Summary: Vtmb/Bloodlines AU, Anarch joins a small Toreador on a suicide mission into a “empty” mansion, mentions of blood, sex and swearing
@nyandereneko @heart-stealer-hope
“Getting cozy with a Cammy?”
Two set of fangs came to an halt mere inches from her neck and artery. Two set of hands fell to the sides, one of them clenching to a fist.
Other kindred stumbled backwards holding their nose. Loud curse fell out of their mouth. The taller Anarch towered over them, eyes dark and fist trembling. “You ever say that again, I’ll make you meet your final death.”
His voice was low and threatening, choice of words intentionally implying the final death would be as painful and agonizing as he could possibly make it. Other vampire simply scoffed and left the bar Bruja clan inhabit. Tall kindred stared at them underneath their brows until they were truly gone from his sight.
“If anyone says that one fucking time..” He muttered underneath his breath, his anger still boiling below the surface. His clan and him were easy and quick to anger. A beautiful woman wrapped her hands around his arms, her eyes staring at him. The gaze was intense and unfaltering. Constant.
“You just can’t stop staring.” He muttered with a chuckle. The woman was trying to tear her eyes away from him, clearly fighting a losing battle.
She scoffed. “I’m a fucking Toreador, I can’t just stop staring with a snap of my fingers, T.” She spat out of her mouth, two set of small fangs visible from her slightly open mouth.
“God, you’re gorgeous when you’re mad.” The anarch muttered, hovering over the smaller kindred, who only rolled her eyes in response. Another, low chuckle. “I know you like it.”
“I’m always gorgeous, as are you.” Toreador said, not particularly interested in maintaining this conversation any longer, now that she finally had been able to tear her unnatural blue eyes from the leather jacket wearing brujah. “I got shit to do for that shithead Lacroix. I’d much rather kill him but the pay’s decent. Maybe when your people finally have control of LA.” She spoke as she checked her blood red, long nails that matched her bright red leather jacket that was slightly too big for her. She had worn it ever since the much older Kindred had found it in some storage room for The Last Round, the bar him and his clan occupied. The rest of her outfit was black and her hair short brown.
She wasn’t stereotype of her clan much, favoring Anarchs over Camarilla, who kept the order in this vampire society. She had witnessed the petty squabbles of her fellow Camarilla Kindred and found it immensively boring. They had all the damn time in the world to do anything they wanted and some of her kinship wasted it on schemes and backstabbing. The annoyance of her circumstances rose to surface again. Damn Lacroix for murdering her Sire before she learned exactly why she was embraced. What had they seen in her? Why?
Now she was merely pawn to some petty, annoying, scheming prince who would be killed and removed from this shitty board of unlife sooner than later. He hadn’t even bothered to give her proper safe haven from the sun, so she was forced to crash the Last Round, in the start forced to sleep next to the big anarch she faced. She knew the prince wanted her final death, it was obvious. Sending her on some petty errands (suicide missions), which were backed of vampire hunters and other enemies.
“Need assistance?” T, that’s how she called him, his relatives still alive to recognize him. She vaguely knew he had a nickname within anarchs but she never asked. Nines, their leader sometimes called him Spider. Maybe that was it.
“Sure if I can call you Spider.” She teased and ravaged her purse for a blood pack. She offered one to him, who shook his head with a smile.
“I’d rather suck some asshole dry tonight.” Her turn to nod as she sucked the blood, feeling its warmth travel down her throat like greatest wine. Silence fell, the bar’s music got louder between them, her slurping joining in with the vocals. Her foot tapped the wooden floor on the rhythm for a while until she mused with bored tone:
“I never get why Kindred say blood is better than sex. Stupid comparison. Say its better than wine or something, horn dogs.” Finished her sentence with loud, last slurp and threw the empty pack into the nearest trash can with grace and annoyance in her brows. Her company laughed, earning a glare that was followed by a weary sigh, as she realized she would have to wrestle with her willpower, again, if she wanted to stop staring.
“You truly are quite interesting Toreador, Demure.” T, Spider teased her. She rolled her eyes again. At least he used the name she had chosen when the prince insisted she would cast her old name away, for the sake of holding Masquerade. She had merely made a quick Google search for beautiful words - beautiful name for Toreador - and chosen Demure on a whim, since it meant “to linger”, like her eyes on pretty things, the curse of the gift of eternal life, if she was careful. She mused would she allow Spider to call her Dem and found it didn’t sound so bad.
“And you fascinating anarch, Spider.” She threw back and saluted him. Demure spun around and clicked her low heels on the wooden floor to out of the bar into the chill night of LA. She knew he was following, from the stomp of his combat boots.
She inhaled the scent of chilly night air and sighed. Some citizens were walking around, even when it was close to midnight. LA never slept. She checked her phone and groaned as she noted several unread messages from Lacroix. Couldn’t the asshole let her have some free time outside of every little suicide run he wanted her to go to? Quick, annoyed text later she dropped her phone back into her purse.
She could feel the giant anarch was about to raise and eyebrow for her silence and lack of movement so she quickly turned left to follow the sidewalk. It was simple errand, find who killed Malkavian leader, Grout. Yet she couldn’t shake the feeling something would get fucked this night. That something would cause the shithead to do something drastic. She hoped she’d be wrong.
Right outside the burning mansion and seeing Nines walk casually out of it rang the alarms in her mind. Too convenient, for the prince. He hated the anarch leader and was waiting, just waiting for opportunity to usurp him.
“You! What are you doing here?” Nines asked, his usual, deep southern drawl in his voice not quite where it was suppose to be. Too light. Gone were also his nickname “kid” for Demure, for she was so young to someone embraced around the time of Great Depression. She tensed and she knew Spider tensed as well. He was close with Nines, almost his second in command. She read the situation and forced herself to relax. Whatever would happen with the prince, she would get answers about this weird behaviour.
“Might ask you the same thing.” She deflected with a bored shrug, her eyes staring into his own light blues. Damn, even when she knew he was fake, her nature took over and forced her to stare.
“Out. Now.” Nines demanded, so unlike his kinder behaviour towards her, Demure remembered how he had told he felt strong kinship with her, for they shared murdered Sires.
“Looking into Grout’s disappearance. You know how Lacroix gets.” She decided to bite the bullet, they would dance around each other all night.
Nines- lookalike wasted no time to tell them to stay away from the burning mansion, calling it ‘bad news’. He felt the tall anarch tense again behind her as he ‘pardoned himself’ - making her convinced they might look like him, but they were no Nines.
They watched with narrowed eyes as ‘Nines’ excited the property. As soon as he was out of the gate, Spider spoke.
“That was no damn Nines. I only know one vampire who can shapeshift like that and she’s in Chinatown.”
“Probably some big plot to make real Nines look bad. C’mon we need to check this burning mess.”
After running out of the house with inch of their unlife, Demure decided to let the prince wait a little while longer for her report, just to spite him and to figure out what to do. She would not report seeing anarch leader on dead Malkavian leader’s property. The sun was soon up anyway, so she decided to drink some blood from some asshole from way back to the bar with kindred she had gotten attached to.
“Never before meeting you had I thought Toreadors can fight.” He noted as he licked his bloody lips. She rolled her eyes again.
“That’s because you never bothered to talk to any Toreadors you ignorant anarch.” She spat but there was slight smirk on her bloodied lips. He chuckled and leaned down, capturing her lips on his. His tasted like blood, but the red liquid was all she tasted. No fireworks, nothing expect the pressure of his lips and taste of blood.
She wondered did they do this because they used to, as humans from lifetime that felt like decades ago or because they actually had attachment, actually felt something akin to love.
