Jas & SJ

[bloodred-sunrise]

Damaged|| Lachlan/Mathis

[bloodred-sunrise]

ends-n-odds‌:

Mathis was a little disappointed Lachlan declined his offer but given the vampire’s current state, he could hardly hold it against him. Realistically he was already pushing the boundaries of the trust between them. They didn’t actually know one another terribly well, even if the alcohol kept making him forget that (or, at the very least, kept making him think it wasn’t important). His magic was being even more intrusive, feeling along invisible leylines to map every seeping cut or wound on the other’s body. His hands wanted to go to those places, even though his eyes were yet to see them clearly. He knew they were there, though, and he knew they were hurting the other, and that was enough to override all the years spent carefully concealing his dubious gifts. He was determined to help, though, even if that meant taking things very, very slowly.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, “I don’t entirely trust it, either.” Mathis curled his fingers around the flame, which faded to a brightly glowing violet ember and then nothing at all. On the surface, it was a fairly typical display of magical power. However, Lachlan might notice that the Savoie never quite touched the fire, himself… After a moment of total darkness, the flames silently reappeared at the corners of the room, nearly at the level of the ceiling, where they would more or less evenly illuminate the space while staying safely out of range. Mathis was softly smiling, albeit a bit sadly, as gently tugged the ruined shirt from Lachlan’s grip, briefly considering his options before simply dropping it into the trash. There wasn’t much here worth trying to save, though he stubbornly refused to believe that the pair of them were likewise a total loss.

No, they were going to be okay - even if neither one of them was ever going to be the same.

Now, there was nothing surprising about the other’s observation or subsequent line of questioning, but the directness of it had somehow still managed to catch Mathis off guard. Inhaling an unintentionally sharp breath, his reflex was to grin too wide, to deflect the query and change the subject, but their worlds had changed and like it or not they’d changed as well. There was no going back to the way things used to be - and that meant being open and honest, for once. Nervously, his eyes roamed the small room before forcing himself to meet the other’s intense stare. Shoulders bunching, he offered what he hoped was a peaceable smile as he falteringly confessed, “I’m, um… I’m a necromancer.” The words seemed to fall out of his mouth and onto the floor like a ten-pound hammer, or a cannonball.

It felt like that statement demanded more elaboration, or at least some kind of explanation. It certainly had implications where one of their particularly questionable past encounters was concerned, but the Savoie could think of literally nothing to add. He’d already uttered three words he never dreamed he would ever say aloud, but standing there wringing his hands did actually give him an idea. Before he’d really thought it through, he’d pulled off the glove to reveal the bad horror show that was his right hand. Suffice to say that was a new development since Lachlan had last seen him. Mathis managed to give the bony digits a demonstrative little wiggle as he mused, “My magic isn’t good for much, but anyone else would’ve lost their hand entirely, so… I guess that’s something.” A beat. “So… think you’re up for a shower?”

Leaving the glove behind on the counter, he did his best to normalize the situation despite nothing about it being comfortable or familiar, “If not, I think a bath will work and I’ll just, you know… try to clean around the worst of it for you.” As far as his magic was detecting, the ‘worst of it’ was mostly along the blond’s torso and back - injuries that had obviously been inflicted while he was restrained or otherwise unable to defend himself. Mathis tried not to think about that. His imagination alone threatened to bring tears back to his eyes, but sympathy wasn’t what Lachlan needed right now. The witch needed to stay strong and focused for both their sakes. Maybe later, when he was alone, he could let himself succumb to the sadness and outrage that someone - anyone - would do this to his friend. His friend, who gave nothing but kindness and had done nothing to deserve the hell he got in return.

There was something about the way Mathis said he didn’t trust the flame either that stabbed at Lachlan a little... No, a lot. “I trust you,” he said softly. His voice was barely a whisper. Truthfully he wasn’t even sure Mathis could hear him. “it’s fire I don’t.” He rarely spoke about his life before becoming a vampire, in fact, he couldn’t remember the last person he’d talked to about any of his previous life. “It’s already killed me once, I’m not sure my luck will hold out a second time.” He’d already pushed the limit with escaping the hunter. It was just his luck this particular hunter liked to play with his prey before killing it. If the man hadn’t, Lachlan would not be standing there talking to Mathis. He would have been ash. 

The thought seized his mind and dragged him under again. Darkness swirled around him and struggled to stay afloat. He was not in that room, chained to those pipes. He was not being tortured by a man he didn’t know. Nothing was hurting him anymore. He was safe in Mathis’ presence. He was free from the pain and the fear. Nothing was going to get him. He’d killed his attacker and freed himself. He was okay. At least as okay as he could be at the moment. He needed to focus on what was in front of him, not what was behind him. Mathis, the sweet young man from the chair in his bookstore. The man who had caught him off guard in the woods during a fair. 

When the purple light bloomed again Lachlan let out a strangely strangled breath. He was a vampire, he did not need to breathe, and yet when the light returned he couldn’t stop the automatic response to sigh in relief. The darkness hadn’t been his mind, it had been the bathroom. It had been caused, not by the hunter, but the going out of the little flame. Had he seen Mathis extinguish it? Maybe? He didn’t recall Mathis ever actually touching the flame but he must have, right? Maybe not. Magic was a strange phenomenon. But then, so was hearing just exactly what Mathis was. He’d heard the term before, understood what it meant but had never had to reconcile the idea that he might know one. It was something to be stored away for another moment in time. Perhaps when he no longer felt like someone was behind him waiting for him to screw up so they could finish the job they had set out to do. 

Again his mind was pulled from darker thoughts when Mathis spoke but where it was being pulled to, even Lachlan didn’t understand. He knew what he was looking at, but his mind did not understand it. The boney limb wiggled and waved at him like it was part of some sort of Halloween haunted house meant to scare and terrorize but came off more cheesy than anything. He snorted a little at the image and shook his head. He should not find that funny, but for some reason he did. “I could probably shower.” He was managing to stay standing, thanks to the man in front of him, a shower shouldn’t be much different. He didn’t think anyway. 

A shower did, however, require that Lachlan get himself all the way undressed. Not just the shirt that he had shucked and Mathis had tossed in the trash. It meant all clothing. Normally that wouldn’t be a problem, but bending seemed to be a rather intense chore at the moment. His shoes had vanished at some point during his time in captivity, but he wasn’t complaining it was one less thing he had to take off. The button to the jeans and the zipper were an easy thing to tackle and gravity did the work of removing his jeans, there were a few spots where they were dried to his skin, matted with blood. He was thankful he hadn’t stopped to look in a mirror, he was sure he looked like he belonged in a real house of horrors. 

The boxer briefs that clung to his body were another issue altogether. The blood was matted around his legs and the cotton had stuck. His ability to move was impeded by all the cuts on his body. Each time he moved the pain bloomed through his body. Something about the way the man had hurt him had left lasting impressions and prevented Lachlan’s ability to heal. He did his best to get the clothing all the way off so that he was left standing completely naked in front of Mathis. He just wanted to be clean and feel better. He wasn’t sure even a shower could help, but it was a step in the right direction. 

[bloodred-sunrise]

Meanwhile || Jonas + Vitaly

[bloodred-sunrise]

ends-n-odds‌:

Vitaliy was and probably would forever be an outlier in that regard. He didn’t do what everyone else under Rayne did. Though his loyalty could never be called into question, he seemed to serve her in a different capacity than perhaps anyone else. Of course, it was insulting to suggest the woman wasn’t perfectly capable, at all times, of looking after herself, yet Vitaliy was nevertheless the eyes that watched her back. His short stature and youthful face couldn’t be more misleading, as the small vampire clearly had a mind all his own (and a suspicious one, at that). It was in that way that the pair balanced one another. While Rayne was outwardly the more formidable one, Vitaliy was much slower to trust - and far harder to win over.

A couple years ago, Jonas had been close. Flirtations over the phone had eventually led to a face to face encounter. Rayne had asked Vitaliy to join them in the meeting that usually took place between just Jonas and herself, and it had been going perhaps surprisingly well, when something curious happened. In the middle of a seemingly ordinary conversation, the color completely drained from Vitaliy’s face. He mumbled a vague apology, and made a quick exit. At the time Rayne had seemed as surprised as Jonas, but in their subsequent dealings seemed content to pretend the incident had never occurred. When Jonas was in Chicago, she simply set her own appointments with him and that was that.

Loathe as Vitaliy usually was to let his issues impact someone else, he had never mustered a proper objection. Frankly, he didn’t want to address what had shaken his ironclad composure and reduced him to a stammering wreck. He’d told Rayne, though. He knew she knew, which was why he couldn’t fully say whether this new, thoroughly uncomfortable meeting was an oversight on his boss’s part (unlikely), or her way of nudging him to finally move past what’d happened. Perhaps later he’d call and ask her. Before that, there were things he needed to do in her stead and awkward or not, he refused to disappoint her.

Fixing his gaze on Jonas as the man strode into the office, he endeavored to put on his most gracious mask - only to feel his fleeting, calculated smile sinking at the corners. The matter of Rayne’s return was still a sore subject. Perhaps it would always be, as long as the blonde stayed in New Orleans and tasked him with overseeing her empire here. His fingers wrapped around a stack of crisp bills, but after a brief lull in the already stilted conversation, he pulled his hand back the safe. They would discuss the matter of payment later. Soon, perhaps, but later. For now, he folded his arms across his chest, “Unfortunately, I don’t know when that will be.” Maybe a few decades. Maybe never.

