(no subject)
TITLE: Things Fall Apart
RATING: R-ish.
FANDOMS: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel the Series & Tanz der Vampire
SPOILERS: Buffy S1-7, Angel S1-5.
SUMMARY: After Dawn's flight, things get even worse.
SERIES: Part of Carpe Noctem series.
In order: As Aught of Mortal Birth, Per Ipsum, et cum Ipso, et in Ipso, Til The Moon Is Abed, Unwritten Words, What Remains, The Gentler Sex, Visitation, After the Storm, In The Name Of and In The Air and Makes Us Stronger and Three's a Crowd, Tis The Season, Divergence, then this chapter.
PAIRINGS: Spike/Herbert, Dawn/von Krolock etc.
WORDS: 9833
NOTES: A chapter less than 10,000 words? Wow. Also, gyah. This chapter breaks my soul. __________________________________
It had been almost two weeks precisely since the youngest member of their household had stormed out the front door in a fit of pique, bag in one hand and the keys to William’s car in the other. Her mobile phone had gone unanswered, and it had sent his father into a fit of brooding.
Neither petulance nor politely-worded pleas could draw an explanation from the Graf, who had - at first - retreated to his study, then taken to being invisible to avoid Herbert’s determined badgering.
For that, Herbert decided he had earned another vengeance point against the girl who was the cause. Unfortunately she had locked the door of her room, so he had been unable to reach the white-board to add it to his ever-increasing tally.
The pleasant feeling that had been overwhelming on the way back from Vienna had vanished as if it had never existed (another black mark, of course) and he knew that his unease was setting William on edge, though neither of them could find the words to say anything.
So when he and William had seen the distant flicker of headlamps through the trees and she had appeared on the close circuit cameras that adorned the front gates, Herbert was both relieved - though he would never admit it - and ready to begin his revenge on her.
They had waited several minutes to allow Dawn and his father a private reunion, but William was too eager to see Dawn and Herbert too keen to interrogate her as to the meaning of her absence. They were already halfway down the stairs when Herbert became aware that not all was as it should be.
“… makes it any of your business?”
Stopping dead on the landing, William walking into his back, Herbert reached behind him to touch William’s hip. His eyes had narrowed warily at Dawn’s raised voice, but even moreso at the dark ire rolling off his father.
“You are of this household.” His voice was more like a soft growl, no less dangerous for the quietness. “You belong to us.”
Behind him, Herbert felt William touch his hand, could almost hear the question and the concern in the vampire’s tense body. He wished he could find an explanation, a way to ease William’s worry, but he was too bewildered himself.
Hands on her hips, eyes blazing, Dawn laughed aloud and Herbert saw his father’s stance tense against the sound. He should warn the girl she was on thin ice here, but he found he was holding a breath he didn’t need, staring down, unable to move, to speak.
“You can’t tell me what to do,” she said coldly.
“I beg to differ.” Von Krolock whispered dangerously.
Taking a step closer towards his father, the girl was glaring darkly. “So you can have whoever you want?” she demanded softly, icily. “And I just have to wait around until you feel like I’m worth your attention? I don’t think so.”
“You will not,” the Graf said, his voice poisonous.
Blue eyes blazed and, for a brief instant, Herbert didn’t know who to be more afraid of. “I can touch whoever I damn well like, you hypocritical son of a bitch.” It was said so softly, so calmly that it belied the rage and some other flickering emotion that had suffused her flushed face. “I don’t need you to make me feel like I’m important.”
There was something in that intonation which made Herbert shiver. The girl’s voice sounded so hollow, bitter. At Herbert’s back, William uttered a worried sound and Herbert moved back a fraction of an inch, letting William lean against him.
For several long moments, von Krolock was utterly silent and utterly still.
“If you touch another,” he breathed. “He will die.” There was a flare of black silk and the resounding crack as he struck the girl in a backhanded blow that knocked her spinning. “You are mine.”
William swore aloud and Herbert grabbed him to forcibly prevent him from racing down to Dawn’s aid.
Against the wall, the girl lifted a hand to her face. It came away stained red. Lifting her eyes to von Krolock, she had blood streaked from her lips and down one cheek, and she rubbed her fingertips together, smearing the stain.
She straightened up from the wall, took two steps forward. Herbert realized his hands were shivering, and he became aware of William’s rapid breaths against his shoulder.
Staring up at his father, she shook her hair back from her face, scarlet trailing from a burst cheek and lip, her hair clinging to the wounds. By her sides, her hands tensed and Herbert heard himself cry in awe-filled shock as she struck his father.
It was hardly a lady’s blow, a strong punch with amazing force behind it for one so slim. The impact and shock combined drove his father back a step and Herbert heard William swear.
Taking one more step, closing the distance between herself and her lover, Dawn gazed coldly at him. “Don’t you ever hit me again, you bastard,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.
Whirling away from him, she stalked up the staircase. Herbert pulled William firmly behind him, out of the range of her wrath as she walked straight passed them as if she didn’t even see them.
At the foot of the stairs, von Krolock’s black eyes stared after her. One hand was touching his cheek and he looked dazed, bewildered. Then, before Herbert’s eyes, he faded out of sight, leaving Herbert and William standing on the stairs.
“Oh shit…” William whispered. “Oh, shit, oh shit, oh shit…”
“She… she struck him…” Herbert found his mind had latched onto that particular moment and would not let go.
Never, not since his father’s Sire had been present, had his father ever been struck at by one of his lovers. None of them had dared. None of them had risked their position. None of them had courage and strength and temper to do it. Four centuries and not one of them.
“He’s gonna kill her, isn’t he?” William’s voice was tense. “He’s gonna tear her apart.”
Turning, Herbert wrapped his arms about William’s body and felt William clutch at him as tightly as he was holding the younger vampire, an anchor in a world suddenly gone mad.
“I… do not think he will,” he murmured uncertainly. If his father had intended to do such a thing, then he would have done it instantaneously, but he had not. Perhaps, it was the simple shock of it.
“But... she hit him!” William’s voice was taking on a nervous, uneasy note. “She walloped him! I... has anyone?”
Herbert shook his head against the top of William’s head. “Not a person that he cared for, no,” he replied. He glanced up the staircase in the direction that Dawn had gone. “Perhaps, we should let them calm tonight...”
His lover laughed weakly. “Yeah... yeah... good idea. Let them calm down a bit...”
Tilting his head, Herbert looked down at William, concern for his father spilling over to encompass the younger vampire in his embrace, his eyes clouding. “Perhaps you as well?” he suggested softly.
William tried to smile, but it was faint. “Can try,” he mumbled.
___________________________
The moon hung heavy overheard, wreathed by melancholy cloud, the late frost still crisp on the ground as he walked down the black stone steps. The whisper of the heavy fabric of his cloak was the only sound, save the distant sigh of the wind.
It had been days since his errant lover had returned, since he had tasted the scent of another upon her. If ignoring it had been possible, he would have, but the dull red of a mortal mark on her bare throat had thrust like a blade beneath his ribs.
His fingertips brushed the dusting of snow from the peaks of gravestones, which rose from the white-scattered bed of the earth like dark fingers reaching in supplication to the uncaring sky.
Each of them bore such history, grief and joy intermingled on their worn surfaces.
Closing his eyes, he followed the unseen path of memory through the quiet solitude of the cemetery.
A grave called out to him, recollection drawing him onwards. Dawn, he remembered with sorrow, had not been the first to believe she could draw him back, to have him stand for that which was commonly acknowledged as right.
Was it truly so far, so long ago?
In the shadow of the walls of the graveyard, darkness stretching out for him, he knelt by the marker of the beautiful young woman of such great heart and noble spirit.
Yet as he brushed the snow from the grave, touching the age-dulled edges of the engraved letters, he found he could not recall the exact colour of her eyes, nor the way her hair felt as it slipped between his fingers.
Strange that eyes he remembered being dark as night seemed to have been touched by starlight, blue and dazzling, flashing fire and ice. From beneath his cloak, his other hand rose, touched his cheek, remembering a touch in anger that belonged to the same form as those blue eyes.
Though the monster that crept within him cried out in rage, he could feel nothing but hollow sadness. Betrayal was a bitter poison, burning away everything that had been so tenderly built, leaving ashes in its wake.
Perhaps it was better that it was now, amid the heat of anger and lingering splintered ache of separation.
Looking to the tower, where this most recent beloved still lingered, he wondered what cause she had to stay. If she desired others, then why return to one who could not walk with her in daylight and touch every inch of her without pain?
It had been the bare seed of a thought in his consciousness from the moment his lips had met hers, that first, scorching instant. Now blooming into a dark, twisted belief, it wrapped about his mind, making him sink against the grave beneath him.
The faint, distant glow of her lamps snuffed out and he looked away, nails rasping against the chilled stone beneath his palm, unable to smother the image of her, lit by the silver caress of the moon, dark hair spilled about her, lips parted, always smiling so softly.
The hand that had touched his offended cheek drifted lower to his throat to the mark that yet lingered, invisible to all but him. It remained, yet she may not. Surely, if she had accepted him so, she should not depart.
Once more, the words he had spoken to her, the words that had driven her from him days earlier, rose in his memory. They had been clumsily-phrased and she had taken a meaning from them that he had not seen.
Clinging to the carefully-masked frailties of her nature which had for so long been unshakeable, his words had laid bare her greatest fears once more. Within a dozen beats of her heart and without conscious thought, he had harmed her more with them than when he had struck her.
That she had returned at all astounded him. For one so passionate about what she believed in, denying her wishes would have only proven graveness of the choice she had made in taking him as her lover. He had dismissed her nature and her deepest loves so carelessly, and yet she had returned to him.
His eyes rose to the tower once more, the temptation to slip into her chambers, to simply watch her slumber almost painful in its intensity. His fingers curled against his palms and he drew a weary breath, a human habit he had been unable to break.
Why she had returned, he knew not, but she had not sought him. As long as she did not wish to see him, he would not inflict his presence upon her. The hurts he had done her already were grave enough. Better to let her choose their path from here.
Already she had taken another.
The unfolding tendril of thought of her entwined in the arms of a mortal, warm flesh touching hers, the flush of her blushes, the gasp of his breath, the moment where their heartbeats stuttered in delicate syncopation...
The mere thought of it made him near buckle over with pain and grief-laced rage, yet as savagely as the demon in him cried for blood, what remained of the man buried his face into his hands, sinking down against the icy stone.
Above, the clouds covered the face of the moon, and in the darkness, he mourned.
_______________________
Spike was tired.
Tired of the wordless fighting, tired of the tension that filled the whole castle, tired of the awkward, uncomfortable silences, tired of watching Herbert pacing and sighing when he thought Spike wasn’t looking.
It was all a load of bollocks. Nibs still loved the Graf. Graf still fancied her quite a bit as well. They wouldn’t make all this fuss about things if there wasn’t some kind of deeper emotion behind it all.
She hadn’t left and he hadn’t asked her to stay, though, and that was the thing.
Until one of them made a move, they were stuck, an eternal stalemate which was rapidly driving Herbert up the wall. Herbert liked to pretend he was all right, like he was used to it, but sometimes, Spike saw him sitting completely still, staring at nothing, looking so bloody tired...
That was why he had given himself a mission.
He’d tried breaking into Dawn’s room without damaging anything several times already and failed miserably. Even stood there and shouted through the wood until he was red in the face and still, nothing.
This time, he was taking a new tack and going to the other source.
His venture had already taken him through the library and the study rooms on the first and second floors. Almost made him wish he had a bit of the magic around him, so he could just make himself appear where he wanted to be. Wasn’t all fun and games, trekking up and down all those sodding stairs.
Another three rooms and he saw the familiar, formidable dark figure seated in one of the chairs of the study on the fourth floor. There wasn’t even a fire lit in the grate, just a single candle on the desk.
If the Graf was aware of him, he did a bloody god job of pretending he wasn’t.
Edging into the room, Spike hesitated, then crossed the floor to stand beside the chair, slipping his hands into his pockets to stop himself fidgeting. The Graf didn’t look up from the hefty book that was open in his lap.
“William?”
“Sir.”
