The Dancing Demon

"...Ain’t no use in tryin' to slow me down, ‘cause you’re runnin' with the fastest girl in town…” Half-demon, royal messenger. Niece of @MrDCataliades, married to @RasulTB on July 14th, 2012. I can be sweeter than heaven, but hotter than hell. Didn't your mother ever tell you not to play with fire? Follow me on Twitter: @DemonxDiantha ~@50ShadesofBlood Roleplay Account~ new TWTR.Widget({ version: 2, type: 'profile', rpp: 10, interval: 30000, width: 250, height: 50, theme: { shell: { background: '#fdf4eb', color: '#dfcfd7' }, tweets: { background: '#fdf4eb', color: '#dfcfd7', links: '#cbd7da' } }, features: { scrollbar: true, loop: false, live: false, behavior: 'all' } }).render().setUser('demonxdiantha').start();

[thedancingdemon-blog]

Diantha watches, silently as the wind whips around her on the perch she has claimed on one of the many cliffs that dot the coast, as the trio of vampires leaves the other cliff across the water, finally stepping out of the shadows lest they spot her. There is a soft smile on her face, having seen enough to guess what transpired just a few minutes before as she watched.

“What was that about?” Nathan asks as he steps into his place beside her, his eyes narrowed in confusion as he stares out across the water.

“You wouldn’t get it,” Diantha whispers, swallowing as she finds her throat oddly hoarse. 

“You could go talk to them, you know,” Nathan reminds her again as he crosses his arms across his chest, a worried expression turning his lips downward, “I don’t understand why--”

“Because it’s not the time,” Diantha says, ending the conversation with the command in her words. And it isn’t the time; not least of all because she is not entirely sure anyone could drag her away again. But it’s certainly not the time to bring her own war to them, her own troubles that she had always expected. Not time to break the delicate bubble of healing they are in; and unwilling to do so. “You’ll make sure they land safely?” she instead asks him, arching her brow as she turns to him.

“Personally,” Nathan assures his sister, “Alric is aware of the...additional security...you will be providing; though he has been warned that they will not interfere directly without your word.” Here Diantha nods her head, a smile twisting her lips; knowing how much they both wanted to go home, and now they finally can.

“Good,” Diantha murmurs, nodding her head again as she inhales the sweet air of the sea, “We should be getting back.”

“Why?” Nathan asks, both of them slipping easily back into their roles as siblings as he makes a kissing sound with his lips, “Do you miss that tall and handsome asshole with the long legs?”

“I’m more worried we’re missing my mother’s dinner,” Diantha drawls with a roll of her eyes as she reaches out to take her brother’s hand with a wink, “And he’s not that handsome.”

“You show him too much favor,” Nathan mumbles, “He’s going to think he’ll have a throne right beside yours.”

“There is one thing, and one thing only that comes before my hatred of having a king beside me,” Diantha hisses, though Nathan only smirks at the fire in her eyes as she does, “And that is my hatred of marrying.”

Before Nathan can respond their attention snaps to the base of the cliff where the vampire they had been watching reappear. There is a clatter and splash; and Diantha can see that the watering can they carried has mysteriously been turned over Bastille’s head. She rolls her eyes as Eric’s innocent whistle, Pam’s laughter, and Bastille string of curses can be heard far and wide. Diantha’s last words before her brother whisks her away, back to the cold winter of North Dakota, are spoken in a fond whisper.

“Those assholes.”

:::Fade to black:::

[thedancingdemon-blog]

“Are we finished here?” Diantha drawls from her position in front of Sophie-Anne’s rarely used office desk, having refused to sit down when their ‘meeting’ began, nearly three hours ago. There is a glimmer of amusement that she does not allow to cross her face as she once would have in these walls as the vampire queen looks fit to burst at being spoken to in such a way; especially by someone she regarded as a servant once upon a time. “I have things to do,” Diantha continues, pretending to inspect her fingernails before she uses both of her hands to straighten her leather jacket, the heel of her boot grinding into the shining floors, “People to see. That kinda thing.”

“If you truly will do nothing to help our plight...” Sophie-Anne begins, having to be held down in her seat by the hand of her only slightly older husband; both of them glaring at the demon they once spoke down to.

“I think you knew what my answer would be the moment you asked the question,” Diantha cuts across smoothly, her eyes rising to look blatantly at the ancient vampire who keeps to the shadows behind the desk. “In for a penny, in for a pound,” she murmurs, watching as Cassius’ dark eyes flash with anger; though he doesn’t dare open his mouth, “Isn’t that the saying, Sophie-Anne?”

