welts. Blood has dribbled and smeared; some dry, some fresh. There is a small pool of it collected under her left wrist, a slow but steady drip. The ulnar artery must have been punctured. He closes his eyes, the temptation momentarily threatening to defy his struggle; he needs to stop the bleeding. He looks around but finds no sign of her clothes anywhere. He hastily removes his waistcoat and shirt, then rips a strip off the shirt to wind the material around her wrist and tie it tight. All the other bites look like they missed major veins and arteries, but he forces himself to look at her inner thighs to be certain the femoral hasn't been punctured as well. Fresh blood is smeared on her thighs and on the floor but it is no longer flowing.
His examination complete, he pauses and becomes entranced. Her heartbeat sounds louder to his ears, the blood covering her looks richer. Finally he lets out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He jumps up - must keep busy - and furiously tries to yank the manacles from the wall, to no avail. He'd known it was futile but couldn't stop himself from trying. He settles for unwinding the chains that hold her arms up. Then he kneels back down to gingerly, methodically, dab as much blood off of her as he can, taking great care to not get any on himself. Dry, rusty flakes and juicy, bright red stains the muslin shirt and finally he throws the material to a corner. He gently places his jacket over her shoulders, buttons it up to enshroud her in it and shifts her in order to gather the hem underneath.
As her head lolls listlessly he stops and, suddenly overwhelmed, he gathers her into his arms with a sob. She has always been so full of life, infuriatingly exuberant. He has never even seen her ill. Now she appears so close to death; he isn't prepared to lose her. His anger gives way to a great ache, a sadness that overpowers him; his hunger is momentarily forgotten.
Hal sits down, leans his back against the wall and gathers Sylvie onto his lap. He holds her as he rocks her soothingly and chants, "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry..."
Permit nothing to cleave to you that is not your own; nothing to grow to you that may give you agony when it is torn away. The words echo in his head dully, ineffectually, as he cries.
Then another set of words creeps in. You asked me to.
Hours. It feels like days but he knows it's only been hours.
He's begun trembling with effort. He still holds her in his arms; she still hasn't regained consciousness. He keeps hold of the pain he feels at the thought of losing her. He has to remain strong, resist the call of the blood, for her. The wolves will come; it is only a matter of time. All he has is time. But he's not sure how much time she has. He looks down at Sylvie as he senses movement and suddenly her eyelids flutter open. He stares into her eyes unsure if her human vision can see him in the darkness but knowing she wouldn't recognize him.
With a sigh of relief he assures her breathily, "Don't be afraid. It's me. Hal."
Sylvie screams...