For a moment, he thought that was it, the most he was going to get, then the Graf closed the book, his long-fingered hands resting on the cover. Black eyes rose to him gravely. “What brings you here?”
Hesitating again, Spike rocked on his feet. Maybe this wasn’t the best of ideas. “I’m a bit worried about things,” he finally mumbled. “Nothing’s right... Nibs won’t talk to anyone, you’re hiding away and Herbie...” His words trailed off momentarily. “He’s... a bit off.”
Black eyes surveyed him implacably, then the Graf rose, laying his book on the desk beside him. The candle flame flickered and wavered. “And you wish to suggest that I change matters?”
There was something about the chilly softness of the Graf’s voice that made Spike shiver for a reason he couldn’t put his finger on. “I just wanted to say something,” he said quietly, forcing himself to meet the Graf’s eyes. “I don’t like seeing everyone in this state...”
The bleak blackness of the Graf’s eyes sent warnings flaring in his mind and his self-preservation instinct was trying to haul him back, towards the door, away from the glittering ire he could see rising.
Against his own wishes, his feet moved him back a pace.
That was an even stupider move than coming in the first place.
With a swirl of black, the Graf had swept around him and he heard the ominous creak of the hinges and the sound of the door closing. Whirling around, he found the Graf looking down at him. Looked even taller and more intimidating than usual, the hysterical part of Spike’s hindbrain noticed. Oh bollocks with a cherry on top.
The Graf took a step forward.
Brain screamed to stand his ground. Body shied back a step.
“Come.” It was little more than a whisper and barely audible over the faint crackle of the candle’s flame. As if there were hooks sunk into his flesh, Spike was drawn forward, his steps faltering.
Oh, sodding bad idea, this, but if it got things back on track...
Long fingers slid under the edge of his collar and he saw the Graf’s top lip pull back from fangs that seemed to gleam by the flickering light. When his collar was ripped open, the fabric was pulled savagely against the opposite side of his neck but he didn’t flinch, biting on his lower lip hard enough to draw blood.
The Graf’s face was over his and he felt the nails scrape across the marks left by Herbert, the only person who had bitten him for months. And that made his body tense as the Graf’s lips curved mirthlessly.
He was Herbert’s.
That was how this worked.
He was Herbert’s!
While some part of him yelled that this was suicidal, he jerked backwards, struggling against the Graf’s steely grip. Black eyes flared and a blow caught him in the middle of the chest. Brought down savagely, he landed on his back on the desk, knocking the candle over. It bounced, the stick clattering on the floor, and guttered out.
In the sudden darkness, he lashed out desperately, blindly, felt his left hand impact something, heard the low, deadly growl and froze at the scent of the Graf’s blood, rich and powerful in the air.
Oh bollocks.
His offending hand was suddenly caught in a vice-like grip, squeezed until he felt a cry dragged from his throat, his eyes flaring gold. The ring on his finger cut into flesh and he felt the blood seeping around it.
“You dare to fight me, William?” Above him, he could see the glittering eyes, the ice in the voice freezing him, numbing any will he had left to fight, his body rigid with terror.
“I-I...”
The Graf laughed. It sounded unnatural, cold, emotionless, and Spike whimpered in pain as his hand was jerked mercilessly upwards and those black, pitiless eyes watched him, watched his reaction as the Graf dragged his tongue around the simple gold band as if it meant nothing.
Did it?
Didn’t it?
He thought it... Herbert had seemed... oh fuck...
“Don’t...” It was more of a whimper than a protest.
The Graf’s lips and teeth pressed to his palm and he felt the whisper, “Don’t?”
He stifled a cry when he felt the band of gold torn off his finger, knuckle scraped raw. Heard the clink of the small bit of metal landing on the floor, lost to the dark, cast aside like it was nothing.
He felt the lazy lap of the Graf’s tongue, then the scrape of fangs over the heel of his hand. His fingers were trembling and he squeezed his eyes shut against bloody stupid damned fucking tears that were stinging there. Wouldn’t help. Stupid sentimental arse to think it meant anything.
He heard a faint sound, like a wounded animal, like a whine of pain, was shocked to realise it came from his own throat.
The Graf mockingly kissed the tip of his ring finger, then forced his hand down onto the desktop, pinning it there ruthlessly as he moved, hair sweeping against Spike’s cheeks. Spike could feel the black eyes scouring his face, but turned away, wouldn’t look, wouldn’t, couldn’t.
“William.”
Pressing his lips together, he shook his head, his body taut and rigid. He felt a kiss brushed over the corner of his mouth, the lips tracing along his jawline, the intimacy making him jerk uselessly, hopelessly, against the Graf’s stronger former.
He felt his eyes betraying him, felt chilly moisture pooling against the bridge of his nose and trickling down his cheek to puddle on the polished desk, could feel his throat ache and burn and he shuddered as the Graf’s lips touched his throat.
When the bite came, hard, deep and savage, it was as physically painful as he knew it would be, but that wasn’t what forced a hopeless sound of despair from him, his body shaking.
Beneath him, he could feel the spreading puddle of blood, could feel it soaking into the back of his shirt, knew the Graf had bitten just for biting’s sake, could feel the ragged tears. Not even a clean bite. Oh fuck, fuck, fuck...
Jerking one of his shaking hands free, he desperately covered his face, trembling so much he could feel every bone in his body quaking, but his hand was forced aside and the Graf’s growl was close to his face. He felt the bloody lips against his, felt his shirt ripped asunder.
“Don’t...” he croaked out faintly, weakly.
He could feel magical bonds holding him as the Graf’s hands slid against his skin, waking unwilling heat inside him, drawing pained, desperate sounds from him. His head was spinning from loss of blood, and now the Graf was taking what he had left, twisting it, making him...
“Please...” It came out as little more than a sob.
He heard the door clatter against the wall, light pouring into the room from the hall, flinching and averting his face, then nothing. The Graf’s weight was gone and inertia tumbled him onto the floor, shaking, splattering blood across the polished surface.
Barely able to lift his face, he looked up and went rigid.
Over him, Herbert was standing, his expression ice-cold.
Halfway across the room, the Graf was staggering upright, apparently pushed there, and judging by the bloodstains on Herbert’s hands, Herbert had been the one to do the pushing. Spike could see the gash on the Graf’s cheek, left by his...
“Leave us, Herbert.” The growl was enough to make Spike recoil.
Herbert’s eyes flashed like mercury. “No,” he said quietly. Then, he pointedly knelt down beside Spike, who was torn between looking anywhere but him and staring wildly at him, wondering why he was being so bloody stupid. Uncaring of the blood steadily soaking his clothing, Herbert slid an arm beneath his shoulders, the sudden warmth and concern in his grey eyes making Spike tremble. “Cheri...”
Motion made Spike’s eyes dart fearfully towards the Graf, who had taken a step towards them, his expression feral. “Herbert.”
“Maybe you should go...” Spike whispered, still staring warily at the Graf. He felt a hand laid over his heart, felt the arm around his shoulders tighten, looked up to see Herbert raise his eyes to his father.
“No,” Herbert repeated softly. “He’s mine.”
For several moments, the only sound was the sigh of the wind outside the room.
Spike’s left hand fumbled to his chest, clutching at Herbert’s in shock. He felt Herbert’s fingers slide between his, sticky with blood, felt his fingertips acknowledge the nakedness of his ring finger, though Herbert was still evenly looking at his father.
“Ours.”
Herbert’s eyes flashed again, fangs bared subtly. “Mine.”
The low growl from the shadows made Spike flinch against Herbert, who glanced down at him, his expression tensing. His fingers drew gently from Spike’s and he looked around quickly, leaning away for an instant, then pulling Spike more securely against his chest.
“Is your hand badly hurt?” he asked softly. Spike shook his head wordlessly and felt his eyes burning again as Herbert uncurled his hand and with gentle reverence, slipped his ring back onto his finger. A kiss touched his lips, chaste and tender. “I’ll take you back to your room, cheri.”
“But your da...”
Silver eyes flicked to the shadows, then returned to Spike. “You’re mine, cheri,” he said quietly. “I would rather not see you shattered.” His smile was delicate. “I have grown rather attached to you.”
And with the ease of an adult carrying a child, he slipped his arms beneath Spike’s knees and ribs, lifting him in his embrace. Dropping his head to rest on Herbert’s shoulder, Spike let himself sink into dizzying semi-consciousness.
If the Graf protested as Herbert carried him out of the study, then he didn’t hear it. Didn’t notice much, really, until he realised he was lying on something soft and Herbert was gently cleaning his throat with a sponge.
“What did you think you were doing, you silly, silly darling?” he murmured.
Spike tilted his face to look at him, but Herbert’s eyes were focussed on his throat. “I wanted to try and help,” he whispered, his lips dry and his voice rough. “Thought I could talk to him...”
Tipped onto his side, the warm sponge cleaning the blood from his back, he heard Herbert sigh. “When father gets into this kind of mood...” The sponge ran the length of his back several times. “Leave him to me, William. Please.”
There was an exhausted ache in Herbert’s voice that made him nod at once. “Won’t make the same mistake again,” he replied quietly. “Just don’t like seeing you so knackered.”
Laid back on his back, he saw the weary smile touch Herbert’s lips. “If you desired intimacy,” he murmured, a suggestion of amusement in his eyes, “Then you should have asked. I’m sure I have energy enough.”
Spike tried to smile, but couldn’t quite find it. “Herbie... your dad... he won’t be angry with you, will he?”
Ignoring his words, Herbert gently removed Spike’s ring again, then carefully dipped his bloody hand into the basin of water he had on the bed beside him, gently rinsing the raw scrapes.
“Herbie.”
“You’re mine, William.” Grey eyes finally met blue. “You have been for a century. I will not have him taking you from me simply to slake his temper.” With a towel, he dried Spike’s hand, then rinsed the ring before slipping it back on Spike’s finger. He laughed faintly, weakly. “I... I fear I may have surprised him.”
“Surprised me to see you there,” Spike murmured, eyes half-closing.
“Mm.” Herbert’s hand covered his. Spike felt it trembling. “I have never denied him before.” His fingers contracted and Spike opened his eyes. “I am sorry he managed to harm you so, cheri.”
Shaking his head slightly, Spike exhaled. “Me and my stupid ideas,” he mumbled.
Releasing his hands, Herbert shifted to draw him partially upright, an arm around his shoulders, and he could smell blood on the air a moment before Herbert’s wrist - newly bitten - was placed against his lips.
Gratefully, he drank. Herbert’s lips pressed to his temple and he could feel the tired smile, the fingers of the arm around his shoulders gently stroking his upper arm.
When he withdrew his wrist, he shifted their combined weights to lean against the pillows, and Spike laid his head against Herbert’s shoulder, unable to keep his eyes open any longer.
“I should find father.”
Reaching out blindly, Spike touched Herbert’s leg. “Not tonight,” he whispered and felt Herbert nod against his crown. “Get some sleep.”
Herbert laughed faintly. “I can but try, cheri.” He slipped his arm free and was about to rise from the bed when Spike clutched his wrist suddenly, warily. Herbert looked down at him affectionately. “I would rather not have bloody clothes on while I slept,” he explained, then moved the bowl of water off the bed too.
“You won’t go?” Strange how helpless and small those words sounded.
Herbert gazed at him for several minutes in silence, then placed the bowl of water out of the way and quickly disrobed, not even bothering to fold his clothing. After switching off the light, he climbed back onto the bed, pulling the blankets around them both, and gathered Spike in his arms.
“Never,” he said softly, lifting Spike’s ring finger to his lips and kissing it gently.
As if welling up like a little girl wasn’t bad enough when the Graf jumped on him, it was even worse now. “Herbie...”
“I know, cheri.” He felt the whisper against his lips, then a faint sigh. “And this bed is terrible.”
Spike smiled wanly. “What? No chains?”
He heard the quiet laugh. “But of course,” Herbert replied lightly. “Tomorrow, we shall move you into my rooms.” Spike’s eyes shot open and by the dim light filtering through the curtains, he looked up at Herbert’s profile. “After all, the bed is by far superior. And larger.”
“Into your rooms?”