The queen’s lips are pressed into a nearly invisible line as she holds back her anger; and if Diantha is right to assume, her humiliation at having one of the most hated criminals still in her household. “Very well,” she says tightly, gesturing toward one of the guards that line the back wall, “Show her out.”

“I can show myself out,” Diantha reminds her, halting the guard with a single finger in the air, “After I’m done. There are some things I need to collect from my old room.”

“Then he will show you there--” Sophie-Anne growls, gripping the desk with both hands in a way that Diantha is sure will cause the wood to crack.

“Again,” Diantha counters, “I know the way.” But there is a slight whisper, within her mind, that causes her to become silent for a moment.

“Take Xavier with you,” Nathan whispers mentally to her, “They’ll think you’re up to something.”

“I am up to something,” Diantha whispers back, her lips unmoving.

“They don’t need to know that,” comes Nathan’s voice, his exasperation evident, “I’ll stay here...your goodwill ambassador.” Diantha doesn’t answer, which only causes Nathan to sigh loudly in her mind. “Give them something to think they have some control,” he says, “Glad is still here.”

The reminder of her sister, the obvious person she is looking for to everyone but the vampires, steadies her. “Nathan will remain here until we leave,” she tells the vampires, slapping her hand against his chest, “My goodwill ambassador; and a promise that I’m not going to pull any shit.”

It’s only a minute later that Diantha is walking down the hallway that she knows like the back of her hand; Xavier following silently behind her. She’s unsurprised when a figure steps out of the shadows; welcoming it even. “Glad,” she whispers as her sister steps into view; though her once sweet face is warped with anger and malice, “Gladiola?”

“You dare to come here? After everything you’ve done?” Gladiola hisses, her hands curling into fists. A smile, a twisted version of one at least, crosses her lips. “Oh I see,” her sister growls, “You thought you’d come and collect me? That I’d come skipping out of here with you?”

“Glad--”

“Fuck you, Diantha,” Gladiola hisses, taking another step forward, “You killed him. Murdered him.” A hysterical laugh bubbles out, and she shakes her head from side to side. “And you were his favorite,” she reminds Diantha, “Out of all of us, you knew you were his favorite. It would have been yours eventually. But you had to take it; not let anyone else have a chance. You fucking traitor.”

“I’m not--”

“You married a vampire,” Gladiola spits, her eyes flashing black, “Do your little minions know that?” For the first time, Diantha’s heart clenches in her chest. “Where is he, Di?” she presses her, “Did you kill him, too? Did he have to die so you can play make-believe in Hell?”

“He’s safe,” Diantha murmurs, knowing it to be true. That it was necessary; and that a piece of her heart has been carved out, never to be returned. “He’s safe,” she repeats, “I want to keep you safe; please, Glad, you’re my sister.”

“No, I’m not,” Gladiola says, shaking her head, “And I’m not Nathan’s sister. And I have no uncle.” Smirking she crosses her arms over her chest, “And I have plenty of siblings to replace you with; worthier siblings.”

“Glad, please,” Diantha tries one last time, “I can keep you safe--”

“You’ll kill me, too!” Gladiola explodes; and in what seems like slow motion she launches herself even as Diantha doesn’t so much as raise her hands to block her.

“That’s enough,” comes the snarled hiss of Xavier as he catches Gladiola around the neck, easily tossing her away. The smaller demon skids across the floor, growling as she rises to her feet again. But she only snarls in Diantha’s direction once more before she disappears back into the shadows. 

Diantha doesn’t move, watching her little sister, whom she taught to walk in this very hallway, leave her. Swallowing, Diantha realizes she may have to cut another piece of her heart out; tossing it away to the safety of the abyss. She turns on her heel, not so much as looking at Xavier as she makes her way back to the main foyer.

“Didn’t you need to get something?” he asks softly as he falls into step behind her, allowing her as much privacy as he can. Suddenly, Diantha pulls up short, causing him to turn and look at her in alarm. The realization crashes down on her as she stares up at him; the real reason Nathan sent him along with her. Nathan knew that Gladiola would react in such a way, had been telling her for weeks. And he also knew that if she attacked, Diantha would have let her; that she would never attack her sister, even in defense. Blinking, Diantha shakes her head, swallowing thickly before she speaks and turns away from her past life.

“There’s nothing left here of mine.”