Turning to face his guest, Vitaliy sighed, “Rayne has a new venture. I’m not at liberty to discuss it yet, but I don’t see her returning to Chicago… well. Ever, really.” Not unless something went very, very wrong. Frowning, he pushed the thought from his mind. “I’m sure she’ll extend an invitation to you once her new domain is established. Until then, she’d never forgive me if you came all this way and I didn’t pay you what you’re owed…” His eyes sank to the silver case Jonas carried. No doubt there was something exquisite inside. It seemed almost criminal that he would see it before the one that commissioned it, but perhaps he could muster some enthusiasm when he described it later. He motioned for Jonas to set the case down anywhere.  “So, Mr. Sterling… What’s the damage this time?”

Two hundred years was a long time to be in business with someone. Jonas had been one of Rayne’s longer-standing relationships and it came with a lot of perks. He was afforded far more leverage and leeway due to the fact that he had proven himself to be a trustworthy creature. She never really gave him a time frame for when she wanted his projects completed, instead, trusting that he would get them done in a certain amount of time. Depending on the size of the order, the length of time varied, but never by much. Being one of his biggest clients, Rayne tended to back burner everyone else. 

It was made easier by the fact that he generally liked the work she commissioned from him and the person he was working for. She was easy to get along with, though he might have been one of the few that thought that. As long as someone understood the vampire and gave her the respect she was due, getting along with her was a piece of cake. She commanded a room, required and expected respect. In return, she would show you the same. It wasn’t a lot to ask. Not to Jonas anyway. 

His focus returned to the man across the room, and he smiled, though it was stiff and not nearly as warm as it once was. “I was starting to wonder when she would find something new to focus on,” he said flatly. Rayne had never struck him as a sedentary creature, but she’d stayed in Chicago for a long time, growing her empire and cultivating a large base. She could probably take that anywhere in the world now. “You’ll have to tell her I wish her luck.” He wasn’t sure if he was happy to hear about this new venture or not. On the bright side, he’d likely never have to make another delivery to Chicago, which meant the awkward interaction he was currently experiencing would be the only of its kind, but the downside meant he would have no reason to even interact with the other man in the room. A blessing or a curse? Jonas wasn’t sure. 

He did as he was instructed, setting the case down on top of Rayne’s vacated desk. “You’ll want to let her know that that is here, though. I don’t recommend sending the case to her through the postal services.” That really went without saying. “There are two knives in there, though only one is actually for her.” He didn’t want to say that he’d made the other one for Vitaliy but if he was asked, he would. He could even let Vit believe that Rayne had asked him to create it. It might be better if he did. Perhaps the gift would not be so easily rejected if the vampire thought it came from his boss rather than a man apologizing for something he still didn’t know he’d done. 

The formality with which Vitaliy spoke to Jonas needled him, but he was no better. He no longer knew where the line was with the two of them and considering how badly he’d apparently crossed it years ago, he was doing his level best not to repeat his mistakes. “I believe the work order was for 2 and a half,” he said when he was asked what he was owed. “If you want to check to make sure, I’ll understand.” He was sure Rayne had a ledger of what was owed to her and by her around there somewhere. He didn’t really know. He would understand if Vitaliy didn’t trust him. Two and a half million was a lot of money, but it was well worth it considering what she got. 

[bloodred-sunrise]

Meanwhile || Jonas + Vitaly

[bloodred-sunrise]

ends-n-odds:

Rayne had left Chicago so quickly. Vitaliy supposed time was of the essence, but he still hadn’t been entirely prepared for the abrupt way she’d turned over her kingdom keys to him, packed her bags and departed for New Orleans. The thrall - her thrall, now - had gone just ahead of her and was supposedly making preparations within the city itself. Rayne was to set up her initial headquarters somewhere on the outskirts while she awaited the signal that it was safe to enact the first steps of their plan. Adrian and Beau would soon be joining her, which had done much to set Vitaliy’s mind at ease. Even though there’d been a surprising amount of credibility to the thrall’s theory, he was nevertheless an outsider. Only time would tell if he could deliver on his promises. Until then, it helped to know Rayne was in good hands.

Still, it was strange to be in her office without her. The once grandiose space felt cavernous and empty without her presence to fill it up, and although she’d encouraged him to make the penthouse his own, he hadn’t changed a thing. He worked as diligently as he had when there was a chance she’d appear over his shoulder at any moment, even if surprise visitors were largely a thing of the past. His position at the desk in front of her office doors had been filled by another, who alerted him to every arriving appointment or important phone call. Vitaliy handled each interaction with competence and grace, but whenever the door closed behind his departing guest or he returned the phone to its cradle, he was painfully aware of his fading facade. Without Rayne, his every action seemed hollow, lacking context or significance.

He went through with it all anyway, determined to make her proud, but he missed her so much it physically ached. There was no one else in the organization he was half as close to, or even considered a friend. Thus it was with no particular enthusiasm that he again accepted a call over the intercom, only to blink at the news that a Mr. Sterling apparently had a delivery for Rayne. Shoving a stack of papers off to one side, Vitaliy pulled up the calendar her computer and confirmed that the man was right on time - but only to himself. After a few seconds of silence, the receptionist asked what he’d like to do, yet Vitaliy hesitated a moment longer before finally saying, “See if he needs any assistance, then send him in. Please.” He lifted his finger from the transmission button, sighed, and then looked across the office.

Discreetly tucked (but not quite hidden) in one corner, on the same wall as the door, was a safe. Inside was more cash than most humans earned in a year. He didn’t know what Jonas was owed for this delivery but trusted the artist to inform him of the amount once he’d arrived. Rising from his chair, Vitaliy busied himself in preparation for that moment, determined to remain courteous and professional in spite of the insurmountable awkwardness that had sprouted between them. Unfortunately, the safe clicked open just as the door did. Jonas was initially greeted with nothing more than the sight of an empty desk, and already this was going horribly wrong. Reflexively pinching the bridge of his nose, Vitaliy composed himself but upon tugging the lapels of his jacket straight could only bring himself to issue a grudging greeting.

“I’m sorry,” his voice rang across the large room, and he waited for Jonas to follow it back to its source, more or less behind him once he’d stepped through the doors. “Rayne must not have wanted to delay your payment. Otherwise she’d have let you know… She’s left town.”

He was ever so thankful that the creature behind the desk didn’t try to talk to him. He just wanted to see Rayne. She always knew exactly when to expect him and he never had to wait. In the past he’d liked to linger, to talk and enjoy the sights of the city but in recent years he’d soured on the entire thing. It was just easier to drop off the shipment, collect his money and head home. It was really too bad, but things had changed drastically in his feelings toward the place. He didn’t feel like he was as welcome as he had been in the past. 

It was silly feeling, really because the rest of the crew was still very welcoming and even Rayne stopped to have a conversation with him when he was there, it was really just one person that made him feel like he wasn’t welcome, but considering his position within the organization, his absence when Jonas came around was a smudge on perfectly polished glass. Completely noticeable and painfully frustrating. He wasn’t going to dwell on it, though. It was an hour, tops, out of his day and then he’d be gone. It’d be months before Rayne asked for a new shipment and a few more before she got one. 

The receptionist, kind and doing their job the way they should, asked if he needed help but the cases weren’t with him at the moment. They were in a completely different area of the Rayne’s empire. He wasn’t going to just stroll into her business with several hundred brand new, never registered weapons. He was smarter than that. He had only two things with him in a locked silver briefcase. Two knives. One designed specifically for Rayne, at her request and the other for her second in command, though he would not be there when Rayne gave it to him. It was too bad, but better for Jonas. He had made that one on his own. Rayne had not commissioned it. 

Through the doors, he stepped when the receptionist had signaled that he was allowed to go in, but he had not expected to find the seat at the desk empty. Rayne was always right where she was supposed to be. The woman was methodical in everything. It always amazed him just how well she could anticipate his arrival. Two hundred years of working together and he never understood how she did it. It didn’t really matter, but one day he would ask her. 

The voice that spoke, however, was not Rayne’s. It wasn’t even a female’s voice. Jonas froze when he heard the lilt of the accident, his mind racing. He hadn’t heard the voice in some time, but it wasn’t one he would ever forget. He liked the sound of the man’s smooth words, the way the vowels formed and the slightest undercurrent of a Russian accent to their notes. Anyone that didn’t know the vampire probably wouldn’t even hear the accent, but Jonas had known the guy for much longer than others. 

He turned on the heel of his dress shoe, the heel clicking slightly against the hard floor and came face to face with the one person he never expected to see. He had not changed a single bit in the years it had been that they’d seen or spoken to each other, which didn’t exactly help the situation. He was still just as handsome as ever, that would never change. “I see,” he said glancing down at his shirt and picking off an invisible piece of dust. “Perhaps I should come back when she’s available.” It wasn’t that he didn’t want to do business with Vitaliy it was more than he didn’t want to force Vitaliy to do business with him. “I can wait for the payment. I know she’s good for it.” He’d just set the case on her desk and wait for the I owe you. 

[bloodred-sunrise]

Damaged|| Lachlan/Mathis

[bloodred-sunrise]

ends-n-odds:

He jumped a little as well when Lach nearly jerked away from him. Perhaps he should’ve known better than to touch the vampire without warning, but just as he’d been about to withdraw his hand and say sorry, he heard Lach’s own apology felt fingers tightening around his own… Mathis drew a deep breath before daring to return the pressure of that grip. It was a reassurance - an odd sort of lifeline - and frankly he didn’t know who currently needed it more, but he didn’t care, either, “It’s okay.” They had a plan. Five minutes was as far into the future as either of them needed to be thinking. Anything beyond that could and would wait.