“Mm.” Herbert acknowledged. “I think it is about time.” He kissed Spike’s forehead gently. “I feel we waste so much energy which could be better expended elsewhere trekking between them.”
“Your rooms?” Spike repeated, wondering if he’d maybe started hallucinating from blood-loss.
“Our rooms,” Herbert corrected, then yawned. “Do go to sleep, darling.”
“But you...”
A tired, but smiling kiss touched his lips. “I love you, William,” the elder vampire said softly, his voice laced with fatigue, his emotions bared. “No more foolishness. You’re mine.”
Pressing close to Herbert, Spike tightened his arm around his lover. When his stupid bloody tears fell against Herbert’s chest, he felt Herbert’s fingers stroke through his hair without laughter or judgement.
“Our rooms,” he agreed in a whisper.
______________________________
His attempt to find his father had been in vain.
It made things so much more impossible when your quarry could choose to vanish into the ether at the first hint that he was being hunted, so he decided to turn his attention to prey which had efficiently caged itself.
It had taken some creative negotiation, and then further battle with the stubborn lock on Dawn’s door, but after several hours Herbert turned the handle and stepped into Dawn’s round rooms.
The living area which made up the lower level was empty, so he made his way up the staircase that spiralled up the wall, one hand on the rail, the other in the pocket of his trousers.
He was unsurprised to find her in the sanctity of her bedroom. With her back to the landing, she was curled on her side on the bed, but he saw her shoulders tense and knew that she was certainly not asleep.
“You slept with someone else, didn’t you?” he said quietly.
Her body stiffened, but she didn’t reply, although her legs pulled up more tightly against her chest.
“Did you think he wouldn’t know that someone had touched what was his?” Moving closer to the bed, Herbert folded his hands behind him, watching for a reaction. “Did you think him a fool?”
“Go away, Herbert.” Her voice was so quiet, he could barely make it out.
“Not until I get an answer,” he said flatly, his voice cold and calm. “Why did you do something so stupid? You claim to care for my father and then, when you depart, you lie with another?”
Her shoulders twitched in a shrug. “Don’t know.”
“Now, that is ridiculous!” Herbert snapped. “Of course you know!”
He had told himself that he would stay calm, that there would be some logical explanation, that she would be reasonable and explain it to him, but apparently, this was not the case.
Not to mention the fact that her silence was unsettling him more than he liked.
Never before had he met a woman who would so freely and confidently express her opinions as this one, yet now, she spoke in a monotone, she didn’t look at him, and even though she was quite probably in the thrall of her hormones, she wasn’t arguing.
“Is this because of his affection for others?” She shook her head, her left arm curled up under it. He saw the tips of her fingers twist into her hair. Sighing, he stalked closer. “Then, is it curiosity? If you want to have other lovers, you need only ask!”
“It’s not.”
Again, a breath of a whisper.
Damn the wretched woman! Why was she making it so difficult? As if having father playing games and using his own dear William as a diversion wasn’t bad enough! Was it so difficult to be direct?
“Am I to ask every possibility?” he demanded, hands slipping to his hips. “Is it something that father said? Something that William did? Anything that happened before or after you departed?”
“Herbert, please.” He heard the tremor in her voice, frowned. “Just go.”
“Why?”
She shook her head, didn’t answer.
Frowning even more deeply, he climbed onto the edge of the bed, crawling across the mattress towards her. She flinched when he touched her arm as if he had struck her, turning her head down towards the blankets, her hair slipping over face.
“Dawn?”
“Go away!”
There was no mistaking the half-sob in her words and he caught her around the waist before she could scramble off the bed, using his other hand to draw tear-dampened hair from flushed cheeks.
“Oh, cherie...”
There could be no doubt that she had been crying on and off for some time. Her eyes were almost scarlet, blood-shot and red-rimmed, her cheeks mottled and stained with the residue of long-dried tears.
“Go away...” she whispered, covering her face with her hands.
“There is no chance of that, I am afraid,” he said softly. “Cherie, if this is because he struck you...”
“You think that’s all this is about?” Her hands pulled away and the look on her face was so anguished that he recoiled, startled by the pain in her eyes. She struggled against his hold. “Let me go.”
“No.”
“Herbert! Let me go!” Her voice was growing shriller and she kicked and scratched at him. He gazed at her seriously, holding her fast, until her thrashing gave way to sobs and she crumpled in his arms. “Let me go,” she whispered. “Please.”
Gathering her up in his embrace, as gently as if she were a child, Herbert nuzzled her temple and crooned softly, rocking her, soothing her has he would have soothed any other of his blood. “What happened, cherie?” he asked after several minutes.
Now that they had been unleashed, sobs were shaking her body. “R-Rona...”
Ah! The Slayer who was to be visiting in several weeks time, the one who was one of the girl’s closest friends. “She cannot visit?”
If anything, Dawn’s sobs redoubled, her body torn by the force of them.
“Cherie?”
“Dead.” The word was spat out between gulping, choked breaths, as if poisonous.
Closing his eyes in sympathy, Herbert smoothed her hair tenderly, rocking her. What was to be said in situations such as these? That he was sorry? No. It was not his doing and nor did it matter to him. That the Slayer was in a better place? That was also deeply unlikely. That he understood her grief? No.
What did humans say in situations such as these?
In his experience, they usually screamed and fled from him.
“I am sorry you are sad?” he offered carefully.
There was a sound between a laugh and a whimper and she pressed closer to him, taking comfort from him, which made him stare down at her even more uncertainly, and buried her face in his shirt.
Enfolding her with his arms and legs, he continued to hold her close, smoothing her hair and kissing her forehead and temple, hoping there wasn’t anything in particular that he was expected to do.
Gradually, her sobs calmed and she pressed the back of her hand to her nose.
“Better?” Herbert inquired, peering down at her. She nodded, though she didn’t lift her eyes to his. “Then you won’t mind if I tell you that you have just ruined one of my favourite shirts.”
She laughed at that, but it was a faint, watery sound. “Sorry,” she whispered.
“And look at the mess you have made of your face, cherie!” he added, tilting her chin up and clicking his tongue. In a flurry of limbs, he was upright and she was scooped up in his arms. “You look like someone poured acid all over you! We cannot have that at all!”
“Herbert!”
Ignoring her protests, he trotted down the stairs and back onto the lower level. Weaving around the squashy couch and beanbags, he walked to the bathroom on the far side of the tower-room, kicking open the half-open door casually.
Depositing her on the stool in front of the vanity, he gathered up a towel and face-cloth, soaking the cloth under the tap and returning to kneel down in front of her, mopping at her face and making her splutter.
“I can wash my own face!” she exclaimed with more spirit than she had shown for several days. He cocked his head, then nodded, letting her take the cloth and wipe at her flushed face with it.
She cleaned every inch of her skin, carefully, methodically, and he noticed that she didn’t look at him. He placed the towel over her knee, unsurprised that she kept her eyes down as she picked it up.
Resting his arms on her knees, Herbert gazed at her. While her behaviour was more understandable now, it had still distressed his father more than even Herbert could truly tell, and that had lead to more confrontations and defiance than he could believe.
And yet, the grief wrought on her face had sapped his anger with the silly child.
Had father not even deigned to seek her and learn this?
It seemed not.
“He’s still mad at me, isn’t he?” she whispered, towelling her skin dry slowly.
“You slept with another,” he said quietly. “It is not something he can easily forget.”
Dawn stared down at the towel in her hands, fresh tears splashing from her dark lashes, her lips pressing together to stop them trembling.
“Nor can I,” she said, so faintly, so infinitely sadly that Herbert reached out to touch her hand softly. Blue eyes rose to him. “I-I didn’t... it... it shouldn’t have happened. I... I was so...” She covered her mouth with her hand, her shoulders shaking, her voice a thin breath. “I’m so dumb.”
“You really are, cherie,” Herbert agreed, kneeling up and reclaiming the cloth to wipe at her face. “Now, would you please stop dripping?” She managed a wan smile, which he returned with a broader one, more convincing in form, yet never more feigned in feeling. “I understand you are distressed, but I don’t understand how dripping like a faulty tap will do anything to help.”
“Don’t know why,” Dawn mumbled, though she started to blink back the tears. “But sometimes it does.”
Wiping under her eyes with exaggerated delicacy, Herbert sat back on his heels. “I think you need something to eat, cherie,” he said. “William says you have barely touched the food he left outside the door.”
“I wasn’t hungry,” she said, rubbing her nose with the back of her hand.
“Or in any mood for hygiene, it seems,” he added, wrinkling his own nose. “How is it possible for one person to acquire such a wretched stink in just five days?”
She swatted him. “Shut up.”
“Only if you agree to eat and have a bath and act like a human being, cherie,” he retorted, catching her hand and kissing her briskly on the palm. “It has been too quiet around here for days and I do not approve.”
“You got it.” She turned her hand and wrapped her fingers around his. “Herbert, is your dad... is he okay?”
Rising, Herbert drew his hand from hers and cupped her face lightly. “He will be, I think,” he replied, stooping to kiss her brow so she could not see his eyes. “He always is.” Stepping back, he looked her up and down. “And wash your hair please, cherie. It looks like something urinated on it.”
“Thanks, Herbert.” She made a face at him, but he heard the sincerity in her words and bowed before stepping out the room and closing the door behind him.
Once he was outside the main door of her room, he sank down against the wood, pressing his face into his hands with a faint sound of distress. As if matters were not already complicated enough.
______________________________________
Outside the pub and guesthouse in the village that lurked in the distant shadow of the castle, a figure climbed back onto the stolen motorcycle. She lay the helmet on her lap as she twisted her hair behind her and tucked it into her collar, out of the way.
The bartender from the pub, a big, meaty-looking guy with eyes like a kicked puppy and ass like steel balls was standing in the doorway, watching her. He’d been trying to tell her something, she was pretty sure, but he didn’t speak any English and she sure as hell couldn’t speak the language they spoke here.
He’d offered her a key, when she’d got up to leave, nodding towards the rooms up the stairs, and as tempting as a big guy like that was, she had more important things to be doing right now.
Regretfully, she’d shaken her head and returned to the bike.
He turned, called into the bar, and he was joined in the doorway by a short, middle-aged woman, who blinked.
“You are to travel tonight?” The accent was strong, but the girl could make out the words.
Looking up at her, Faith shrugged. “Don’t see why not. Need to get where I’m going as soon as I can.”
“These forest,” the woman stepped out of the shadow of the man onto the sidewalk and Faith could see a certain kind of resemblance around the eyes and nose. “They have many dangers. At night there is more.”
Faith couldn’t help grinning at that. “Yeah, figured,” she replied, turning the helmet over in her hands. “But like I said, I’m kinda in a hurry to get where I’m going.” She glanced at the guy, who had his arms folded over his chest. Damn. “Kinda wish I could stick around, but got things to see, people to do.”
“You should stay until the sun rise,” the woman said, stepping even closer. She looked worried, almost as bad as the big hunk of meat behind her. “It is safer to travel when light.”
“Yeah, usually is,” Faith replied, sighing. “Look, I need to get up to the castle and I know it ain’t far from here.” She pointed along the road that lead out of town. “I go that way and it’ll be stickin’ off the cliff somewhere, right?”
The woman went pale by the sickly moonlight. “You are to go to the castle?” she said faintly, stepping back. Behind her, the big guy asked something. The woman replied in a mutter and Faith saw his eyes widen.
“That’s where I’m headed,” Faith said. “The night ain’t gettin’ any younger and I wanna get there kinda now. Unless you got any real reason I should stick around, I haveta go.”
“There is many dangers,” the woman repeated stubbornly.
“Yeah, I get that and good for you for telling me but not really caring right now,” Faith said, more than a bit impatiently. “I’m going. If anyone comes looking for me, then I’ll be there, okay?”
The young man made a protest, but his mother - she had to be, to shut up a big guy like that with a gesture - raised a hand. “Then, I hope God will be with you,” the woman said.
Behind his mom, the man spoke again, as Faith pulled the helmet on, but apparently, whatever the small woman said was enough to make it clear that Faith was leaving and no amount of protesting would change that.