:::Fade to black:::

[thedancingdemon-blog]

A hiss of pain escapes Diantha’s lips as her uncle pours stinking black liquid that she would rather not know the origin of over the wound on her bared shoulder. But she is offered no sympathy as the wound immediately begins to heal, merely a grunt from the older demon as skin fuses back together with smoke and the smell of sulfur. “Your luck will not last forever,” Cataliades mutters as he finally caves, patting the top of his nieces head as he recaps the bottle before tucking it back into the folds of his jacket, “You cannot risk getting hurt.”

“Luck?” Diantha snaps back as she shrugs her shirt back up over her shoulder, scowling at her uncle as he takes his place at the opposite end of the table in her mother’s house, “Exactly when will it stop being luck and start being recognized as fucking skill?”

“I’d say that moment has already passed,” comes the dark, velvet voice of the demon sitting beside Diantha; and apparently the only one with the ability to relax at the table. He winks his dark eye in Diantha’s direction; and though a deep shiver attempts to wash over her she manages to remain impassive. “The second after you gave your sweet daddy a close haircut and managed not to be taken down,” he explains, shrugging his leather jacket clad shoulders dismissively, turning his eyes toward Cataliades when he huffs in exasperation.

With his face turned safely away from her, Diantha allows a soft smile to tug at her lips; knowing that the expression is hidden. But of course, right on cue and as the epitome of annoying brother, Nathan strolls into the room; catching the smile on her lips and silently calling her out on it with an arched brow. Diantha’s smile immediately turns back into a scowl, and she knows Nathan can hear the warning in her voice as she barks out, “Well?”

Nathan’s smile is broader know as he takes his time walking down the length of the room, placing a kiss on Diantha’s cheek which she immediately, childishly wipes away with the back of her hand. “How nice to see you again, Nathan,” he responds, mimicking his younger sister impeccably, “Thank you so much for being reduced to a fucking postal worker while I ascend the throne of Hell.” His words, though amusing in a way in which Diantha would never admit to him, fade into the air as she only glares at him. With a roll of his eyes he produces a letter, and even before he places it on the table in front of her Diantha recognizes the slanted writing on the parchment; and is momentarily saddened that it does not belong two blonde vampires. “You do have mail though,” Nathan says before dropping into the chair on her other side, “Special delivery all the way from that fucking sinkhole.”

Diantha remains silent as she open the envelope, her bright green eyes dancing down the single page as she drinks in the words. A smirk soon crosses her lips; and she knows her prolonged silence is only serving to drive her fellow demons a bit crazy. “Well?” asks the demon on her left, “Are you going to share with the rest of the class?”

A sharp look from Diantha silences him, his eyes returning to the table in front of him. The paper soon begins to spark, until a flame born of tip of Diantha’s finger sets it ablaze; turning it into ashes. “Sophie-Anne is requesting an audience,” she murmurs softly, holding her uncle’s gaze as she speaks to her once fellow employee of the queen, “She’d like to speak...like the good old times.”

“There were no ‘good old times,’” Cataliades snarls, his hand twisting into a fist that he slams onto the table, “You were her servant...you have no reason to even so much as entertain--”

“Yeah, I’m going,” Diantha cuts across easily, brushing the ashes from the leg of her jeans.

“Why would you possibly want to see her?” Nathan asks, every bit as surprised as Cataliades currently looks, “What could you gain?”

“It’s not her I want to see,” Diantha answers simply, standing from the table as she tugs back on her jacket. “You will come with me, Nate,” she commands as she begins to make her way out of the room, “You and Xavier. Make the arrangements”

“Fuck yes,” Xavier says in a grunt, and Diantha can picture him pumping his fist; anything to get off the farm for the night. At least off the farm and not directly into a battle.

“You would be wise to not stir up a storm,” her uncle calls after her, his exasperation evident in his voice, “Not with one already beating down your door.”

But it is not his words that make Diantha smile as she opens the front door to her mother’s home, eager to catch up to her and Hank in the barn. Instead, it is the words of Xavier, and the admiration she can plainly hear there.

“Fuck that; she is the fucking storm.”

:::Fade to black:::

[thedancingdemon-blog]

Diantha's fingertips tap on the polished wood of the glossy new table that now sits in the middle of her mother's dining room; her eyes as glazed as the wood as she listens to her uncle drone on and on, his tongue easily switching between English and the demon language they share with the others who also sit at the table. Each evening seems to begin in the same way now, with Diantha sitting at the head of the table as the council -her council, she keeps reminding herself with a giggle- hashes over each and every update of the day. And while she does listen, and knows that they will ultimately bend to her will and her decisions, she has been quick to realize that being a queen isn't all the fun and games that Sophie-Anne seemed to think it was.