Moving into the bathroom, he (reluctantly) let Lach’s hand slip from his own so the vampire could begin undressing and he could locate some spare towels. He’d considered the lighting situation resolved as he searched, not noticing the other’s apprehension till he actually stood again and saw Lach frozen like a statue once more. Blinking, Mathis followed his gaze to a plume of purple flames. His stilted question tugged hard at the witch’s heart strings, and quickly setting the towels aside, he held up first his gloved hand - then swapped it for the other. “I’m positive,” he promised as the fire suddenly dissipated, replaced by a tiny, single flame that hovered above the center of his palm.

He let Lachlan get a good look at it before extending his hand a little, “Here… Just hold your hand over it, or touch it, if you want. It’s cold… It won’t burn.” As strange as it was to be suddenly revealing his powers, he didn’t mind the demonstration. Having witnessed the fear in the other’s eyes, there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do to never see that expression again. Mathis was groggy but he did his best to explain,, “I’m a spirit witch… My powers aren’t based in the elements. Actually, they’re not really what most consider natural at all but… “ By just that tiny but bright flame, his eyes moved over the damage to Lach’s upper body, and he frowned, “I can heal you. And that’s good enough for me.”

In the bathroom, Lachlan struggled to find comfort in the little flame Mathis used to light the room. It was true that it was a different color, a strange color for a flame. Lachlan didn’t remember the flames that near killed him having any color beyond the normal red-orange of a normal fire. He knew other colors existed, but for what reasons, he’d never ventured to find out. Fire wasn’t just what had killed him years ago, but it was what could kill him now. He wasn’t often happy about his existence but neither did he long for or look for death. 

He couldn’t feel the heat coming off of it, but his vampire skin prevented him from feeling true temperatures so it came as no shock, really. He trusted Mathis, though, so he stepped forward a little, trusting that as the witch held the flame in his hand, that his words were also true. The flame he had conjured would not hurt him. “I’d rather not touch it,” he said honestly. He trusted Mathis, he did not completely trust his own luck at the moment. He had escaped a horrible death, been given the chance to be free from the grips of torture and pain, it did not mean he felt lucky enough to tempt fate the rest of the way. 

He felt guilty admitting that he was still scared of the simple purple flame, but he couldn’t get his mind to put into words why he was still scared of the fire. Logically, anyone would fear fire. It was a dangerous element, capable of killing anything and everything in its path. It was one of the strongest forces found in nature fed by earth and air and quelled only by water. Witches were such strange creatures, the ability to hold an element in their hand not feel its effects was an idea he still couldn’t fathom. It came as a shock to hear that Mathis wasn’t an elemental witch like most would expect given the flame in his hand, but a spirit witch instead. He should not be able to conjure a flame from the fire element at all, which meant the flame was from the spirit. 

His mind was too fogged to understand what that meant. The drink that flowed through Mathis' veins and now his mixed with all the other reasons his mind felt heavy and bogged down. He’d have to reassess thing when he was clearer of mind and body. “I’ve never seen you do magic,” Lachlan said finally pulling his eyes away from the flame so that he could see the boy holding the flame. The flicker of light gave him an eerie look, but the purple flame seemed to make the bright blue of the eyes even more beautiful than normal. Mathis was a gorgeous creature, even in the sad state Lachlan was currently in, he could appreciate the beauty of the man. “You can heal me? How?” That came as a shock, though everything seemed to be shocking at the moment. No one could heal a vampire. At least, no one he knew. Vampires healed themselves. The witches that did heal people were limited to living things. He didn’t count, obviously. 

[bloodred-sunrise]

Meanwhile || Jonas + Vitaly

The shipment she had ordered was finally complete. Jonas had put his time, energy and effort into making every piece she wanted just the way she wanted and was more than happy to deliver it himself. The pride he took in his work was always a sight to be held. His shop in Victoria bustled with well-to-dos who were plenty happy to drop a few grand on an expensive piece of jewelry so long as you could promise that no one else, in the world, would have the same piece. They wanted to show it off, prove that they were better than others because they were one of a kind. Really, they were a dime a dozen, it was his art that was rare, not the people that showcased it. Jonas felt no need to point that out because, like him, his works would outlive the stoggy rich aristocrats. The may not use that term anymore, but that was certainly what they were. 

The last box clicked shut and Jonas was off, the box loaded on the plan and his seat taken. He hadn’t really heard from Rayne in awhile, but the woman had a city to run, so he wasn’t really shocked that’s she’d been quiet. He rarely called to make an appointment. The second Rayne knew he was in town, his meeting was set and the money ready. An exchange would take place and Jonas would be back on the plane in no time. He almost had no need to get a hotel, but he always did, just in case she couldn’t get him scheduled right away, 

Before, he would have called Vitaly and made sure she was free but ever since their... fall out? He supposed that was what it was, he’d dealt directly with Rayne. He must have done something truly terrible if it forced Rayne to bypass her normal protocol and deal directly with a supplier. It was true that he and Rayne were friends, they had been in business longer than most, but still, she had always made him go through her chains of command until whatever had happened with Vitaly to make him hate Jonas so completely had happened. He was just lucky Rayne’s need for weapons and other baubles had kept him on her payroll. 

Once in town, he wasted no time in going to her tower. The top floor was always specifically for her and her direct dealings while the lower levels were for her crew and the things they oversaw for her. His keycode worked perfectly to signal the lift up to the top floor, and upon entry, he was pleased to see that nothing had changed. Well, almost nothing. Typically Vitaly held the position in front of the office but it was occupied by another today. Jonas simply sighed. There was no point worrying about what had happened, but it bugged him that he’d made the vampire hate him so completely. He’d never meant to do that. He had no idea how he’d even managed it. Typically, Jonas was very aware of his actions, but all he’d ever wanted was a possible date from the guy. 

“I’ve got a shipment for your boss.” He said flatly. He never lingered in this town anymore and this time would be no different. He had no time for chit-chat with the person behind the desk. He offered no opening, either. He’d pay for the hotel, give Rayne her gifts and be back on his plane. That was the way it was.

@ends-n-odds

[bloodred-sunrise]

Damaged|| Lachlan/Mathis

[bloodred-sunrise]

ends-n-odds:

There was so much blood. Down Lachlan’s chin, soaked into the stretched fabric of his shirt, staining his pale skin. Mathis didn’t question where it had all come from. Part of him didn’t want to know. The other part knew already. Hunters had descended in numbers the witch had only seen once before, and their arrival was a grim portent, speaking volumes about the future of the town. Though poor Lachlan probably felt anything but lucky in that moment, he was incredibly fortunate to have escaped. As for Mathis, he didn’t care at all about how the vampire had managed to do it. He was just grateful that he had.

They weren’t out of the woods yet, but the moment the other speak that single word, his accent more pronounced than the Savoie had ever heard it, it felt like the nightmare was finally over. He couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face, even though it felt too wide and too raw, chock-full of emotions he’d spent the last two weeks desperately trying to deny. His breath caught in his throat when Lachlan thanked him, and suddenly it was all too much. Blinking rapidly against the tears welling up in his eyes, Mathis shook his head, mumbling, “It’s nothing… I mean, honestly… Anything for you.”

In his heart, he felt like he owed the vampire a debt he could never repay. Yet strangely, at the same time, he knew that sentiment to be one-sided. He’d seen enough of Lachan’s dealings with others to discern that the man never gave anything expecting it to come back to him – perhaps because, more often than not, it didn’t. He was a giver in a world full of takers, and while Mathis had benefited from his selflessness, he’d long realized he adored the vampire for far more than just what he could do (or had done) for him. Now, even more than that, he was discovering just how badly he wanted to return the kindness.

He only noticed the stray tear that had rolled down his cheek when a gentle, warming hand on his ashy cheek drew him from his meandering thoughts. He hoped his friend hadn’t noticed as he opened his eyes and offered another, softer smile, smearing away the moisture with the heel of his palm only once they were disentangling themselves from one another. His eyes drifted towards the open door leading into the bathroom, but the other’s question had him pausing. Blinking owlishly, he fumbled to give a coherent answer before realizing he didn’t have the slightest idea what day it way. “Umm, hold on-”

The witch patted himself down for his phone, eventually finding it in the front pocket of his jean with 4% battery left. Ignoring at the flashing red icon, he squinted at the too-bright screen until he could determine, “It’s Tuesda- no, wait, Thursday. Uhh, Thursday, October 26.” And then, “Shit.” Apparently he’d already missed four days of work, and suffice to say he wasn’t going to be going in today. With a resigned flick of his wrist, Mathis left the phone to die in Lachlan’s bed (and tried not to be overly envious of it) before forcing himself to his feet. The world pitched and rocked like he was on a boat, but leaning by into his friend, he was eventually able to steady himself.

“Okay,” he breathed, mostly to himself. His focus was once again on the bathroom, and after haphazardly threading his fingers with Lachlan’s, he tugged the vampire in that direction, “I think… If you wanna start taking off your clothes, we can grab some washrags and…” He hesitated, eventually settling on, “-and see what comes off.” Feeling along the wall till he found the lightswitch, he flipped it on and immediately regretted that decision. The light was an assault on his own eyes, so he could only imagine how poor Lachan must’ve felt. Not even a second later, the light was back off and Mathis was coming up with plan B.

“Sorry,” he muttered a hasty apology, before drawing a much-needed calming breath. Refocusing his ever-splintering attention, he lifted his gaze, and a few seconds later violet flames ignited in the open air. Flickering, serene and silent, they bathed the small room in an icy but mercifully dim light. 

“They can’t hurt you,” Mathis promised, in case there was any question or worry, though the slight emphasis he put on the word ‘you’ implied the flames did in fact pose a danger to some others. The witch didn’t offer any further explanation, however, having already set himself to the task of digging beneath the sink for towels and asking (as though it were the bigger concern), “Is it okay if these get, you know… dirty?”