Yeah, it was nice of them to be worried about a young girl on her lonesome, but it wasn’t like she couldn’t take care of herself.
Kick-starting Vittorio’s bike, she didn’t bother looking back as she pulled out from the narrow sidewalk. It was a half-moon and the light was dim, but with the headlamps on, the road shone gold and silver as she raced out of the village.
It took maybe half an hour of winding through woods to reach the castle. She saw shapes running between the trees, shadows of things that looked like big-ass dogs, but kept going until she saw the towering building.
Braking the bike, she swung off and easily forced the wrought-iron gates open wide enough to let her through, pushing them shut behind her with a squeal of hinges and metal on metal.
Pushing the bike up the gravel drive, she left it against the wall by the huge front doors and pulled her satchel out one of the side carriers, swinging it onto her back, before striding to the door. With one fist, she banged on the thick wood, then rocked on her feet impatiently.
It was several minutes until there was the clatter of a latch and the door was pulled open by a grim-faced Herbert.
“Hey,” Faith said, pushing past him into the hall. “Where’s D?” She turned, only to be greeted by a vicious punch that threw her backwards. She ricocheted off the wall, staggering and straightening, shaking her head to clear it. “God damn it!” Blood was running from her nose. “What the fuck was that for?”
Herbert didn’t reply, slamming the door and stalking towards her.
Letting her bag slip from her shoulder, Faith hefted the strap against her palm. “So, you’ve gone evil on my ass, huh?” she said with a dark smile. “Lookin’ for someone to throw down myself.”
She saw him try to catch her eyes and deliberately looked away, but swung out at the same time, bag from one direction, then arm from another. Snatching at the bag, ripping it from her hand, Herbert snorted disdainfully, only to curse and drop it.
“Holy bag, babe,” Faith smirked as he shook a scorched hand. “Little D’s design.”
She managed to dodge an attack, though she felt her hair slip through his fingers and whirled around to see him blocking the hall and realised she’d been backed up against the front door.
A quick glance and a leap got her up, dangling from the decorative rafter, swinging her foot to catch Herbert in the middle of the chest, sending him back a step, though he caught her ankle and tugged as he went.
Landing on her back, a straddle-twist brought her back onto her feet and in more open ground.
“You wanna tell me why I’m getting the B treatment?”
Grey eyes stared at her, cold as the ice outside. “What happened?”
“Shit...” Faith groaned. “She got back, then?”
For a moment there was confusion amid the icy ire. “You didn’t know?”
“Herbert.” Wiping her bloody nose with the back of a hand, Faith glared at him. “If I had been able to call her and find out, d’you seriously think I’d’a dragged my ass all the way from Italy on Vitto’s little scooter just to check she was back where she was meant to be?” She sniffed hard, then hawked up a clotting glob of blood and spat it on the floor. “And fuck! Don’t people just say hello around here?”
The vampire folded his arms and gazed at her. “You presumed she would be here?”
“Well, when someone like D gets wicked freaked, she’ll go to where she feels safest,” Faith replied, stemming the bloody flow from a nostril with her thumb. “You got something I could use here? Kinda not comin’ prepared for nose-smashin’.”
Pulling out a handkerchief, Herbert held it out to her.
“You’re a real sweetie, ain’t you?” she muttered, balling up one corner and jamming it up her nose. Using the half to mop at her face, she sighed. “So, she’s back and since you figured violence is the best way to go, I’m guessin’ she’s not great.”
“Nearly a week locked in her room, refusing food and company,” Herbert replied, though he was watching her with more curiosity and less icy hostility now. “You came to be certain she was all right?”
Faith rolled her eyes. “Someone had to after the shit that happened.” She crossed the hall to retrieve her bag, then looked at him. “You want details right now or do I get to stop bleeding and use a bathroom?”
“You know what happened?”
Faith hesitated, then nodded slowly. “Most of it,” she said. “What do you know?”
Herbert eyed her for a moment, then said, “She mentioned someone called Rona, but aside from that, she hasn’t said much.”
Nodding slowly, Faith sighed. “Okay. Show me where I can get cleaned up and I’ll tell you the rest of it, because knowing lil D, you’re gonna need to do some explainin’ to your old man.”
Herbert’s brows drew together. “You think it would affect my father?” he inquired and she got the feeling he knew it already had, but was prodding just to check she knew more than he did.
“Already has, I’m bettin’,” she replied. “B said you only get testy if people mess with what’s yours and I figure if D wasn’t enough, then somethin’ had to get at either Spike or your old man.”
The vampire smiled, though it was without humour. “William said you always did pay more attention than others gave you credit for,” he murmured, gesturing for her to follow him.
“Yeah,” Faith fell into step behind him. “Someone has to watch from the sidelines.”
_____________________________
“I’ll kill her.”
Sprawled in a chair by the fire, the Slayer looked at him. “You think I didn’t wanna do the same?” she inquired. If her presence hadn’t spoken of her concern for Dawn, the dark gleam in her eyes only confirmed it. “But no, B don’t like it when the little ones get smacked down, even if they are running their mouths off.”
Leaning on his knees, fingertips pressed together, Herbert’s jaw was tensed. “How dare she say such a thing,” he said softly, his voice calm, but mentally, he was picking through the most painful and humiliating of deaths for this new enemy.
“She’s a little kid, Herbie.” William was sitting on the arm of his chair. He sounded calm too, but Herbert could feel the tension radiating from him. “They’re not known for being the sharpest nails in the box when it comes to tact.”
“Fang Two, this wasn’t tact or the lack of it,” the Slayer said with a sigh. “This was Joanne and her ‘Supergirl’ crew being little bitches, since B wasn’t there to see it. They don’t see why a non-Slayer should get to hang out with us and with everythin’ that happened back home...”
“And that the non-Slayer now lives with us, the most notorious vampire family in Europe, gives a certain amount of ammunition against our darling girl.” Herbert sat back, one arm loosely around William’s waist. “I think we should eviscerate the little bitch.”
“Not really thinkin’ that’s the best way to make a point that D has made a good call, Herbert,” Faith noted dryly. “Killin’ the kid’ll only show the rest of the kids that she was right to think D’s gone to hang out with the uber evils.”
“Killing would be too merciful anyway,” William said. His voice was quiet and he was staring blindly at a spot on the wall. “What gives them the bloody right to say the Niblet doesn’t belong there?” He suddenly burst out angrily. “How many apocalypses have they seen? How many demons have they fought? Not half as many as our girl has, I’ll bet!”
“Fang, fifteen Slayers were just wiped out by vamps in the U.S.” The Slayer sat up a little. “No one the girls knew, yeah, but they were still Slayers and some of these kids didn’t even figure Slayers could get killed.”
William snorted derisively. “How dumb are these bints?” he demanded. “You’ve got physical powers. Doesn’t mean you’re a sodding immortal!”
“Preachin’ to the choir, Fang Two,” Faith replied, looking at her hands, which were dangling between her knees. “But they wanted to believe they were. Then Rona and Vi’s sets were attacked and they got a hell of a bite from reality.” She sighed. “Then D came back to the school, D who hangs out with badass vamps and Slayers alike, who’s a human and not one of the girls who belongs there...”
“So being petulant teenage brats without brains or manners enough to fill a teaspoon gives them the right to turn on a woman who is better, stronger and has fought more fiercely for what’s right than any of them can even dream of?”
It was said calmly, so simply, but Herbert could feel his nails biting into his palm at the sight of raging fire in William’s pale eyes, and his arm tightened about his lover’s waist.
“He is right,” he said. “Dawn deserved better treatment from her sister’s allies.”
“They were Slayers getting killed, Herbert,” Faith said quietly. “Jo and her girls just wanted someone to yell at and they picked a bad day and a bad way...”
Herbert’s eyes flashed. “I know, Slayer,” he said icily. “And it seems to have escaped the notice of your little brats that the one who died first was Dawn’s best and most trusted friend.”
The Slayer sighed and she nodded. “Yeah, I know,” she said quietly, sadly. “Jo... she ain’t the brightest candle on the cake and D...” She looked from one of them to the other. “Did something happen before she left? She wasn’t her usual self when she arrived, even before she found out about Rona.”
Herbert could feel William’s eyes on him, uncertain, then he nodded. “She and my father had a disagreement,” he said. “I know nothing more than that, but I think that was partly her reason for joining you so quickly.”
“Jesus...” The Slayer sagged back in the chair. “As if that wasn’t enough...” She ran her hands over her face. “She tried to call Rona, y’know. That’s how she found out. She knew Slayers were being attacked in the U.S. and knew B had gone to help out but she said Rona was okay when she left here, that she’d called her before she headed and then, she tried to call her again... B answered.”
“Shit...” William groaned. “And then that stupid little cow and her merry band of bitches turn on her as well?”
“And I could tell a few more of them were thinkin’ the same,” Faith nodded, dropping her hands into her lap. “I don’t think a one of them knows what D is like. She’s just B’s baby sister and if you try and even talk at ‘em, tell ‘em what she’s done way before they ever got super-powered, they don’t listen.”
“And what did you do throughout this charming interlude?” Herbert asked quietly, gazing at the Slayer.
Dark eyes flashed at him, as if daring him to doubt her loyalty to Dawn. “Wasn’t there when it started. Walked in when it looked like Jo was about to hit D.” Breath whistled between her teeth. “Grabbed Jo and told her to shut the hell up, but D had run off already.” She pushed a hand through her hair, closing her eyes. “Went to find her, but just missed her at one of the bars. Turns out her old boyfriend had seen her.”
“So not just a random stranger, then?” William exhaled. “Thought she might have got taken advantage of.”
The Slayer gave him a look. “Fang, she was drowning her sorrows. She’d been in that bar two hours before I reached it. You really think she was sober enough to give a damn what was going on?”
“And the circle is complete...” Herbert murmured. “She spent the night with him.”
“Didn’t even see her the next day,” Faith said. “By the time I got a hold of the boy, she had upped and left. Didn’t even wait to wake him up, either. Figure she woke up, realised what she’d done, freaked and ran.” Her eyes drifted around the room. “All the way back here.”
“Hope you neutered the bugger.”
Faith cocked a brow at him. “Fang, I’m a Slayer not a vet,” she said quietly, but with enough emphasis in her words to make William stare and then slowly nod. “I’m goin’ on a limb and sayin’ the boss could tell she’d done someone who wasn’t him?”
Herbert felt William’s eyes on him again, but ignored them. “There were words,” he said, depressing his fingers just beneath William’s ribs. “And blows. Since then, I do not think they have seen one another.”
“Christ...” Faith rubbed her forehead. “Does he even know about Rona? Any of that kinda thing?”
“All that we knew, we told him,” Herbert replied. “And now, I think there is much more he should be made aware of.” He rose smoothly. “William, find the Slayer a room. She looks dead on her feet.”
“And he isn’t exaggerating there, pet,” William added with a rueful grin. “How long you been on the go?”
Rising, Faith shrugged and rolled her shoulders. “Pushed the bike as hard as it’d go to get here,” she replied. “I figure three days.”
Shaking his head, William sighed. “Slayers. Mental, the lot of you.” He looked at Herbert. “West wing all right?” The gold-haired vampire nodded. “C’mon, love, we’ll get you tucked up for the night.”
Watching them depart, Herbert slid his hands into the pockets of his trousers and raised his eyes towards the ceiling. “You heard?” he murmured, not looking around at the sound of nothing becoming something.
“I heard,” his father replied softly, behind him. “I should not have doubted her.”
Herbert rolled his eyes expressively, though carefully unseen. Truly, father could be so melodramatic sometimes. “And your intentions?”
“She deserves more than I can give her.”
Herbert turned, an impatient retort on the tip of his tongue, but his father had already vanished into the shadows. With a half-snort, half-snarl, he kicked side of the couch in frustration.
Why did father have to be so wretchedly stubborn?
And the girl so damnably emotional?
It would be so much easier to simply lock them in a room together and let them fight it out, but they would never let him do that and even if he tried, father could use magic and the girl would use her wiles to escape.
Hissing between his teeth, he stormed out of the room, all hopes for a peaceful and comfortable month decimated by two love-sick individuals who were truly the most hopeless creatures in the world.