"That's enough," Diantha finally says, barely raising her voice and yet the table falls silent as Dana sweeps into the room, holding a plate of food as she all but ignores the creatures gathered at her table. At once, the demons gathered rise to their feet, plucking up the papers that litter the table before they take their leave; already used to the drill and the silent change in the room. Only Diantha, her uncle, and Nathan remain; the three of them rising to their feet and setting the table just as they have nearly every night since they returned to North Dakota.

With Hank joining them at the table, the strange family dinner begins; although at anyone looking in from the outside, it would seem horribly normal. There is the usual chatter, even laughter, as food is served and consumed; sounds that are soothing to Diantha as she slips back into her role of a daughter, sitting happily beside her mother.

"New Orleans?" she asks during a pause in the conversation, her eyes shifting to where Nathan sits across from her.

Shrugging, he wipes his mouth before he speaks. "He hasn't stepped foot out of the building, as far as we can see," Nathan reports in a bored tone, speaking of the many demon guards Diantha had sent with specific orders not to allow Cassius to step foot off the property of the royal estate there, "Although William Compton tried to ask us nicely to leave...and then had to send out reinforcements when he was laughed at."

"Reinforcements?" Diantha asks, her eyebrow arching before she takes another bite from her fork, "What reinforcements do they have against demons?" But even as she speaks the words, she knows exactly who they have.

Nathan nods his head, affirming what she already knows. "Gladiola picked a fight when she was ignored," he says softly, speaking quickly when he sees the alarm in Diantha's eyes, "She was not harmed, just as you ordered; the demon merely defended himself. She has nothing but a bruised ego, Di."

"You shouldn't care," her uncle says bluntly, causing both Diantha and Dana to narrow their eyes at the rotund man.

"Of course I care," Diantha hisses, ignoring the warning hand of her mother on hers, "She's my baby sister. She's your niece. Of course I fucking care." Breathing deeply, Diantha falls back into her chair, pushing away her still full plate of food. "Was she told I was asking for her?" she questions Nathan after a few moments, "Did you tell her that her place is by my side?"

Nathan nods his head quickly, and Diantha instantly recognizes that she will not like his next words. "She...she's stubborn," he begins, smirking as Diantha merely blinks at this statement, "She's not coming, Di. She's angry. She's confused."

"What did she say?" Diantha asks, wanting to know every detail.

Nathan shakes his head again, but with a sigh he knows he won't win with silence. "She said...she said her place is beside her father...and that your place should be six feet in the dirt," he finally says, his lips twisting into a grimace as he knows the pain he is inflicting, "As any loyal daughter would know."

A silence falls over the table, and Diantha finds that for once she has no words. It is Dana who speaks up after several minutes, patting her daughter's warm hand. "She'll come around," she says softly, "She's still grieving."

Diantha merely nods her head, knowing that there is something deeper at play but not wanting to truly think about it just yet. She pushes her chair away from the table, and while just minutes before she was the one calling the shots, she turns toward her mother to ask, "May Nathan and I be excused?" She grins as her mother nods her head, swooping down to kiss her cheek before she crooks her finger at Nathan.

"Why do I have to be excused?" Nathan grumbles, following his younger sister down the hallway and into her room, "I wasn't done...and that's the best meatloaf I've ever tasted."

"She'll make it again," Diantha assures him, "And I need you to bring another package to Athens." She grins as Nathan rolls his eyes, but he doesn't argue over a task that literally takes him under a minute to accomplish. "This one is for Pam," Diantha informs him, handing him the pink wrapped box before she dissolves into laughter, almost missing her almost friend.

"She was probably so fucking pissed I only sent cat food last time."

:::Fade to black:::

[thedancingdemon-blog]

The dark road flies beneath the sleek car as it hugs the curves of the barren country road, carrying the three hot blooded occupants ever closer to their destination. Diantha sits with her nose practically pressed against the glass, only darting glances toward the two men in the front seat from time to time. “Why exactly am I in the backseat again?” she mutters, huffing as she crosses her arms over her chest and settles back into the plush leather of her seat, “I can drive better than either of you.”

“As I have explained countless times beforehand,” her uncle answers in a bored tone, not bothering to look behind him from his seat on the passenger side of the car, “You drove because you were, for all intents and purposes, an employee of vampires who bade you to do so. And now...”