Lachlan stood in what he knew to be the bedroom of his tiny two bedroom apartment. The apartment was cozy, from what he remembered. Homey with mismatched furniture. A hodgepodge of things from different decades. Each one found at a thrift shop but still holding a sort of memory. Nothing concrete, but they each came from a time that he had lived and thus invoked some memory. All of the memories were good. Or at least, the feelings that came with them were good. Had he been more aware of his surroundings, he would have maybe felt those emotions and feelings, but for the most part, all he felt was numb. Even just standing there, the ability to remember to act human seemed to have slipped away. 

His body stilled as he waited for Mathis, the creature of the night turned into a stone statue; unmoving. Blinking, breathing, bending... all things lost in the moment he waited for Mathis to tell him what day it was. He saw nothing, felt even less. His mind slowed almost to a dead stop. In the back of his mind, he waited, wondering what was happening but lacking the ability to spur himself into movement or action. Even in his early days, back when his life had been forfeit and he was suddenly made undead, he couldn’t remember feeling this empty. Even after Bryden had left and the world had tipped sideways he had been able to force himself to keep going, but now he lacked the knowledge that came with doing just that. 

Mathis’ voice broke through the slowing numbness that had rooted him to the spot and frozen him in time. Inside his mind Lachlan recognized the need to respond to his friend. October 26th. What was the last day he could remember positively? The sixth, maybe? Or the tenth? Had he been gone that long? It felt both longer and shorter all at the same time. truthfully, he would have believed that he’d been in that warehouse his whole life if someone told him that was the case. It felt like an eternity had passed with the man torturing him. 

Mathis’ touch startled him and he moved quickly, nearly pulling his hand out of his friends before he was able to stop himself. It was Mathis, not the hunter. The hunter was dead. As dead as dead could be. Lachlan could still smell the man’s blood. It had soaked into his clothing when he’d torn the guy's throat out. “Sorry,” he said softly, his hand gripping Mathis tightly. He hadn’t wanted to let him go, but he hadn’t expected the touch, either. He needed to get ahold of himself. Everything was okay. This was... He was safe. He was with Mathis. Getting undressed and cleaned up was a good idea and Lachlan nodded in agreement. 

He backed away from the light as Mathis turned it on, his eyes shying away from the brightness. He hadn’t seen bright lights in some time and he wasn’t sure he wanted to. He accepted the apology and pulled his hand from Mathis’ to allow himself to tug at the bloody and torn shirt. It was hard pulling it over his head, the cuts and bruises on his body weren’t healing the way they should and the pain bloomed as he moved but he made an effort to do as Mathis had instructed. All of that went out the window the second the flames burst from Mathis. Fire was something Lachlan had an inherent and overwhelming fear of, not just because of the fact that he was a vampire but because of his history with it. It had been what took him from his mortal life. 

Mathis did his best to reassure Lachlan, though, that it wouldn’t hurt him, but everything in him said it would. The purple of the flame confused the poor vampire though and the knowledge that he’d never actually seen Mathis do magic tickled the back of his mind. “Are you sure?” He asked stalling in his movements to get his pants undone. He didn’t want to come this far only to find himself at the mercy of yet another person. He’d worked too hard to get himself free. 

He didn’t care about the towels, too focused on the fire itself so he simply shrugged at Mathis’ question. Towels were replaceable it was honestly the least of his worries. 

[bloodred-sunrise]

Damaged|| Lachlan/Mathis

[bloodred-sunrise]

ends-n-odds:

The exact flavor of the booze in his blood was hardly noteworthy or worth pinpointing. He’d only selected that particular bottle on the basis of it being bourbon, cheap, and readily available, then proceeded to down it with the full knowledge that he’d be that much worse for wear in the morning. But already the witch was regretting that decision - not because the hangover had even remotely begun to set in but because of the heavy fog in his head that he was now being forced to fight through.

Of course, he’d wanted that stupefying numbness, and had gone to great lengths to achieve it. He’d spent the past week avoiding thinking or feeling, so his efforts to suddenly reengage rational thought was being met with some resistance, to say the least. His body and brain were abuzz from both the alcohol and the pleasure, perverse as it might’ve been in that particular moment. Poor Lachlan needed help, yet even as he obligingly pulled back, Mathis’ mind was flooded with images of his hands and mouth covering him in ways that went well beyond the intimacy of even a vampire’s kiss.

Blood soaked into the stretched collar of his white T-shirt, but the bruising and pain blossoming across his neck was a distant afterthought at best. Through the haze, he could see Lachlan gradually returning to himself. To what degree, exactly, remained an unknown, but the shroud was lifting and the Savoie no longer worried about the possibility of his frenzied friend accidentally ending his life. Even as it occurred to him that he wouldn’t have minded the sacrifice… he’d have missed seeing this.

His windburned lips cracked as he smiled for the first time in days, his eyes searching Lachlan’s calm expression as he falteringly brushed dirty blond strands from his mismatched eyes, “Welcome back…” The greeting was softly murmured, as though it came at the start of their interaction rather than several tense minutes into it. The fingertips of his left hand gently threaded into Lach’s tangled hair, while the gloved right hand simply came to rest at the back of his neck. Drawing a deep breath only to slowly exhale it, Mathis touched the foreheads together and allowed his eyes to slip shut.

There was so much to be done. Lach was hurt, they were both filthy, this place wasn’t safe. Everything from roaming hunters to open drapes presented a problem that seemed nigh insurmountable in his current condition, as within seconds of closing his eyes he’d started nodding off, but the witch stubbornly shook himself awake. His left hand skimmed the other’s body on its way down to his hip, where he directed two light pats, indicating that he needed to get up. “C’mon-” he instructed, though not before stealing a quick (and admittedly poorly aimed) kiss, “Let’s get you cleaned up so I can see what I’m actually up against.”

The fear that had gripped him the moment someone had intruded on his space slipped away for a moment, replaced by a sense of safety. He was no longer chained to the pipes of an old warehouse. He was no longer at the mercy of a man who considered himself to be the righteous one while he tortured a vampire who had never set out to hurt a living soul. The only person Lachlan routinely hurt was himself, either through his desire to do no harm to the creatures that had unknowingly become his food source or through his self-hatred. 

Images of his time in the warehouse faded to the back of his mind. He reminded himself that the man at the center of the torture was dead. Lachlan had torn his throat out in a fight for freedom. He wasn’t sorry about killing the man. In the moment that Lachlan lost his fang, he knew it was either him or the other guy. As much as he hated his life and the creature he had been forced to become, Lachlan didn’t want to die. His self-preservation kicked in and the beast inside him won. Vampire beat hunter. The strength was astronomical when he finally gave into it and let the creature take over. He had never felt more powerful and broken at that moment. He was thankful for the creature he was, though. 

The fog from his frenzy started to lift and he blinked to clear the hazy images of the apartment. A smile spread lightly over his lips, though they were bloody from his meal. “Hi,” he said softly, his accent deeper than it ever had been. He wasn’t trying to mask the lilt to his voice anymore like he did normally. “Thank you.” It was such a strange thing to thank someone for, but honestly, it was something that needed to be said. Mathis had helped him when he didn’t need to. It was a personal risk, and one Lachlan appreciated. 

His eyes slide shut the second Mathis’ forehead touched his own. It was such a gentle gesture coming from a man he barely knew beyond a few conversations and a stray kiss at the fayre. For all he had seen of the boy with beautiful blue eyes, Lachlan knew very little about him. What he did know, he liked, though. His free hand, coated in blood, both his and his attackers and split open with cuts, cupped Mathis’ cheek for a moment and he took a deep breath, letting the scent of his friend fill his nostrils and calm him. It helped to center him and remind him that he was home. 

He pulled back when Mathis spoke and he nodded, taking the cue to get up from the pats as well as the comment. “’Kay,” he said slowly as she slipped off the bed and made to stand. He hadn’t bothered to look at himself in the mirror. He didn’t think he wanted to see what he looked like. he wasn’t that interesting to look at as it was, but after being gone... how long was he gone? Lachlan has no idea what day it was.. He knew he was a disaster. “What day is it?” He asked as he stepped back from the bed to let Mathis up as well.

[ends-n-odds-blog]

When It Rains | Mathis & Xera

[bloodred-sunrise]

ends-n-odds:

Mathis might’ve known it, but he didn’t want to believe it. Even though his stay in that little Colorado town was less than idyllic in a lot of ways, he’d managed to meet a few people that he thought the world of even to this day. And those people would’ve done everything they possibly could’ve to help the fading fire witch had they only known, or been able… Hell, one of those friends for life was Xera’s own sister, so the claim could hardly be made that the Savoie was the only one to notice or care. It was just a bizarre coincidence that, for as many truly powerful beings called that town home, it’d been him to help her escape her fate. Him, with his incredibly narrow range of abilities, magical or otherwise (and a bad track record, to boot).

It was one of the few times his power had been put towards some positive use. Death magic seldom served any wholesome purpose, and had even fewer practical, everyday applications. Still, the absence of his necklace was as obvious as it was peculiar. Prior to him loaning it to her, it seemed like the sort of thing he’d never before let out of his sight, yet that evening he just gave a quick nod and a tight smile, assuring Xera, “She did. Thank you.” Due to their unexpected reunion (and the favor he’d asked of Tara after plying her with coffee), he hadn’t noticed the little scrap of fabric till the younger Kamdyn had already made her exit.