RATING: R-ish.
FANDOMS: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel the Series & Tanz der Vampire
SPOILERS: Buffy S1-7, Angel S1-5.
SUMMARY: After Dawn's flight, things get even worse.
SERIES: Part of Carpe Noctem series.
In order: As Aught of Mortal Birth, Per Ipsum, et cum Ipso, et in Ipso, Til The Moon Is Abed, Unwritten Words, What Remains, The Gentler Sex, Visitation, After the Storm, In The Name Of and In The Air and Makes Us Stronger and Three's a Crowd, Tis The Season, Divergence, then this chapter.
PAIRINGS: Spike/Herbert, Dawn/von Krolock etc.
WORDS: 9833
NOTES: A chapter less than 10,000 words? Wow. Also, gyah. This chapter breaks my soul. __________________________________
It had been almost two weeks precisely since the youngest member of their household had stormed out the front door in a fit of pique, bag in one hand and the keys to William’s car in the other. Her mobile phone had gone unanswered, and it had sent his father into a fit of brooding.
Neither petulance nor politely-worded pleas could draw an explanation from the Graf, who had - at first - retreated to his study, then taken to being invisible to avoid Herbert’s determined badgering.
For that, Herbert decided he had earned another vengeance point against the girl who was the cause. Unfortunately she had locked the door of her room, so he had been unable to reach the white-board to add it to his ever-increasing tally.
The pleasant feeling that had been overwhelming on the way back from Vienna had vanished as if it had never existed (another black mark, of course) and he knew that his unease was setting William on edge, though neither of them could find the words to say anything.
So when he and William had seen the distant flicker of headlamps through the trees and she had appeared on the close circuit cameras that adorned the front gates, Herbert was both relieved - though he would never admit it - and ready to begin his revenge on her.
They had waited several minutes to allow Dawn and his father a private reunion, but William was too eager to see Dawn and Herbert too keen to interrogate her as to the meaning of her absence. They were already halfway down the stairs when Herbert became aware that not all was as it should be.
“… makes it any of your business?”
Stopping dead on the landing, William walking into his back, Herbert reached behind him to touch William’s hip. His eyes had narrowed warily at Dawn’s raised voice, but even moreso at the dark ire rolling off his father.
“You are of this household.” His voice was more like a soft growl, no less dangerous for the quietness. “You belong to us.”
Behind him, Herbert felt William touch his hand, could almost hear the question and the concern in the vampire’s tense body. He wished he could find an explanation, a way to ease William’s worry, but he was too bewildered himself.
Hands on her hips, eyes blazing, Dawn laughed aloud and Herbert saw his father’s stance tense against the sound. He should warn the girl she was on thin ice here, but he found he was holding a breath he didn’t need, staring down, unable to move, to speak.
“You can’t tell me what to do,” she said coldly.
“I beg to differ.” Von Krolock whispered dangerously.
Taking a step closer towards his father, the girl was glaring darkly. “So you can have whoever you want?” she demanded softly, icily. “And I just have to wait around until you feel like I’m worth your attention? I don’t think so.”
“You will not,” the Graf said, his voice poisonous.
Blue eyes blazed and, for a brief instant, Herbert didn’t know who to be more afraid of. “I can touch whoever I damn well like, you hypocritical son of a bitch.” It was said so softly, so calmly that it belied the rage and some other flickering emotion that had suffused her flushed face. “I don’t need you to make me feel like I’m important.”
There was something in that intonation which made Herbert shiver. The girl’s voice sounded so hollow, bitter. At Herbert’s back, William uttered a worried sound and Herbert moved back a fraction of an inch, letting William lean against him.
For several long moments, von Krolock was utterly silent and utterly still.
“If you touch another,” he breathed. “He will die.” There was a flare of black silk and the resounding crack as he struck the girl in a backhanded blow that knocked her spinning. “You are mine.”
William swore aloud and Herbert grabbed him to forcibly prevent him from racing down to Dawn’s aid.
Against the wall, the girl lifted a hand to her face. It came away stained red. Lifting her eyes to von Krolock, she had blood streaked from her lips and down one cheek, and she rubbed her fingertips together, smearing the stain.
She straightened up from the wall, took two steps forward. Herbert realized his hands were shivering, and he became aware of William’s rapid breaths against his shoulder.
Staring up at his father, she shook her hair back from her face, scarlet trailing from a burst cheek and lip, her hair clinging to the wounds. By her sides, her hands tensed and Herbert heard himself cry in awe-filled shock as she struck his father.
It was hardly a lady’s blow, a strong punch with amazing force behind it for one so slim. The impact and shock combined drove his father back a step and Herbert heard William swear.
Taking one more step, closing the distance between herself and her lover, Dawn gazed coldly at him. “Don’t you ever hit me again, you bastard,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.
Whirling away from him, she stalked up the staircase. Herbert pulled William firmly behind him, out of the range of her wrath as she walked straight passed them as if she didn’t even see them.
At the foot of the stairs, von Krolock’s black eyes stared after her. One hand was touching his cheek and he looked dazed, bewildered. Then, before Herbert’s eyes, he faded out of sight, leaving Herbert and William standing on the stairs.
“Oh shit…” William whispered. “Oh, shit, oh shit, oh shit…”
“She… she struck him…” Herbert found his mind had latched onto that particular moment and would not let go.
Never, not since his father’s Sire had been present, had his father ever been struck at by one of his lovers. None of them had dared. None of them had risked their position. None of them had courage and strength and temper to do it. Four centuries and not one of them.
“He’s gonna kill her, isn’t he?” William’s voice was tense. “He’s gonna tear her apart.”
Turning, Herbert wrapped his arms about William’s body and felt William clutch at him as tightly as he was holding the younger vampire, an anchor in a world suddenly gone mad.
“I… do not think he will,” he murmured uncertainly. If his father had intended to do such a thing, then he would have done it instantaneously, but he had not. Perhaps, it was the simple shock of it.
“But... she hit him!” William’s voice was taking on a nervous, uneasy note. “She walloped him! I... has anyone?”
Herbert shook his head against the top of William’s head. “Not a person that he cared for, no,” he replied. He glanced up the staircase in the direction that Dawn had gone. “Perhaps, we should let them calm tonight...”
His lover laughed weakly. “Yeah... yeah... good idea. Let them calm down a bit...”
Tilting his head, Herbert looked down at William, concern for his father spilling over to encompass the younger vampire in his embrace, his eyes clouding. “Perhaps you as well?” he suggested softly.
William tried to smile, but it was faint. “Can try,” he mumbled.
___________________________
The moon hung heavy overheard, wreathed by melancholy cloud, the late frost still crisp on the ground as he walked down the black stone steps. The whisper of the heavy fabric of his cloak was the only sound, save the distant sigh of the wind.
It had been days since his errant lover had returned, since he had tasted the scent of another upon her. If ignoring it had been possible, he would have, but the dull red of a mortal mark on her bare throat had thrust like a blade beneath his ribs.
His fingertips brushed the dusting of snow from the peaks of gravestones, which rose from the white-scattered bed of the earth like dark fingers reaching in supplication to the uncaring sky.
Each of them bore such history, grief and joy intermingled on their worn surfaces.
Closing his eyes, he followed the unseen path of memory through the quiet solitude of the cemetery.
A grave called out to him, recollection drawing him onwards. Dawn, he remembered with sorrow, had not been the first to believe she could draw him back, to have him stand for that which was commonly acknowledged as right.
Was it truly so far, so long ago?
In the shadow of the walls of the graveyard, darkness stretching out for him, he knelt by the marker of the beautiful young woman of such great heart and noble spirit.
Yet as he brushed the snow from the grave, touching the age-dulled edges of the engraved letters, he found he could not recall the exact colour of her eyes, nor the way her hair felt as it slipped between his fingers.
Strange that eyes he remembered being dark as night seemed to have been touched by starlight, blue and dazzling, flashing fire and ice. From beneath his cloak, his other hand rose, touched his cheek, remembering a touch in anger that belonged to the same form as those blue eyes.
Though the monster that crept within him cried out in rage, he could feel nothing but hollow sadness. Betrayal was a bitter poison, burning away everything that had been so tenderly built, leaving ashes in its wake.
Perhaps it was better that it was now, amid the heat of anger and lingering splintered ache of separation.
Looking to the tower, where this most recent beloved still lingered, he wondered what cause she had to stay. If she desired others, then why return to one who could not walk with her in daylight and touch every inch of her without pain?
It had been the bare seed of a thought in his consciousness from the moment his lips had met hers, that first, scorching instant. Now blooming into a dark, twisted belief, it wrapped about his mind, making him sink against the grave beneath him.
The faint, distant glow of her lamps snuffed out and he looked away, nails rasping against the chilled stone beneath his palm, unable to smother the image of her, lit by the silver caress of the moon, dark hair spilled about her, lips parted, always smiling so softly.
The hand that had touched his offended cheek drifted lower to his throat to the mark that yet lingered, invisible to all but him. It remained, yet she may not. Surely, if she had accepted him so, she should not depart.
Once more, the words he had spoken to her, the words that had driven her from him days earlier, rose in his memory. They had been clumsily-phrased and she had taken a meaning from them that he had not seen.
Clinging to the carefully-masked frailties of her nature which had for so long been unshakeable, his words had laid bare her greatest fears once more. Within a dozen beats of her heart and without conscious thought, he had harmed her more with them than when he had struck her.
That she had returned at all astounded him. For one so passionate about what she believed in, denying her wishes would have only proven graveness of the choice she had made in taking him as her lover. He had dismissed her nature and her deepest loves so carelessly, and yet she had returned to him.
His eyes rose to the tower once more, the temptation to slip into her chambers, to simply watch her slumber almost painful in its intensity. His fingers curled against his palms and he drew a weary breath, a human habit he had been unable to break.
Why she had returned, he knew not, but she had not sought him. As long as she did not wish to see him, he would not inflict his presence upon her. The hurts he had done her already were grave enough. Better to let her choose their path from here.
Already she had taken another.
The unfolding tendril of thought of her entwined in the arms of a mortal, warm flesh touching hers, the flush of her blushes, the gasp of his breath, the moment where their heartbeats stuttered in delicate syncopation...
The mere thought of it made him near buckle over with pain and grief-laced rage, yet as savagely as the demon in him cried for blood, what remained of the man buried his face into his hands, sinking down against the icy stone.
Above, the clouds covered the face of the moon, and in the darkness, he mourned.
_______________________
Spike was tired.
Tired of the wordless fighting, tired of the tension that filled the whole castle, tired of the awkward, uncomfortable silences, tired of watching Herbert pacing and sighing when he thought Spike wasn’t looking.
It was all a load of bollocks. Nibs still loved the Graf. Graf still fancied her quite a bit as well. They wouldn’t make all this fuss about things if there wasn’t some kind of deeper emotion behind it all.
She hadn’t left and he hadn’t asked her to stay, though, and that was the thing.
Until one of them made a move, they were stuck, an eternal stalemate which was rapidly driving Herbert up the wall. Herbert liked to pretend he was all right, like he was used to it, but sometimes, Spike saw him sitting completely still, staring at nothing, looking so bloody tired...
That was why he had given himself a mission.
He’d tried breaking into Dawn’s room without damaging anything several times already and failed miserably. Even stood there and shouted through the wood until he was red in the face and still, nothing.
This time, he was taking a new tack and going to the other source.
His venture had already taken him through the library and the study rooms on the first and second floors. Almost made him wish he had a bit of the magic around him, so he could just make himself appear where he wanted to be. Wasn’t all fun and games, trekking up and down all those sodding stairs.
Another three rooms and he saw the familiar, formidable dark figure seated in one of the chairs of the study on the fourth floor. There wasn’t even a fire lit in the grate, just a single candle on the desk.
If the Graf was aware of him, he did a bloody god job of pretending he wasn’t.
Edging into the room, Spike hesitated, then crossed the floor to stand beside the chair, slipping his hands into his pockets to stop himself fidgeting. The Graf didn’t look up from the hefty book that was open in his lap.
“William?”
“Sir.”