“Now you’re the most annoying demon queen in history,” her half-brother, Nathan, supplies helpfully from the driver’s seat as he meets her un-amused glare with a beaming smile in the rear-view mirror.

Reaching over, Diantha shoves her boot against his seat, smirking triumphantly as he lets out a grunt of pain. “I’m not a queen,” she murmurs into the silence as she turns her head once more, the mere word seeming like a death sentence.

“Yet,” her uncle finishes for her; and Diantha would have to be deaf to not hear the pride in the single word as it leaves his lips. For once, she doesn’t argue; knowing that even if it is not something she ever truly desired for herself, it is her birthright. She’s earned it. And now she will fight for it.

“You’re sure they’re okay?” she asks after another few moments of silence, this time meeting Nathan’s eyes in the rear view mirror, “They landed okay?”

“I saw them myself,” he repeats, though he doesn’t sound tired of having to do so, “They have not left their residence since they arrived. But I saw a human enter and then leave; so I’m almost certain they have fed.” He arches a brow as he turns along another curve in the road, speeding along. “How did you know they would be there, anyway?”

“A hunch,” Diantha murmurs, her thoughts already on the two vampires she wanted desperately to follow; although she knows they need their own time to heal, just as she needs her own time to plan. Although, it hadn’t been so much as a hunch rather than an educated guess after she had searched the available flights from the night she left them; and Greece had seemed to be almost too perfect a choice after what they had gone through. And while she had sent Nathan to ensure that they had arrived in one piece, she had ordered him not to make himself known; not to bother them in any way. “And Cassius?” she asks after a long moment, her voice hardening as she speaks the name.

“Back in New Orleans,” her uncle assures her, “He won’t be leaving anytime soon. And if he tries...it won’t end well.”

The wards that surround her mother’s property seem to beckon to Diantha as they arrive on the outskirts; and she is already shoving against the handle of the door in an attempt to let herself out. “Wait for Nathan to open the door for you,” her uncle says softly, all of them aware of the demons that still guard the property; demons that are now staring curiously at the car as it pulls to a stop, “You have a reputation to uphold now, dear one.”

“And what sort of reputation is that?” Diantha mutters, rolling her eyes as she toys with the lock even as her uncle slams it back into place, “That I can’t be trusted to open a fucking door by myself?”

Sighing, her uncle turns around in his seat; a feat made nearly impossible given his substantial girth. “You are above them now--”

“I will rule and they will listen because I am one of them,” Diantha cuts across coolly, arching a brow as she raises her chin, “And I can certainly open a car door for myself; I’ve been doing it all my life.”

Her uncle’s gaze hardens as he hisses, “Your father---”

“My father’s reputation is not my own,” Diantha hisses, her words slipping into the demonic tongue of her bloodline, “The sooner that is understood by everyone, including you, Uncle; the sooner we can get stupid shit like this out of the way.” Without another word she frees herself, stepping out of the car and rising to meet the crowd that has gathered; the demons that have done her bidding before they even knew if she would be alive to return to them.

Diantha is aware she looks nothing like a queen; looks nothing like a daughter of her father. She wears her dark jeans and heavy boots; a t-shirt that has seen better days with some band logo splashed across her chest. Her hair is a wildfire of curls; the moonlight dancing through it even now. Yet the demons that are even now still appearing after word has spread, some of them older than her uncle, are all looking at her with a reverence she thought she would never instill in anyone. She cannot help the triumphant smirk that turns up her lips, realizing belatedly that she is in fact looking at her court; her own army.

It takes her longer than she would have thought to make her way through the crowd; her uncle and brother following dutifully behind her as she speaks to nearly every demon who steps in her path. There are words of dedication, of promises; and the thrill of battle seems to be thriving in everyone’s heated blood, the chance to take back what a vampire claimed as his own. It’s only when Diantha reaches the edge of the wards, only a few steps from her mother’s house, that she turns back around to look out at the crowd once more. She knows only her brother and uncle will follow her past the wards tonight; but that eventually her childhood home will become her first court, a station to plan for their future. She grins, a true smile that seems to transform her face into something more regal than the child she still sometimes feels like. Her smile is returned tenfold, and it seems only natural to thank those gathered in what can only be described as a quiet battle-cry.

“We’ve got some fucking work to do.”