The shroud was still probably floating around somewhere, sandwiched between the pages of a tome he hadn’t had the time to pick up in two years, but it was long forgotten in that moment. Xera asked about his ink, and he glanced down at it as though needing to be reminded of what it was. Connor’s name had him smiling, however, and he was pleased to confirm, “He did… He did a really nice job.” The amazing execution of the design was perhaps the only reason he didn’t mind turning his wrist up and showing it off. He idly glanced up when she partially turned, only to stop dead at the sight of spindly branches creeping across her back.

She’d be able to tell from his expression that he’d forgotten all about the wet spot on his clothes. If she was serious about her offer, she’d probably have to repeat it a third time, because the second time had clearly gone in one ear and out the other. He nodded numbly at Xera’s conclusion about her sister and her probably diabolical motives, agreeing on that point but being unable to vocalize it. It wasn’t until a direct question was asked of him that he seemed to shake himself out of whatever stupor he’d fallen into, only to start craning his neck, apparently in a bid to see more of the tattoo on her back while sipped at her cherry-topped beverage.

“Ah, well, that may be true, but there aren’t too many of either of us anymore…” he distantly mused, his voice little more than a deep rumble against the background noise of the bar. Though he was speaking, he wasn’t overly invested in actually being heard. His attention was decisively elsewhere. In fact, his distractedness was likely the only reason he continued, “The only Savoie I’ve got to worry about isn’t a Savoie by name - which is luck, I guess, or maybe just irony…” He didn’t elaborate on what he meant by any of that. Instead, he simply trailed off, falling silent a moment before abruptly changing the subject, “Sorry, but… Could I see that tattoo?”

Xera didn’t allow herself to consider that others might have been willing to help, mostly because she had never really felt like she was welcomed in the little Colorado town she, unfortunately, called home for so many years. Perhaps it was because for the most part, she hadn’t lived there. Her formidable years had spent elsewhere, living a nightmare that she wouldn’t wish on anyone. She still wasn’t over the horrors she had experienced but she was getting better at dealing with them and reminding herself that it was over. 

Her power had been restored thanks in no small part to the man in front of her. He may not know or even care what extent his role had played in making her the person she was now, but it had been significant. She was not someone that would allow herself to feel indebted to someone but she did feel gratitude toward him. He had saved her life and for that, she would never forget him. They had started out on a rocky ledge. She was trying to fix that as best she could. 

Her sister seemed to hold Mathis in a rather high regard despite the sour look her husband tended to sport when the subject of the witch was brought up. It always amused Xera to see Tara ignore the look. Roman looked terrifying even to the trained eye. He was not a fluffy puppy, the man was sharp and cutting, yet Tara flitted around him like he wasn’t a dangerous beast. Perhaps to her, he wasn’t. Xera didn’t care for him in truth, but if he treated her sister well, that was what mattered and Tara was very clearly beyond happy. 

She was pleased to hear that Tara had given him back the amulet, though she desperately wanted to know where it was if it wasn’t around his neck. That wasn’t an item you abandoned somewhere or left in the hands of incapable people. It hadn’t been something to give her, truthfully yet he had. She didn’t have much of a chance to ask where it was, and it felt rude to do so anyway so she left the subject change to Connor and his ability to mark people in permanent ways. Tara and Roman both sported the Wolf’s work, it shouldn’t shock her that Mathis also did.

Connor had not been her first choice in artists but as the man she would have trusted to put needle to her skin no longer took form anywhere but her dreams from time to time, Connor had been the only option she was willing to entertain. He’d done three pieces for her. All three were on display with her dress but only two could actually be seen. The white ink of the tattoo that remembered Amos hid in plain sight on her skin. His memory was for her and no one else. She knew it was there above her heart and that was all she needed. 

She shrugged at the thought that there weren’t many of their lines anymore. She didn’t find much redeeming about the old witch lines. They were all so stuck in their ways and unwilling to change. That was why they were dying out. She had no time for the elitist way of doing things. Her family had nearly killed her in the name of preserving magic. She had no desire to be apart of that way of thinking. Her eyebrow cocked at his comment about worrying about a Savoie that wasn’t a Savoie but again his words derailed her. “Um,” she said shocked that he wanted to see the tattoo. “Yeah.” She turned on her heel a moment later and pulled her hair over her shoulder to give him a full look at her back. 

She glanced back at him, watching him survey the art. “It’s beautiful isn’t it?” She’d found it in a book on Connors table. It had the price listed beside it and had decided that she needed it. Something about the images called out to her. It pulsed through her and drew her in. Something had told her when she found it that it was meant for her and no one else. She had never been one to argue with that kind of magical pull. 

[bloodred-sunrise]

Damaged|| Lachlan/Mathis

[bloodred-sunrise]

ends-n-odds:

He had just tossed his sweatshirt aside when a frigid hand on the back of his feverishly hot neck made him startle and gasp. Mathis hadn’t seen Lachlan emerge from his corner, but his sudden grip was like a vice. He couldn’t have squirmed out of that hold had he wanted to. Yet in spite of the sharp pain that immediately followed, the witch didn’t resist. Instead, he merely winched his eyes shut, grateful for his intoxicated state that somewhat dulled the sting. He balled his hands into tight fists, and after a moment exhaled slowly, forcing his body to relax.

Tilting his head, he dropped his reflexively bunched shoulders to offer the vampire better access to his body. Some might call him stupid for simply surrendering himself like that, but he’d been in this position enough times to know the fate he was tempting… and he was more in control than he would ever admit. As his body cooled and Lachlan’s warmed, the vampire would surely detect the familiar, almost electric tinge of magic in his alcohol-laced blood. The witch only hoped it would be enough to eventually bring his friend back to himself.

In the meantime, he waited. He counted his breaths and his own heartbeats. Their slowing rhythm was his makeshift gauge, till finally his arms floated up, seemingly of their own accord, to gingerly circle the vampire’s strong shoulders. It felt eerily like embracing a marble sculpture but he was delicate nevertheless, applying only the lightest pressure to begin pushing him back. At the same time a low voice murmured through Lachlan’s mind, imparting not just words but a fully formed idea - the notion that it was time to stop.

Should the vampire resist the subconscious guidance, it would only become more and more difficult to ignore. Mathis’ influence could be incredibly subtle, yet by the same token that guiding hand could be much, much heavier. The witch had no desire to control his friend like that, but, contrary to his musings earlier that evening, he had no desire to die, either. Though he took great satisfaction in the fact that the flesh under his hands felt increasingly pliable and warm, he couldn’t disregard the chill that was creeping into his own extremities.

In fact, his whole body felt cold, with the except of the one place his remaining blood always seemed to pool. Mathis pushed the thought away far harder than he pushed Lach. Though he’d often fantasized about holding the blond in his arms, the current circumstances were anything but romantic. The last thing Lachlan needed was anyone making demands of him after whatever hell he’d just been through. Still, Mathis couldn’t resist brushing lips to his cheek at the same moment he exhaled a soft, shuddering sigh, “God, I’ve fucking missed you…” 

Blood flowed effortlessly into Lachlan’s mouth, coating his tongue in the thick coppery flavor. Every part of his beating clawed and screamed for more as the substance warmed his cooling body and gave him life. He could feel its power working almost the second it touched the tip of his tongue. The weakness he felt from the loss of blood under the torture of the hunter was leaving his body, replacing it instead with a pliable numbness. He could taste the alcohol in the blood, though he couldn’t pinpoint the flavor. His senses were still too muted and dull to understand that flavor given that it wasn’t one he tasted much. 

The more important flavor, though, the one that tingled through his veins and reminded him of his friend, was the magic. It sweetened the blood and left him wanting more, but it was more than that. It was a reminder, proof, even, that the offering had not been all in his head. The handsome boy with sapphire bright eyes was here with him, his body underneath Lachlan. He could feel the others touches, warm and gentle, caressing him even through the feeding. 

An image burst through his mind, one of him pulling back, of letting go and finishing his feast and Lachlan followed the image as though he had made the choice himself to do that. It was both a struggle and an effortless choice to pull away from Mathis. Lachlan never wanted to hurt the boy beneath him but the beast inside craved more. The humanity in Lachlan, strong as it almost always was focused on his feelings for the witch. The idea of removing his light from the world because the beast inside was greedy and wanted all of him was like a knife through the gut. 

Something brushed his cheek, delicate and gentle. Words whispered in the dark cut through the sound of the slowing heartbeat, reminding Lachlan of who he was and where he was. The voice also reminded him of him of who he was with. Mathis. The name played over and over in his head, not the word but the image of the boy. The small interactions they’d had in the shop and the kiss they’d shared at the fayre. The feeling on his cheek reminded him of Mathis' lips. 

His own lips loosened and the fang slid free of the abused flesh before he pulled back completely. His head spun, dizzy from the alcohol and the heady high that came with feeding. His mind was slow and his body nimble. There was no worry etched on the features of the handsome face. The knowledge of Mathis being there, the strange feeling of safety that came with his presence had relaxed the fear and the alcohol had numbed the reaction time. His strength was returning and the fog clearing. 

[ends-n-odds-blog]

When It Rains | Mathis & Xera

[bloodred-sunrise]

ends-n-odds:

It was true. Every time he’d tried to avoid Xera, he’d only made things worse for himself. It just wasn’t in his nature to be confrontational or direct, though, particularly not when he’d been undeniably in the wrong. Yes, he’d been going through hard times when he’d attempted to steal from her, but looking back, he could also see how his own poor choices had made his life more difficult than it needed to be. The incident in her store was only a minor misstep compared to so many other things he’d done, really more embarrassing than anything else, but it was a humiliation he was yet to live down - Tara’s trove of nicknames for him was proof of that.