For a moment, he thought that was it, the most he was going to get, then the Graf closed the book, his long-fingered hands resting on the cover. Black eyes rose to him gravely. “What brings you here?”
Hesitating again, Spike rocked on his feet. Maybe this wasn’t the best of ideas. “I’m a bit worried about things,” he finally mumbled. “Nothing’s right... Nibs won’t talk to anyone, you’re hiding away and Herbie...” His words trailed off momentarily. “He’s... a bit off.”
Black eyes surveyed him implacably, then the Graf rose, laying his book on the desk beside him. The candle flame flickered and wavered. “And you wish to suggest that I change matters?”
There was something about the chilly softness of the Graf’s voice that made Spike shiver for a reason he couldn’t put his finger on. “I just wanted to say something,” he said quietly, forcing himself to meet the Graf’s eyes. “I don’t like seeing everyone in this state...”
The bleak blackness of the Graf’s eyes sent warnings flaring in his mind and his self-preservation instinct was trying to haul him back, towards the door, away from the glittering ire he could see rising.
Against his own wishes, his feet moved him back a pace.
That was an even stupider move than coming in the first place.
With a swirl of black, the Graf had swept around him and he heard the ominous creak of the hinges and the sound of the door closing. Whirling around, he found the Graf looking down at him. Looked even taller and more intimidating than usual, the hysterical part of Spike’s hindbrain noticed. Oh bollocks with a cherry on top.
The Graf took a step forward.
Brain screamed to stand his ground. Body shied back a step.
“Come.” It was little more than a whisper and barely audible over the faint crackle of the candle’s flame. As if there were hooks sunk into his flesh, Spike was drawn forward, his steps faltering.
Oh, sodding bad idea, this, but if it got things back on track...
Long fingers slid under the edge of his collar and he saw the Graf’s top lip pull back from fangs that seemed to gleam by the flickering light. When his collar was ripped open, the fabric was pulled savagely against the opposite side of his neck but he didn’t flinch, biting on his lower lip hard enough to draw blood.
The Graf’s face was over his and he felt the nails scrape across the marks left by Herbert, the only person who had bitten him for months. And that made his body tense as the Graf’s lips curved mirthlessly.
He was Herbert’s.
That was how this worked.
He was Herbert’s!
While some part of him yelled that this was suicidal, he jerked backwards, struggling against the Graf’s steely grip. Black eyes flared and a blow caught him in the middle of the chest. Brought down savagely, he landed on his back on the desk, knocking the candle over. It bounced, the stick clattering on the floor, and guttered out.
In the sudden darkness, he lashed out desperately, blindly, felt his left hand impact something, heard the low, deadly growl and froze at the scent of the Graf’s blood, rich and powerful in the air.
Oh bollocks.
His offending hand was suddenly caught in a vice-like grip, squeezed until he felt a cry dragged from his throat, his eyes flaring gold. The ring on his finger cut into flesh and he felt the blood seeping around it.
“You dare to fight me, William?” Above him, he could see the glittering eyes, the ice in the voice freezing him, numbing any will he had left to fight, his body rigid with terror.
“I-I...”
The Graf laughed. It sounded unnatural, cold, emotionless, and Spike whimpered in pain as his hand was jerked mercilessly upwards and those black, pitiless eyes watched him, watched his reaction as the Graf dragged his tongue around the simple gold band as if it meant nothing.
Did it?
Didn’t it?
He thought it... Herbert had seemed... oh fuck...
“Don’t...” It was more of a whimper than a protest.
The Graf’s lips and teeth pressed to his palm and he felt the whisper, “Don’t?”
He stifled a cry when he felt the band of gold torn off his finger, knuckle scraped raw. Heard the clink of the small bit of metal landing on the floor, lost to the dark, cast aside like it was nothing.
He felt the lazy lap of the Graf’s tongue, then the scrape of fangs over the heel of his hand. His fingers were trembling and he squeezed his eyes shut against bloody stupid damned fucking tears that were stinging there. Wouldn’t help. Stupid sentimental arse to think it meant anything.
He heard a faint sound, like a wounded animal, like a whine of pain, was shocked to realise it came from his own throat.
The Graf mockingly kissed the tip of his ring finger, then forced his hand down onto the desktop, pinning it there ruthlessly as he moved, hair sweeping against Spike’s cheeks. Spike could feel the black eyes scouring his face, but turned away, wouldn’t look, wouldn’t, couldn’t.
“William.”
Pressing his lips together, he shook his head, his body taut and rigid. He felt a kiss brushed over the corner of his mouth, the lips tracing along his jawline, the intimacy making him jerk uselessly, hopelessly, against the Graf’s stronger former.
He felt his eyes betraying him, felt chilly moisture pooling against the bridge of his nose and trickling down his cheek to puddle on the polished desk, could feel his throat ache and burn and he shuddered as the Graf’s lips touched his throat.
When the bite came, hard, deep and savage, it was as physically painful as he knew it would be, but that wasn’t what forced a hopeless sound of despair from him, his body shaking.
Beneath him, he could feel the spreading puddle of blood, could feel it soaking into the back of his shirt, knew the Graf had bitten just for biting’s sake, could feel the ragged tears. Not even a clean bite. Oh fuck, fuck, fuck...
Jerking one of his shaking hands free, he desperately covered his face, trembling so much he could feel every bone in his body quaking, but his hand was forced aside and the Graf’s growl was close to his face. He felt the bloody lips against his, felt his shirt ripped asunder.
“Don’t...” he croaked out faintly, weakly.
He could feel magical bonds holding him as the Graf’s hands slid against his skin, waking unwilling heat inside him, drawing pained, desperate sounds from him. His head was spinning from loss of blood, and now the Graf was taking what he had left, twisting it, making him...
“Please...” It came out as little more than a sob.
He heard the door clatter against the wall, light pouring into the room from the hall, flinching and averting his face, then nothing. The Graf’s weight was gone and inertia tumbled him onto the floor, shaking, splattering blood across the polished surface.
Barely able to lift his face, he looked up and went rigid.
Over him, Herbert was standing, his expression ice-cold.
Halfway across the room, the Graf was staggering upright, apparently pushed there, and judging by the bloodstains on Herbert’s hands, Herbert had been the one to do the pushing. Spike could see the gash on the Graf’s cheek, left by his...
“Leave us, Herbert.” The growl was enough to make Spike recoil.
Herbert’s eyes flashed like mercury. “No,” he said quietly. Then, he pointedly knelt down beside Spike, who was torn between looking anywhere but him and staring wildly at him, wondering why he was being so bloody stupid. Uncaring of the blood steadily soaking his clothing, Herbert slid an arm beneath his shoulders, the sudden warmth and concern in his grey eyes making Spike tremble. “Cheri...”
Motion made Spike’s eyes dart fearfully towards the Graf, who had taken a step towards them, his expression feral. “Herbert.”
“Maybe you should go...” Spike whispered, still staring warily at the Graf. He felt a hand laid over his heart, felt the arm around his shoulders tighten, looked up to see Herbert raise his eyes to his father.
“No,” Herbert repeated softly. “He’s mine.”
For several moments, the only sound was the sigh of the wind outside the room.
Spike’s left hand fumbled to his chest, clutching at Herbert’s in shock. He felt Herbert’s fingers slide between his, sticky with blood, felt his fingertips acknowledge the nakedness of his ring finger, though Herbert was still evenly looking at his father.
“Ours.”
Herbert’s eyes flashed again, fangs bared subtly. “Mine.”
The low growl from the shadows made Spike flinch against Herbert, who glanced down at him, his expression tensing. His fingers drew gently from Spike’s and he looked around quickly, leaning away for an instant, then pulling Spike more securely against his chest.
“Is your hand badly hurt?” he asked softly. Spike shook his head wordlessly and felt his eyes burning again as Herbert uncurled his hand and with gentle reverence, slipped his ring back onto his finger. A kiss touched his lips, chaste and tender. “I’ll take you back to your room, cheri.”
“But your da...”
Silver eyes flicked to the shadows, then returned to Spike. “You’re mine, cheri,” he said quietly. “I would rather not see you shattered.” His smile was delicate. “I have grown rather attached to you.”
And with the ease of an adult carrying a child, he slipped his arms beneath Spike’s knees and ribs, lifting him in his embrace. Dropping his head to rest on Herbert’s shoulder, Spike let himself sink into dizzying semi-consciousness.
If the Graf protested as Herbert carried him out of the study, then he didn’t hear it. Didn’t notice much, really, until he realised he was lying on something soft and Herbert was gently cleaning his throat with a sponge.
“What did you think you were doing, you silly, silly darling?” he murmured.
Spike tilted his face to look at him, but Herbert’s eyes were focussed on his throat. “I wanted to try and help,” he whispered, his lips dry and his voice rough. “Thought I could talk to him...”
Tipped onto his side, the warm sponge cleaning the blood from his back, he heard Herbert sigh. “When father gets into this kind of mood...” The sponge ran the length of his back several times. “Leave him to me, William. Please.”
There was an exhausted ache in Herbert’s voice that made him nod at once. “Won’t make the same mistake again,” he replied quietly. “Just don’t like seeing you so knackered.”
Laid back on his back, he saw the weary smile touch Herbert’s lips. “If you desired intimacy,” he murmured, a suggestion of amusement in his eyes, “Then you should have asked. I’m sure I have energy enough.”
Spike tried to smile, but couldn’t quite find it. “Herbie... your dad... he won’t be angry with you, will he?”
Ignoring his words, Herbert gently removed Spike’s ring again, then carefully dipped his bloody hand into the basin of water he had on the bed beside him, gently rinsing the raw scrapes.
“Herbie.”
“You’re mine, William.” Grey eyes finally met blue. “You have been for a century. I will not have him taking you from me simply to slake his temper.” With a towel, he dried Spike’s hand, then rinsed the ring before slipping it back on Spike’s finger. He laughed faintly, weakly. “I... I fear I may have surprised him.”
“Surprised me to see you there,” Spike murmured, eyes half-closing.
“Mm.” Herbert’s hand covered his. Spike felt it trembling. “I have never denied him before.” His fingers contracted and Spike opened his eyes. “I am sorry he managed to harm you so, cheri.”
Shaking his head slightly, Spike exhaled. “Me and my stupid ideas,” he mumbled.
Releasing his hands, Herbert shifted to draw him partially upright, an arm around his shoulders, and he could smell blood on the air a moment before Herbert’s wrist - newly bitten - was placed against his lips.
Gratefully, he drank. Herbert’s lips pressed to his temple and he could feel the tired smile, the fingers of the arm around his shoulders gently stroking his upper arm.
When he withdrew his wrist, he shifted their combined weights to lean against the pillows, and Spike laid his head against Herbert’s shoulder, unable to keep his eyes open any longer.
“I should find father.”
Reaching out blindly, Spike touched Herbert’s leg. “Not tonight,” he whispered and felt Herbert nod against his crown. “Get some sleep.”
Herbert laughed faintly. “I can but try, cheri.” He slipped his arm free and was about to rise from the bed when Spike clutched his wrist suddenly, warily. Herbert looked down at him affectionately. “I would rather not have bloody clothes on while I slept,” he explained, then moved the bowl of water off the bed too.
“You won’t go?” Strange how helpless and small those words sounded.
Herbert gazed at him for several minutes in silence, then placed the bowl of water out of the way and quickly disrobed, not even bothering to fold his clothing. After switching off the light, he climbed back onto the bed, pulling the blankets around them both, and gathered Spike in his arms.
“Never,” he said softly, lifting Spike’s ring finger to his lips and kissing it gently.
As if welling up like a little girl wasn’t bad enough when the Graf jumped on him, it was even worse now. “Herbie...”
“I know, cheri.” He felt the whisper against his lips, then a faint sigh. “And this bed is terrible.”
Spike smiled wanly. “What? No chains?”
He heard the quiet laugh. “But of course,” Herbert replied lightly. “Tomorrow, we shall move you into my rooms.” Spike’s eyes shot open and by the dim light filtering through the curtains, he looked up at Herbert’s profile. “After all, the bed is by far superior. And larger.”
“Into your rooms?”
“Mm.” Herbert acknowledged. “I think it is about time.” He kissed Spike’s forehead gently. “I feel we waste so much energy which could be better expended elsewhere trekking between them.”
“Your rooms?” Spike repeated, wondering if he’d maybe started hallucinating from blood-loss.
“Our rooms,” Herbert corrected, then yawned. “Do go to sleep, darling.”
“But you...”
A tired, but smiling kiss touched his lips. “I love you, William,” the elder vampire said softly, his voice laced with fatigue, his emotions bared. “No more foolishness. You’re mine.”
Pressing close to Herbert, Spike tightened his arm around his lover. When his stupid bloody tears fell against Herbert’s chest, he felt Herbert’s fingers stroke through his hair without laughter or judgement.
“Our rooms,” he agreed in a whisper.
______________________________
His attempt to find his father had been in vain.
It made things so much more impossible when your quarry could choose to vanish into the ether at the first hint that he was being hunted, so he decided to turn his attention to prey which had efficiently caged itself.
It had taken some creative negotiation, and then further battle with the stubborn lock on Dawn’s door, but after several hours Herbert turned the handle and stepped into Dawn’s round rooms.
The living area which made up the lower level was empty, so he made his way up the staircase that spiralled up the wall, one hand on the rail, the other in the pocket of his trousers.
He was unsurprised to find her in the sanctity of her bedroom. With her back to the landing, she was curled on her side on the bed, but he saw her shoulders tense and knew that she was certainly not asleep.
“You slept with someone else, didn’t you?” he said quietly.
Her body stiffened, but she didn’t reply, although her legs pulled up more tightly against her chest.
“Did you think he wouldn’t know that someone had touched what was his?” Moving closer to the bed, Herbert folded his hands behind him, watching for a reaction. “Did you think him a fool?”
“Go away, Herbert.” Her voice was so quiet, he could barely make it out.
“Not until I get an answer,” he said flatly, his voice cold and calm. “Why did you do something so stupid? You claim to care for my father and then, when you depart, you lie with another?”
Her shoulders twitched in a shrug. “Don’t know.”
“Now, that is ridiculous!” Herbert snapped. “Of course you know!”
He had told himself that he would stay calm, that there would be some logical explanation, that she would be reasonable and explain it to him, but apparently, this was not the case.
Not to mention the fact that her silence was unsettling him more than he liked.
Never before had he met a woman who would so freely and confidently express her opinions as this one, yet now, she spoke in a monotone, she didn’t look at him, and even though she was quite probably in the thrall of her hormones, she wasn’t arguing.
“Is this because of his affection for others?” She shook her head, her left arm curled up under it. He saw the tips of her fingers twist into her hair. Sighing, he stalked closer. “Then, is it curiosity? If you want to have other lovers, you need only ask!”
“It’s not.”
Again, a breath of a whisper.
Damn the wretched woman! Why was she making it so difficult? As if having father playing games and using his own dear William as a diversion wasn’t bad enough! Was it so difficult to be direct?
“Am I to ask every possibility?” he demanded, hands slipping to his hips. “Is it something that father said? Something that William did? Anything that happened before or after you departed?”
“Herbert, please.” He heard the tremor in her voice, frowned. “Just go.”
“Why?”
She shook her head, didn’t answer.
Frowning even more deeply, he climbed onto the edge of the bed, crawling across the mattress towards her. She flinched when he touched her arm as if he had struck her, turning her head down towards the blankets, her hair slipping over face.
“Dawn?”
“Go away!”
There was no mistaking the half-sob in her words and he caught her around the waist before she could scramble off the bed, using his other hand to draw tear-dampened hair from flushed cheeks.
“Oh, cherie...”
There could be no doubt that she had been crying on and off for some time. Her eyes were almost scarlet, blood-shot and red-rimmed, her cheeks mottled and stained with the residue of long-dried tears.
“Go away...” she whispered, covering her face with her hands.
“There is no chance of that, I am afraid,” he said softly. “Cherie, if this is because he struck you...”
“You think that’s all this is about?” Her hands pulled away and the look on her face was so anguished that he recoiled, startled by the pain in her eyes. She struggled against his hold. “Let me go.”
“No.”
“Herbert! Let me go!” Her voice was growing shriller and she kicked and scratched at him. He gazed at her seriously, holding her fast, until her thrashing gave way to sobs and she crumpled in his arms. “Let me go,” she whispered. “Please.”
Gathering her up in his embrace, as gently as if she were a child, Herbert nuzzled her temple and crooned softly, rocking her, soothing her has he would have soothed any other of his blood. “What happened, cherie?” he asked after several minutes.
Now that they had been unleashed, sobs were shaking her body. “R-Rona...”
Ah! The Slayer who was to be visiting in several weeks time, the one who was one of the girl’s closest friends. “She cannot visit?”
If anything, Dawn’s sobs redoubled, her body torn by the force of them.
“Cherie?”
“Dead.” The word was spat out between gulping, choked breaths, as if poisonous.
Closing his eyes in sympathy, Herbert smoothed her hair tenderly, rocking her. What was to be said in situations such as these? That he was sorry? No. It was not his doing and nor did it matter to him. That the Slayer was in a better place? That was also deeply unlikely. That he understood her grief? No.
What did humans say in situations such as these?
In his experience, they usually screamed and fled from him.
“I am sorry you are sad?” he offered carefully.
There was a sound between a laugh and a whimper and she pressed closer to him, taking comfort from him, which made him stare down at her even more uncertainly, and buried her face in his shirt.
Enfolding her with his arms and legs, he continued to hold her close, smoothing her hair and kissing her forehead and temple, hoping there wasn’t anything in particular that he was expected to do.
Gradually, her sobs calmed and she pressed the back of her hand to her nose.
“Better?” Herbert inquired, peering down at her. She nodded, though she didn’t lift her eyes to his. “Then you won’t mind if I tell you that you have just ruined one of my favourite shirts.”
She laughed at that, but it was a faint, watery sound. “Sorry,” she whispered.
“And look at the mess you have made of your face, cherie!” he added, tilting her chin up and clicking his tongue. In a flurry of limbs, he was upright and she was scooped up in his arms. “You look like someone poured acid all over you! We cannot have that at all!”
“Herbert!”
Ignoring her protests, he trotted down the stairs and back onto the lower level. Weaving around the squashy couch and beanbags, he walked to the bathroom on the far side of the tower-room, kicking open the half-open door casually.
Depositing her on the stool in front of the vanity, he gathered up a towel and face-cloth, soaking the cloth under the tap and returning to kneel down in front of her, mopping at her face and making her splutter.
“I can wash my own face!” she exclaimed with more spirit than she had shown for several days. He cocked his head, then nodded, letting her take the cloth and wipe at her flushed face with it.
She cleaned every inch of her skin, carefully, methodically, and he noticed that she didn’t look at him. He placed the towel over her knee, unsurprised that she kept her eyes down as she picked it up.
Resting his arms on her knees, Herbert gazed at her. While her behaviour was more understandable now, it had still distressed his father more than even Herbert could truly tell, and that had lead to more confrontations and defiance than he could believe.
And yet, the grief wrought on her face had sapped his anger with the silly child.
Had father not even deigned to seek her and learn this?
It seemed not.
“He’s still mad at me, isn’t he?” she whispered, towelling her skin dry slowly.
“You slept with another,” he said quietly. “It is not something he can easily forget.”
Dawn stared down at the towel in her hands, fresh tears splashing from her dark lashes, her lips pressing together to stop them trembling.
“Nor can I,” she said, so faintly, so infinitely sadly that Herbert reached out to touch her hand softly. Blue eyes rose to him. “I-I didn’t... it... it shouldn’t have happened. I... I was so...” She covered her mouth with her hand, her shoulders shaking, her voice a thin breath. “I’m so dumb.”
“You really are, cherie,” Herbert agreed, kneeling up and reclaiming the cloth to wipe at her face. “Now, would you please stop dripping?” She managed a wan smile, which he returned with a broader one, more convincing in form, yet never more feigned in feeling. “I understand you are distressed, but I don’t understand how dripping like a faulty tap will do anything to help.”
“Don’t know why,” Dawn mumbled, though she started to blink back the tears. “But sometimes it does.”
Wiping under her eyes with exaggerated delicacy, Herbert sat back on his heels. “I think you need something to eat, cherie,” he said. “William says you have barely touched the food he left outside the door.”
“I wasn’t hungry,” she said, rubbing her nose with the back of her hand.
“Or in any mood for hygiene, it seems,” he added, wrinkling his own nose. “How is it possible for one person to acquire such a wretched stink in just five days?”
She swatted him. “Shut up.”
“Only if you agree to eat and have a bath and act like a human being, cherie,” he retorted, catching her hand and kissing her briskly on the palm. “It has been too quiet around here for days and I do not approve.”
“You got it.” She turned her hand and wrapped her fingers around his. “Herbert, is your dad... is he okay?”
Rising, Herbert drew his hand from hers and cupped her face lightly. “He will be, I think,” he replied, stooping to kiss her brow so she could not see his eyes. “He always is.” Stepping back, he looked her up and down. “And wash your hair please, cherie. It looks like something urinated on it.”
“Thanks, Herbert.” She made a face at him, but he heard the sincerity in her words and bowed before stepping out the room and closing the door behind him.
Once he was outside the main door of her room, he sank down against the wood, pressing his face into his hands with a faint sound of distress. As if matters were not already complicated enough.
______________________________________
Outside the pub and guesthouse in the village that lurked in the distant shadow of the castle, a figure climbed back onto the stolen motorcycle. She lay the helmet on her lap as she twisted her hair behind her and tucked it into her collar, out of the way.
The bartender from the pub, a big, meaty-looking guy with eyes like a kicked puppy and ass like steel balls was standing in the doorway, watching her. He’d been trying to tell her something, she was pretty sure, but he didn’t speak any English and she sure as hell couldn’t speak the language they spoke here.
He’d offered her a key, when she’d got up to leave, nodding towards the rooms up the stairs, and as tempting as a big guy like that was, she had more important things to be doing right now.
Regretfully, she’d shaken her head and returned to the bike.
He turned, called into the bar, and he was joined in the doorway by a short, middle-aged woman, who blinked.
“You are to travel tonight?” The accent was strong, but the girl could make out the words.
Looking up at her, Faith shrugged. “Don’t see why not. Need to get where I’m going as soon as I can.”
“These forest,” the woman stepped out of the shadow of the man onto the sidewalk and Faith could see a certain kind of resemblance around the eyes and nose. “They have many dangers. At night there is more.”
Faith couldn’t help grinning at that. “Yeah, figured,” she replied, turning the helmet over in her hands. “But like I said, I’m kinda in a hurry to get where I’m going.” She glanced at the guy, who had his arms folded over his chest. Damn. “Kinda wish I could stick around, but got things to see, people to do.”
“You should stay until the sun rise,” the woman said, stepping even closer. She looked worried, almost as bad as the big hunk of meat behind her. “It is safer to travel when light.”
“Yeah, usually is,” Faith replied, sighing. “Look, I need to get up to the castle and I know it ain’t far from here.” She pointed along the road that lead out of town. “I go that way and it’ll be stickin’ off the cliff somewhere, right?”
The woman went pale by the sickly moonlight. “You are to go to the castle?” she said faintly, stepping back. Behind her, the big guy asked something. The woman replied in a mutter and Faith saw his eyes widen.
“That’s where I’m headed,” Faith said. “The night ain’t gettin’ any younger and I wanna get there kinda now. Unless you got any real reason I should stick around, I haveta go.”
“There is many dangers,” the woman repeated stubbornly.
“Yeah, I get that and good for you for telling me but not really caring right now,” Faith said, more than a bit impatiently. “I’m going. If anyone comes looking for me, then I’ll be there, okay?”
The young man made a protest, but his mother - she had to be, to shut up a big guy like that with a gesture - raised a hand. “Then, I hope God will be with you,” the woman said.
Behind his mom, the man spoke again, as Faith pulled the helmet on, but apparently, whatever the small woman said was enough to make it clear that Faith was leaving and no amount of protesting would change that.