He was just lucky the younger Kamdyn sister wasn’t here to witness this awkward reunion, as she’d undoubtedly have something to say about his less than suave reaction (and less than dry clothes). Even his baffled reaction as Xera thanked him (thanked him?) would’ve had the bouncy blonde in stitches, but Mathis could only blink wonderingly before diverting his wide eyes and downplaying the significance of his contribution. He fumbled over the words, “Ah, well… I’m sure anyone else would’ve done the same…”

If they could’ve, that is. Not everyone walks around with a death-defying amulet, though speaking of his infamous necklace, it was notably absent that night. The wide collar of his black t-shirt made it obvious he wasn’t wearing any jewelry beyond the exquisite silver bracelet and rings decorating his left hand, but his body was embellished in other ways. Xera might well recognize the distinctive art style of the dead songbird tattooed on his inner right forearm. The detail was extraordinary, even if the subject matter was… a bit grim.

Mostly because he could just picture his pants bursting into flame (and hear Tara’s howls of laughter from four states away), he declined Xera’s offer to help with a small, comical scrunch of his nose, “Thanks, but I probably deserved it… “ Plucking at the fabric of his shirt, he sighed, “At least I’m wearing black.” In the pub’s dim lighting, the dampness would be all but invisible within a few minutes. Unfortunately, the humidity meant he’d have a cold, wet spot aggravatingly close to his crotch all night, but he distracts himself from it by moving to fetch her drink.

“Really?” he queried as scooped ice into a glass, which was then set on the counter to be filled simultaneously with cola and whiskey, “I guess she forgot to mention it, or didn’t think it was important or… something.” Both scenarios seemed unlikely, honestly. Knowing Tara, she’d probably recommended her sister to this very bar and was waiting with bated breath for the report that they’d run into one another. Mathis did his best to ignore his creeping mortification at the thought as he (carefully) served Xera her drink, adding a Maraschino cherry as a whimsical afterthought.

Leaning a hip against the bar, he took his time returning the whiskey to its shelf, curling his fingers around the neck and listening to the nearly imperceptible squeak of leather against glass as he simply answered her, “Yeah…” This conversation was already drifting into murky waters and while his expression remained pleasant, his eyes suddenly seemed distant, avoiding contact with her own, “Well, you probably still know how it goes… Sometimes family’s the thing that makes you leave, sometimes it’s the thing that brings you home.”

He glossed over the exact circumstances that drove him from Colorado with a hapless smile and a shrug, turning to put the bottle away, “Never did like the cold anyhow.”

The way he brushed off her thanks reminded her strangely of herself. She wasn’t that great at taking a compliment or even accepting someone's gratitude. “Sure,” she said with a shrug. “Maybe.” She knew, probably just as well as he did, that in that gods-damned town, there was no one that would have helped, even if they could have. They were all so stuck up and selfish. Too busy with their own issues, pathetic and small as they might have been, to worry about a dying ember. Her’s was not a fire most wanted to stoke. It burned too hot and was too unstable. 

Since breaking her focus, though, her control was exponentially better. There were no dreams that brought with it the fire. There were no bursts of emotion that threatened to consume her in a ball of flame. Xera was more calm, more confident in her appearance and her magic. Her body ran a few degrees warmer than most, but the air that tangled and mingled with the fire allowed her to regulate it for the humans. She wasn’t regulating it at the moment, still trying to dry herself from the rain she’d caught herself in, but the heat that radiated from her was nothing substantial. Only the fellow witch in the bar had likely noticed it. “Tara did give that back to you, right?” She asked. The chain was missing from around his neck and while a few years had passed since she had placed it carefully in the small shroud meant to cover the dead (she had found it fitting considering what the artifact was) and handed it to Tara to give back to him, she couldn’t imagine it was a piece he would easily abandon. 

Her attention was diverted to the little bird on the inside of his bicep. “Did Connor do that?” She asked pointing to the artwork. She recognized it easily, the art was nearly identical to the piece on her back. It was a touch different than her sternum though done by the same tattooer. “He did the one on my back. It’s similar to that.” She pivoted slightly showing off a bit of her back but not the full design. They were having a conversation and her tattoo (that covered the scars left by her ‘trainer’) wasn’t something she was interested in discussing in a crowded bar. 

She tapped her fingers on the bar and picked up the drink he handed her, taking a gentle sip of the liquid. She liked the rush of warmth the firey drink always brought to her veins when she drank. “You probably do,” she agreed, “but it wouldn’t be difficult to dry off.” Her own clothing was mostly dry and she hadn’t even lifted a finger... so to speak. 

The fact that he was shocked Tara hadn’t told her he was here told her just how well he actually knew her sister. She was also shocked she had not been warned but considering the animosity Xera had held for Mathis for so long, Tara probably kept it to herself. “It’s more likely she’s hoping that the shock of running into each other will drive us to call her and tell her all about it.” Tara was a bubbly bouncy ball of darkness and evil. She looked so sweet and kind but under the hot pink and flower tattoos was a creature of ill-intent for entertainment. It was no wonder her and Roman had hit it off so well. 

She picked up the cherry from her drink and smiled. He would have no way of knowing that she simply loved the sweet fruit. Her teeth captured the red berry and pulled it from its stem before tucking it into her back molars and biting down, releasing the sweet juice of the cherry that mingled with the coke and the whiskey. “So family brought you back, huh? I always heard the Savoies were trouble.” She shrugged. “Though really, who am I to talk? The Kamdyn’s aren’t that great either.” They had been one of the reasons she had left the town, her mother and aunt were simply horrid and her father.. weak. There had been other reasons. Too many people she loved had died in a single year. She couldn’t sit around and watch the town take anymore. She was just glad Roman had managed to get her sister out of there. 

“I’m not a big fan of the cold either, I like warmth.” She was a fire witch, of course, she did. 

[bloodred-sunrise]

Damaged|| Lachlan/Mathis

[bloodred-sunrise]

ends-n-odds:

Mathis’ eyes had long adjusted to the darkness. He hadn’t even started his aimless walk till the sun had already set, yet standing in the doorway of Lachlan’s bedroom, he struggled to recognize the primal, cornered creature. The bloodied, broken body called to the Savoie’s magic in a way he’d never experienced, begging to be mended, yet the witch’s usually dormant instincts of self-preservation rang in his ears like distant church bells. They warned him to be still, to keep his distance, at least until he could somehow ascertain that his friend was still in there, somewhere.

Clearly, nothing good had transpired since the vampire had gone missing. Foul play had, of course, been suspected in the case of his disappearance, and in the back of Mathis’ liquor-addled mind, he’d known it was naive to think he’d even see the shopkeep again, much less see him as he normally was. Yet this was almost too much of a contrast to reconcile. When he thought of Lachlan, he thought of blond, pin-straight hair, polished, neatly laced boots, and a well-worn leather jacket over crisp clothes. He thought of gentleness and decency and safety.

Yet something had happened to reduce that selfless soul to the snarling shadow of his former self. The witch counted the seconds between speaking Lachlan’s name into the half-light and hearing his hoarse, incredulous response. It was a small eternity but to receive any reply at all flooded him with relief and, to only a slightly lesser degree, sympathy. A crooked, fleeting, and almost disbelieving smile flickered across his face, before he swiftly redirected his attention to the paper bag he was touting. Fumbling to unscrew the metal cap, he mumbled, “Here, just a second… You need this more than me.”

In any other circumstance, one would’ve expected him to pass off the bourbon. Instead, he raised the bottle to his lips and downed the remaining contents in two deep draws (which were immediately followed by a grimace and a cough). Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he stiffarmed the bottle onto a side table and didn’t seem to take notice when it failed to stay upright, rolling off onto the floor. His watery eyes had already redirected themselves to the bed, which he approached and dropped down onto with no particular grace, already tugging at the collar of his hoodie to pull the bulky garment off.

He briefly disappeared behind the gray knit fabric, then reemerged with flushed cheeks and ruffled hair. Tossing the sweatshirt to the end of the bed, the Savoie righted the cuff of the glove slipping past his bony wrist and smoothed his t-shirt, then hazarded a glance over his shoulder. His fingers remained anxiously curled around the hem of his shirt, but his expression was calm and, he hoped, inviting. “C’mere,” he nodded to the empty space beside him, “We’re gonna get you cleaned up, but you gotta eat first…”

In the moments of stillness, Lachlan’s mind screamed. None of this was real, he told himself. It was an elaborate trick, some hallucination brought out in the wake of the torture he had experienced. Mathis wasn’t really there, he couldn’t be. His mind had manifested a familiar and friendly face. Once that held comfort and pleasure. His mind was saving himself from more pain and horror. Lachlan tried to reason with himself. To tell himself that this was Mathis. It had to be... He was there and he was... 

The air shifted, the body in the doorway moved and scent wafted toward him, alcohol and blood mingled in the hair making Lachlan’s nostrils flare. He knew that scent. He knew who tha heartbeat belonged to. His mind could fake a lot of things, but the scent of his friend... that was not easily faked. Lachlan did his best to talk himself out of the panic that had crept up upon Mathis’ entrance into the shop. His mind slipped between logical thought and illogical ideas. His vision blended together, seeing both the warehouse and the apartment. Mathis was both himself and the tall man with the rich colored skin. 

The sound of the bottle falling over forced his mind back to the present, clearing one set of images and leaving only his apartment and Mathis. Lachlan took in a deep breath, not because he needed to breathe, but because he needed the comfort of the scent of his friend. Mathis and he had always had a weird relationship. They’d had very little in the way of true conversations, but there was a peace that had settled between them, an understanding that had been born of misfortune and acceptance. In a town where Lachlan felt adrift and pointless, Mathis was a kind face in a sea of agony. 