Yeah, it was nice of them to be worried about a young girl on her lonesome, but it wasn’t like she couldn’t take care of herself.
Kick-starting Vittorio’s bike, she didn’t bother looking back as she pulled out from the narrow sidewalk. It was a half-moon and the light was dim, but with the headlamps on, the road shone gold and silver as she raced out of the village.
It took maybe half an hour of winding through woods to reach the castle. She saw shapes running between the trees, shadows of things that looked like big-ass dogs, but kept going until she saw the towering building.
Braking the bike, she swung off and easily forced the wrought-iron gates open wide enough to let her through, pushing them shut behind her with a squeal of hinges and metal on metal.
Pushing the bike up the gravel drive, she left it against the wall by the huge front doors and pulled her satchel out one of the side carriers, swinging it onto her back, before striding to the door. With one fist, she banged on the thick wood, then rocked on her feet impatiently.
It was several minutes until there was the clatter of a latch and the door was pulled open by a grim-faced Herbert.
“Hey,” Faith said, pushing past him into the hall. “Where’s D?” She turned, only to be greeted by a vicious punch that threw her backwards. She ricocheted off the wall, staggering and straightening, shaking her head to clear it. “God damn it!” Blood was running from her nose. “What the fuck was that for?”
Herbert didn’t reply, slamming the door and stalking towards her.
Letting her bag slip from her shoulder, Faith hefted the strap against her palm. “So, you’ve gone evil on my ass, huh?” she said with a dark smile. “Lookin’ for someone to throw down myself.”
She saw him try to catch her eyes and deliberately looked away, but swung out at the same time, bag from one direction, then arm from another. Snatching at the bag, ripping it from her hand, Herbert snorted disdainfully, only to curse and drop it.
“Holy bag, babe,” Faith smirked as he shook a scorched hand. “Little D’s design.”
She managed to dodge an attack, though she felt her hair slip through his fingers and whirled around to see him blocking the hall and realised she’d been backed up against the front door.
A quick glance and a leap got her up, dangling from the decorative rafter, swinging her foot to catch Herbert in the middle of the chest, sending him back a step, though he caught her ankle and tugged as he went.
Landing on her back, a straddle-twist brought her back onto her feet and in more open ground.
“You wanna tell me why I’m getting the B treatment?”
Grey eyes stared at her, cold as the ice outside. “What happened?”
“Shit...” Faith groaned. “She got back, then?”
For a moment there was confusion amid the icy ire. “You didn’t know?”
“Herbert.” Wiping her bloody nose with the back of a hand, Faith glared at him. “If I had been able to call her and find out, d’you seriously think I’d’a dragged my ass all the way from Italy on Vitto’s little scooter just to check she was back where she was meant to be?” She sniffed hard, then hawked up a clotting glob of blood and spat it on the floor. “And fuck! Don’t people just say hello around here?”
The vampire folded his arms and gazed at her. “You presumed she would be here?”
“Well, when someone like D gets wicked freaked, she’ll go to where she feels safest,” Faith replied, stemming the bloody flow from a nostril with her thumb. “You got something I could use here? Kinda not comin’ prepared for nose-smashin’.”
Pulling out a handkerchief, Herbert held it out to her.
“You’re a real sweetie, ain’t you?” she muttered, balling up one corner and jamming it up her nose. Using the half to mop at her face, she sighed. “So, she’s back and since you figured violence is the best way to go, I’m guessin’ she’s not great.”
“Nearly a week locked in her room, refusing food and company,” Herbert replied, though he was watching her with more curiosity and less icy hostility now. “You came to be certain she was all right?”
Faith rolled her eyes. “Someone had to after the shit that happened.” She crossed the hall to retrieve her bag, then looked at him. “You want details right now or do I get to stop bleeding and use a bathroom?”
“You know what happened?”
Faith hesitated, then nodded slowly. “Most of it,” she said. “What do you know?”
Herbert eyed her for a moment, then said, “She mentioned someone called Rona, but aside from that, she hasn’t said much.”
Nodding slowly, Faith sighed. “Okay. Show me where I can get cleaned up and I’ll tell you the rest of it, because knowing lil D, you’re gonna need to do some explainin’ to your old man.”
Herbert’s brows drew together. “You think it would affect my father?” he inquired and she got the feeling he knew it already had, but was prodding just to check she knew more than he did.
“Already has, I’m bettin’,” she replied. “B said you only get testy if people mess with what’s yours and I figure if D wasn’t enough, then somethin’ had to get at either Spike or your old man.”
The vampire smiled, though it was without humour. “William said you always did pay more attention than others gave you credit for,” he murmured, gesturing for her to follow him.
“Yeah,” Faith fell into step behind him. “Someone has to watch from the sidelines.”
_____________________________
“I’ll kill her.”
Sprawled in a chair by the fire, the Slayer looked at him. “You think I didn’t wanna do the same?” she inquired. If her presence hadn’t spoken of her concern for Dawn, the dark gleam in her eyes only confirmed it. “But no, B don’t like it when the little ones get smacked down, even if they are running their mouths off.”
Leaning on his knees, fingertips pressed together, Herbert’s jaw was tensed. “How dare she say such a thing,” he said softly, his voice calm, but mentally, he was picking through the most painful and humiliating of deaths for this new enemy.
“She’s a little kid, Herbie.” William was sitting on the arm of his chair. He sounded calm too, but Herbert could feel the tension radiating from him. “They’re not known for being the sharpest nails in the box when it comes to tact.”
“Fang Two, this wasn’t tact or the lack of it,” the Slayer said with a sigh. “This was Joanne and her ‘Supergirl’ crew being little bitches, since B wasn’t there to see it. They don’t see why a non-Slayer should get to hang out with us and with everythin’ that happened back home...”
“And that the non-Slayer now lives with us, the most notorious vampire family in Europe, gives a certain amount of ammunition against our darling girl.” Herbert sat back, one arm loosely around William’s waist. “I think we should eviscerate the little bitch.”
“Not really thinkin’ that’s the best way to make a point that D has made a good call, Herbert,” Faith noted dryly. “Killin’ the kid’ll only show the rest of the kids that she was right to think D’s gone to hang out with the uber evils.”
“Killing would be too merciful anyway,” William said. His voice was quiet and he was staring blindly at a spot on the wall. “What gives them the bloody right to say the Niblet doesn’t belong there?” He suddenly burst out angrily. “How many apocalypses have they seen? How many demons have they fought? Not half as many as our girl has, I’ll bet!”
“Fang, fifteen Slayers were just wiped out by vamps in the U.S.” The Slayer sat up a little. “No one the girls knew, yeah, but they were still Slayers and some of these kids didn’t even figure Slayers could get killed.”
William snorted derisively. “How dumb are these bints?” he demanded. “You’ve got physical powers. Doesn’t mean you’re a sodding immortal!”
“Preachin’ to the choir, Fang Two,” Faith replied, looking at her hands, which were dangling between her knees. “But they wanted to believe they were. Then Rona and Vi’s sets were attacked and they got a hell of a bite from reality.” She sighed. “Then D came back to the school, D who hangs out with badass vamps and Slayers alike, who’s a human and not one of the girls who belongs there...”
“So being petulant teenage brats without brains or manners enough to fill a teaspoon gives them the right to turn on a woman who is better, stronger and has fought more fiercely for what’s right than any of them can even dream of?”
It was said calmly, so simply, but Herbert could feel his nails biting into his palm at the sight of raging fire in William’s pale eyes, and his arm tightened about his lover’s waist.
“He is right,” he said. “Dawn deserved better treatment from her sister’s allies.”
“They were Slayers getting killed, Herbert,” Faith said quietly. “Jo and her girls just wanted someone to yell at and they picked a bad day and a bad way...”
Herbert’s eyes flashed. “I know, Slayer,” he said icily. “And it seems to have escaped the notice of your little brats that the one who died first was Dawn’s best and most trusted friend.”
The Slayer sighed and she nodded. “Yeah, I know,” she said quietly, sadly. “Jo... she ain’t the brightest candle on the cake and D...” She looked from one of them to the other. “Did something happen before she left? She wasn’t her usual self when she arrived, even before she found out about Rona.”
Herbert could feel William’s eyes on him, uncertain, then he nodded. “She and my father had a disagreement,” he said. “I know nothing more than that, but I think that was partly her reason for joining you so quickly.”
“Jesus...” The Slayer sagged back in the chair. “As if that wasn’t enough...” She ran her hands over her face. “She tried to call Rona, y’know. That’s how she found out. She knew Slayers were being attacked in the U.S. and knew B had gone to help out but she said Rona was okay when she left here, that she’d called her before she headed and then, she tried to call her again... B answered.”
“Shit...” William groaned. “And then that stupid little cow and her merry band of bitches turn on her as well?”
“And I could tell a few more of them were thinkin’ the same,” Faith nodded, dropping her hands into her lap. “I don’t think a one of them knows what D is like. She’s just B’s baby sister and if you try and even talk at ‘em, tell ‘em what she’s done way before they ever got super-powered, they don’t listen.”
“And what did you do throughout this charming interlude?” Herbert asked quietly, gazing at the Slayer.
Dark eyes flashed at him, as if daring him to doubt her loyalty to Dawn. “Wasn’t there when it started. Walked in when it looked like Jo was about to hit D.” Breath whistled between her teeth. “Grabbed Jo and told her to shut the hell up, but D had run off already.” She pushed a hand through her hair, closing her eyes. “Went to find her, but just missed her at one of the bars. Turns out her old boyfriend had seen her.”
“So not just a random stranger, then?” William exhaled. “Thought she might have got taken advantage of.”
The Slayer gave him a look. “Fang, she was drowning her sorrows. She’d been in that bar two hours before I reached it. You really think she was sober enough to give a damn what was going on?”
“And the circle is complete...” Herbert murmured. “She spent the night with him.”
“Didn’t even see her the next day,” Faith said. “By the time I got a hold of the boy, she had upped and left. Didn’t even wait to wake him up, either. Figure she woke up, realised what she’d done, freaked and ran.” Her eyes drifted around the room. “All the way back here.”
“Hope you neutered the bugger.”
Faith cocked a brow at him. “Fang, I’m a Slayer not a vet,” she said quietly, but with enough emphasis in her words to make William stare and then slowly nod. “I’m goin’ on a limb and sayin’ the boss could tell she’d done someone who wasn’t him?”
Herbert felt William’s eyes on him again, but ignored them. “There were words,” he said, depressing his fingers just beneath William’s ribs. “And blows. Since then, I do not think they have seen one another.”
“Christ...” Faith rubbed her forehead. “Does he even know about Rona? Any of that kinda thing?”
“All that we knew, we told him,” Herbert replied. “And now, I think there is much more he should be made aware of.” He rose smoothly. “William, find the Slayer a room. She looks dead on her feet.”
“And he isn’t exaggerating there, pet,” William added with a rueful grin. “How long you been on the go?”
Rising, Faith shrugged and rolled her shoulders. “Pushed the bike as hard as it’d go to get here,” she replied. “I figure three days.”
Shaking his head, William sighed. “Slayers. Mental, the lot of you.” He looked at Herbert. “West wing all right?” The gold-haired vampire nodded. “C’mon, love, we’ll get you tucked up for the night.”
Watching them depart, Herbert slid his hands into the pockets of his trousers and raised his eyes towards the ceiling. “You heard?” he murmured, not looking around at the sound of nothing becoming something.
“I heard,” his father replied softly, behind him. “I should not have doubted her.”
Herbert rolled his eyes expressively, though carefully unseen. Truly, father could be so melodramatic sometimes. “And your intentions?”
“She deserves more than I can give her.”
Herbert turned, an impatient retort on the tip of his tongue, but his father had already vanished into the shadows. With a half-snort, half-snarl, he kicked side of the couch in frustration.
Why did father have to be so wretchedly stubborn?
And the girl so damnably emotional?
It would be so much easier to simply lock them in a room together and let them fight it out, but they would never let him do that and even if he tried, father could use magic and the girl would use her wiles to escape.
Hissing between his teeth, he stormed out of the room, all hopes for a peaceful and comfortable month decimated by two love-sick individuals who were truly the most hopeless creatures in the world.