Lachlan lost sight of his friend for a moment, eyes focused on the bottle that had crashed to the floor and smashed on the ground. Each piece of the glass glittered in the dim light, adding a prism of color to a hazy mind. He was not seeing his apartment as he had left it but seeing it as it now was. This was not memory, this was something else. He glanced up, feral eyes landing on the handsome man that had settled on his bed. Another image Lachlan’s mind had never dared to supply. 

His movement was quick, unseen to the human eye. An offering of blood, and a need to feed pulled Lachlan from his corner and into Mathis’ personal space. He didn’t question the request. He didn’t wonder if the offering should be ignored. The human side of Lachlan had retreated in an effort to preserve itself and the beast he worked so hard to conceal reared its ugly head. Lach’s cold hand was around the back of Mathis’ neck before Mathis could do much of anything and the fang, the single fang he still had bit into soft, delicate flesh, bringing with it a rush of warm blood that flowed effortlessly into Lachlan’s mouth. His lips pressed down tightly on the richly colored skin and his mind focused not on the boy beneath him, but on the sweet flavor of the alcohol-tinged blood that gave him strength. 

[ends-n-odds-blog]

When It Rains | Mathis & Xera

[bloodred-sunrise]

ends-n-odds:

When Xera turned her attention to him, Mathis was the envy of every man in the room. What the onlookers didn’t realize was that he’d have given anything in that moment to be invisible. Though his final visitation with the Kamdyn sister was… mostly fine, even civil, he’d never forget their ill-fated first encounter. Her intensity was so intimidating that, years later, he still felt like he’d just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Scrambling to break eye contact as soon as she’d noticed him, he tried to make himself appear busy.

Too abruptly, he reached for a glass that had been abandoned while still half-full. By this point it had condensated heavily, sitting in a small puddle of water that all but suctioned it to the highly polished countertop. With his gloved hand, the witch attempted to pluck up the glass without planning for the resistance he encountered. Thus the glass slipped from his fingertips, landed on the edge of its rounded base, and proceeded to splash his black shirt and jeans with watered down rum and coke.

He really ought to be more careful what he wished for, as suddenly he was actually busy, cursing under his breath and snatching up the nearest bar towel to stop the spill from dripping onto the floor. All this was before even assessing the sad state of his clothes, and by then, Xera had zeroed in on him, clicking across the gnarled, old hardwood floor. With every step, he could feel the hairs in the back of his neck prickling.

As much as he would’ve liked to forget his actions in Colorado, he’d left so many pieces of himself there. For Xera, he’d gifted something forbidden - something he would never recover. He had never burdened her with the details, but the dark magic was complicated, banned in most covens for a reason. The two of them would be inexorably linked as long as either of them lived, and he’d been far more comfortable with that fact when he believed he would never see her again.

Life is seldom so simple. Drawing a breath, he reluctantly allowed himself to feel the warmth radiating from her as she approached. The fire in her soul burned stronger and brighter than ever, and when he dared to lift his eyes from the mess he’d just made, he was both startled and relieved. The contempt he’d expect to see on her face was nowhere to be found. Instead, she was smiling at him… still a bit like she’d just caught him doing something he shouldn’t be, but at least this time she seemed more amused than outraged.

The Savoie may have forgotten about blinking for a moment but a crooked, sheepish smile crept across his face. His formerly pierced tongue traced his dry bottom lip as he looked her over from head to toe, then slowly said, “Live and breathe, ah… well, you certainly do do that…” Futilely dabbing at the damp spot on his shirt, he stared a few seconds longer, before finally giving up on his efforts to make himself more presentable. With a defeated sigh, he pitched the saturated rag into the sink, then turned his attention to her in full.

He admitted, “I think I’m more surprised than you are… your sister told me you’ve been all over the world. Me, I’m just… back where I started.” There was no pride in that acknowledgement, no mirth in his tight smile, but motioning to a barstool, he swiftly changed the subject. “Why don’t you sit? I’ll get you a drink. Not that every guy in this place wouldn’t love to buy you one, but…” There was a twinge of a genuine smile, “This one’s on me.”

On the way to the bar, Xera had caught the mishap with the drink and internally smirked. She had, for as long as she’d known Mathis, always been able to catch him when he least expected it. From the very first time they had met, it was always like that. Then again, he had always had a way of getting under her skin. He riled her up, ignited the fire that flicked deep inside. It coasted through her veins on normal days, but every time he was near it was white hot. Even now, her magic twisted and turned. The heat was still there, though the anger had abated long ago. 

It was nice to see that she still had an effect on him. The last time they had spoken, the last time she had seen him, had come about after he’d tried to run away from her. It hadn’t worked back then and it wouldn’t work now. His act of busying himself had only lead to disaster. “Thanks to you,” he told him honestly. She was standing there, living and breathing because of him. It wasn’t because of the fire witch that had helped break her focus. Xera could have attempted that on her own. No, it was because of the amulet he had lent her, that she stood there talking to him. She had never thought she would owe the guy who tried to steal from her anything and yet there they were. “You got a little on you,” she said pointing to the mess he had made. “Do you want some help with that? Walking around with a wet spot all night might be a bit uncomfortable.” Her drummed her fingers on the bar top a bit more and took a seat as he offered her to. 

“I could go for a drink,” she said pleasantly. “Jack and Coke.” When they had both lived in Colorado, she had never been one to drink. Afraid of what might happen to her magic and her mind if she lost control for even just a moment. Now, though, with the focus gone and Harmony past, Xera didn’t fear her powers or her mind. She embraced herself and her powers. Confidence had been found outside of the dreary state. 

She hadn’t realized he was still in contact with Tara, but she shouldn’t be shocked. Tara had a love for the weird and Mathis fit that. Though, she wasn’t sure if she should be flattered or bothered by the fact that her travels had been a topic of conversation. Tara hadn’t given her any information of Mathis beyond what had happened with the magic eater back home. He’d behaved far more responsibly than Xera had thought he had in him, but the treatment he received after was nothing short of criminal the way Tara told it. “I talked to her a few days ago. She didn’t mention that you were here.” Though, truthfully, Tara was probably withholding that information just so something like this could happen. Or she was distracted by the chaos that was going on on the other end of the phone. There was a lot of barking and some well chosen swear words and Tara’s unabashed giggles. Talking to her sister was a lot. “You’d have thought she would.” 

It was funny, Tara had a few nicknames for Mathis, Sleeping Beauty happened to be Xera’s personal favorite, but Skeletor and Swamp Rat were a close second and third. She never once questioned them, but she finally understood why swamp rat had caught on. “You’re from New Orleans?” She didn’t know much about him, truthfully, so she shouldn’t be shocked that she hadn’t realized this was his hometown. “What brought you back to this place? I don’t think I’ll ever find myself back where I started.” 

[bloodred-sunrise]

Damaged|| Lachlan/Mathis

[bloodred-sunrise]

ends-n-odds:

Loss was nothing new to Mathis Savoie. As a child, he’d lost his family. As a teenager, countless friends. Why he thought his experience in Colorado would be any different was likewise lost on him now.

But, annoyingly, it was different. This isolation was a new and vicious breed, self-imposed, yes, but also born of a reversal of fortune so abrupt that days later he was still reeling from the fall. He simply couldn’t comprehend how something could go so right yet so horribly wrong. The magic eater was dead, beyond the shadow of a doubt, yet Mathis could feel no pride in the accomplishment. He’d gotten the coven’s attention but their invitation to join their ranks went unanswered. Even the bar had limped by for nearly a week without a manager.

Undoubtedly he was on the verge of getting fired. And losing his job meant losing his home, but the prospect no longer alarmed him as it should’ve. In this town and in general, the witch felt like he had increasingly little to lose - which might’ve been a melodramatic way of coping with the shock and rejection but was nevertheless the only justification he could give for wandering the streets at this hour, with nothing more than a threadbare hoodie and a bottle wrapped in a brown paper bag to ward off the chill.

It did the trick, though.

The Savoie was numb. Mentally, physically. His feet carried him down the sidewalk but as he looked down at his boots, they might as well have belonged to someone else. The hand on his face traced his features absent-mindedly, vaguely registering the coarse stubble along his jaw before a light broke through the haze. And it was a light, quite literally. He hadn’t even noticed his wanderings had brought him back to Lachlan’s bookstore, as they had countless times before, until he spotted a soft glow in the window above.

He never even made the conscious decision to investigate it. One moment, he was meandering south. The next, he found himself struggling to maintain his balance after changing courses so quickly. Briefly, his gloved hand wrapped around the equally icy pole of a street lamp, then shoved off it to propel him on his way.

It wasn’t difficult to get into the bookstore. The crime scene tape had never been much of a deterrent to anyone hellbent on searching for the missing shopkeep themselves, and Mathis climbed through the broken front window without paying it any mind. Glass shards crunched beneath his feet as he made a beeline for the door marked ‘Private’ - the door that before tonight had always been closed.

Perhaps it was the liquor but not once did it cross the witch’s mind that he might’ve been intruding, or unwelcome, or about to come face to face with anyone but the kind vampire he’d missed so much.  Lachlan was safe. He was back. There simply existed no other possibility in that moment, if only because he so desperately wanted to believe it was so.

“Lach..!” he called into the half-light as he reached the top of the stairs. The sound was rough and raw and foreign to his own ears, but again his lips formed his name, “Lach… It’s you, isn’t it? It… you…” Trailing off, his glassy eyes took in the inartful smears of oxidized red that marred the canvas of porcelain skin. Creeping horror battled to overtake his slack expression, his already nearly inaudible voice succeeding in dropping another decibel:

“What… happened..?”

Lachlan sank onto his bed, his body sagging under the weight of everything he had been through. His skin, normally alabaster and perfect was marked with cuts and marred with blood, both fresh and dried. The dark muddy red mingled with what seeped from slowly healing wounds. The silver of the knives and the cuffs left his skin raw and unrecognizable. He would heal, but it would be slow. Just as his mind would be slow to forget. 

His eyes slid shut for a moment, reveling in the silence and the perceived safety of his home, but the diversion of one sense allowed him to focus on others. His ears perks and the sound of crunching glass caught his attention. In a moment Lachlan was on alert, Crouched in a corner, one fang bared and a growl ripping through his throat. His senses closed off, fear taking over. All Lachlan knew all he understood was survival. If he’d been able to focus, the scent of Mathis would have alerted him to the safety he still had but as it was, there was no logic to his mind, it was simple survival and nothing more. 

He had killed that hunter, the hunger getting the better of him as he’d torn the man’s throat out, but Lachlan had known, even as he escaped, that one hunter bred other hunters. He knew the town was likely swarming with them. All they had to do was happen upon the death of their brother and know to go looking for Lachlan. He might have even brought the whole pack out and down on the town. A witch hunt so to speak. 

Lachlan’s name rang through the room, the deep tone of a voice he knew. In the back of his mind, the logical, human part of him, the part that beat the beast back on a daily basis scratched and screamed to be heard. Telling Lachlan not to be rash, he knew who that voice belonged to. Think, Lachlan. Focus. Who was calling your name? His name was said again and suddenly Lachlan was looking at the creature that belonged to the voice. He knew that face. The sharp jaw and the piercing eyes. The blue broke through the haze of darkness, a flicker of recognition and hope to beckon him out of his dark cave. 

“M.. Mathis?” He asked, his voice a croak, his accident thicker than normal. What it really him or was he seeing things? Was he in his apartment or was this just a trick played on him by the hunter? Reality was fracturing for Lachlan, he didn’t know what was happening anymore. 

[ends-n-odds-blog]

When It Rains | Mathis & Xera

[bloodred-sunrise]

ends-n-odds:

Tourist season in New Orleans had kicked off with Mardi Gras, then barreled straight into Spring Break. Soon, St. Patrick’s Day festivities would once again flood the Quarter with visitors from all over the globe…

… but for tonight, the bar was quiet. Soothing acoustic music played across the sound system in lieu of a live band, and customers only sparsely dotted the room. Most the other bartenders didn’t enjoy working Sunday nights. The tips weren’t as good as they were throughout the rest of the weekend, and even though most patrons were there on holiday, a more somber mood inevitably prevailed.

As the manager, Mathis often took the shifts no one else wanted. But the truth of the matter was that he didn’t mind the extra time to breathe. On the contrary, nights where he had a few minutes between drink orders provided the perfect opportunity to take inventory of the liquor, restock bottles and cans, and generally prepare for the week ahead. He might even have the odd conversation with somebody seated at the bar, though he tended to field vastly more unabashed staring than witty banter.

Perhaps it was his almost unnaturally bright eyes that made people lose their trains of thought, or the single, eerie black leather glove he always wore. Mathis often unnerved humans in spite of his best efforts to be friendly with them, and had long resigned himself to that fact. Hardly anyone he waited on was aware of the world he truly belonged to, and that blissful ignorance was both a blessing and a barrier.

Even if no deeper connection was needed to open a tab and pour a beer, the Savoie sometimes couldn’t help but fixate on the fact that he’d once nearly escaped this place and the legacy that came along with it - a legacy that would’ve been best forgotten, along with the rest of his family. Six years ago, he’d slipped away on a damp night much like this one, traveling from one coast clear to the other only to end up right back where he started, with a heavier heart and shorter chain than ever before.

The nearby table of fifth-year college seniors were the same age as the witch - but that, he mused, was the extent of the similarities between them. Hearing the tavern door creak open, he was happy to redirect his attention, only to be completely taken aback by the comely figure that stood in the threshold. The rain had stuck her flowing dress to her lithe body, and humidity had teased her long hair into a wild mane. As far as the bar was concerned, Sex in Heels had just walked in, and Mathis’ heart was hardly the only one to skip a beat.

His was, however, probably the only one to do so out of surprise, guilt, and dizzying terror, which rooted him to the spot and ensured all he could do was stand there, slack-jawed, and stare.

@bloodred-sunrise

In New Orleans, Xera had found herself a nice little nitch. She wasn’t sure how long she was planning on staying, but making money was pretty easy. Everyone in this place was looking for a miracle. If she could deliver, who was she to deny it? Passing out magic wasn’t completely sanctioned, but as someone who had lived in a little town that catered to the idea that the supernatural existed as a novelty and nothing more, Xera found that she didn’t so much care anymore. She’d lost the desire to hide in the shadows a few years ago. 

The money was good for the little vials of potion she sold. Some of it was the real deal and others.. well. It really just depended on what the person was asking for when she met with them. Hexes and things in the black arts tended to get the fake brews. Xera had, once in her life used a device that was considered to have black magic. It had saved her life when she needed it most. She’d started to understand that black and white magic wasn’t based on what it could do but on intention. But, honestly, she’d always known that. She had been trained, if one could really call it that, by a man claiming to be proficient in the light magic. 

Her night off turned into a trip to the bar. The town was buzzing but it buzzed at a different frequency on a Sunday night. It was lower and slower, not the frantic pace of the week's end. She liked both, but Sunday was for her to relax. Friday and Saturday had been for her to find a bit of fun. And fun she had found. She always did. 

What she hadn’t counted on as she walked into the sleepy little bar that tempted her with the cool air of a working HVAC and a few promising tables of moderately decent looking men, had been the slight rain she’d managed to get herself caught in. The fire within her warmed the rain and dried her off as best it could without giving off steam, but her hair, her beautiful blonde hair, straight as a stick and feather fine had fizzed the second she’d stepped out of the humidity and into a cooler place. 

Her eyes took in the little bar and the sight of the people sitting around it and a smile graced her lips. There were a few eyes on her, which had been expected. What she had not expected was the prickling feeling that crept up her back as she walked into the room a little deeper. A shiver ran through her and something in her magic turned. Her eyes scanned the room a bit more intensely, her body twisting to make sure she’d caught every nook and cranny. It was on the second look through that she understood where the prickle of familiarity had come from. 

Dark eyes narrowed slightly when she noticed him. Him. Of all the places and all the faces in the world. It had to be him. Of course, it did. She stepped out of the way of the door and made her way through the bar and over to him. She ignored a few pointed looks she received from men at other tables and sidled right up to a ghost from her past. 

Her fingers drummed on the bar top and she leaned forward, a smile gracing her lips. She hadn’t seen him in years. In fact, she hadn’t seen him since the day he’d given her the amulet at the little dinner. she’d had Tara give him the piece back. “As I live and breath,” she said quietly, “You’re the last person I ever expected to cross paths with.” All the heat that she’d once held for him, the anger that boiled over and incensed her, was gone. Replaced by a strange feeling, almost a warmth. He had saved her life, even if he didn’t know it. That wasn’t something easily ignored or forgotten. 

[bloodred-sunrise]

Damaged|| Lachlan/Mathis

He was never meant to get away. In his head and in his head, Lachlan new that. He knew it was a fluke that he was able to break free of the chains that held him. He got lucky that his captor had been too distracted by his very sudden broken nose to realize that Lachlan had slipped his cuffs. It was a stroke of luck that through his fight to be free he managed to sleep free. So focused on the pain that went with having a fang torn from him that he barely registered the pain that came with breaking a few of the bones in his thumbs to be free. \

As he reared back and smashed his head into his hunter's nose, blood poured not just from the man’s face but from Lach’s mouth. The loss of the fang pained him and the cuts and bruises as well as the broke bones he’d sustained only added too it. Lachlan hadn’t stopped to consider options, the moment he was free, the moment he was able to knock the man back, he pounced. The fang his still hand, as well as the rest of his teeth, tore through the throat of the man with ease. 

He was an animal designed for one thing and one thing only. He’d spent a century respectively ignoring the beast inside of him, but when the moment came, when he truly needed to give in, his monster was right there, waiting and ready. The man, Lachlan didn’t know. His name had not been told to him and even if it had, he didn’t care. He was dead and Lachlan had found himself free.

He hadn’t even been that far from home, which shocked him. A little warehouse near the river. He was almost sure he’d walked past it a few times on his treck around the little town. It hardly mattered, though. Where one hunter was, there was more. Lachlan had made up his mind the moment he’s stepped outside. He would not be staying in this town. 

Under the cover of night, Lachlan moved quickly and quietly. His home had been trampled and turned into a crime scene. The tape, broken and torn away still remained in places. Someone had cared enough to try and look for him. At least for a moment. Lachlan didn’t feel much warmth in that thought. Not like he should have. Or perhaps would have, had he been the same man he was before. He didn’t need much light to go about his task of packing, but he turned on one small light on his bedside table. Just so that he could feel like he wasn’t completely alone. 

It was such a silly concept, a vampire afraid of the dark, but Lachlan wasn’t completely free of his chains, not yet, so the light gave him a small bit of comfort. The only other comfort Lachlan found in his home was the scent of familiarity and the sense of calm. The bookstore had been wrecked, but his apartment had not been touched by the memories of the attack. His bed was still soft and inviting, though sleep was not likely to be found until he was out of town, possibly out of the country.

@ends-n-odds 

[bloodred-sunrise]

[bloodred-sunrise]