:::Fade to black:::

[thedancingdemon-blog]

glamfangs

For a moment Pam finds that all she can do is stare at Cassius as he kneels on the floor in a pool of his own blood, blood that she spilled from the fangs that now lay heavily in her small palm. The blood still pours from the blank spaces where his fangs used to be, running in rivulets down his bare chest, and yet it is she that is suddenly filled with nothing short of agony; stealing the breath from her lungs for a moment before she vaguely realizes the pain is not her own. Her mind refuses to comprehend the words her great-grandsire has spoken at first, and then, she briefly simply refuses to believe them.

But in the deafening silence that has fallen in the courtroom, every vampire and demon present sensing that something has happened, even if they don’t know what, her eyes meet Cassius’s. She’s seen him lie enough to know the difference when he’s telling the truth, and she sees the proof written in his expression, his lips curling up despite the pain she has inflicted upon him into a sinister smile, knowing what he has done. In the same instant, Pam’s heart twists painfully as she realizes that, despite her desperation to not believe him, what he says makes far more sense than the reality they were forced to live with in the wake of Godric’s death. Godric died for them, in a final attempt to protect them from the maker that refused to release him, keeping them safe in the only way he knew how. He didn’t leave them, he saved them. He sacrificed himself in an attempt to spare them from everything they’ve lived through anyway.

She forces her eyes away from Cassius’s sickening expression, looking up at Eric helplessly at the same moment that she feels the torment in their bond suddenly stutters almost into white noise. Her maker, always so strong and powerful, looks more lost than a child as he stares down at Cassius, his expression hauntingly vacant. Her own eyes are hollow, every ounce of her short-lived triumph stolen from her as her gaze shifts to Bastille, staring at him helplessly as he, too, stares at Cassius, as shell-shocked over his words as they are. He’s the only living being that knew Godric, loved him, as they did; the only other person who would feel the fresh sense of loss that has immobilized them both.

“Pam,” she hears, barely more than a whisper beside her, and it’s not until a warm hand clasps tightly around her arm that she manages to look for the source of the sound, blinking blearily down into the face of Diantha, who looks deathly pale, her eyes wide and fearful. “Pam, you’ve got to go,” she whispers, but her voice holds a command that Pam latches on to, desperately needing some instruction to force her into action, “Get him out of here.”

Her eyes move back to Eric, everything feeling surreal as she reaches for him, her small hand clasping around his wrist. Her movement seems to snap Bastille out of it, and he turns his back to Cassius, pressing in close to Pam as he whispers hoarsely, “They cannot keep him restrained forever. Go, before he says anything else.”

Pam vaguely feels herself nod her head, and she tugs on Eric’s arm, causing him to turn his blank stare on her. “Let’s go,” she whispers, and when he doesn’t respond she hisses out vehemently, even as she feels her heart breaking, “Eric, we have to go.”

He nods, only barely, his gaze and their bond still vacant as he allows her to wind her arm through his; some part of her knowing they cannot be seen fleeing from Cassius and what to everyone else must seem like mere words. Luckily, Diantha appears at his other side, looping her own arm around his elbow, and together they manage to haul him from the courtroom, leaving behind utter silence as everyone watches them go.

Their walk to freedom doesn’t go as she would have imagined it, if she had allowed herself to do so, and she’s thankful again for Diantha and Bastille who are wholly responsible for getting them out of the hotel and into the cool night air, as Pam’s eyes begin to blur red with tears. She still clutches Cassius’s fangs in her palm tightly, but they bring her no comfort, especially when the first wave of shock begins to wear off; causing their bond to abruptly come back online, and bringing with it pain from both sides that seem at war with each other, causing it to become harder and harder for her to think or function.

She realizes they’ve been pulled to a stop outside of the hotel, and she feels Eric’s presence beside of her, although she can’t allow herself to look at him; not now, not like this, knowing her heart won’t be able to withstand it. Bastille and Diantha press in around them, and she vaguely recognizes the presence of Alric and Brendan nearby. But Eric’s shock and his agony is like a black hole in their bond, draining her dry of all her energy and her ability to think straight. Bastille clutches her elbow as she sways from the force of it, and she looks briefly to her friend with wide, helpless eyes, tears already running down her cheeks. But despite all that Bastille has done for her in their long history together, it’s Diantha who her eyes seek out as she begins to shake her head from side to side, never once in her long life feeling so lost. “I don’t know what to do,” she whispers, although she doesn’t recognize her voice as her own as she clutches Eric’s hand in their first moments of freedom, her voice cracking as she softly sobs out, “Diantha, what do I do?”

For one terrifying moment, Diantha realizes she doesn’t have an answer for Pam’s softly spoken question; now was she prepared to have it directed at her. For once, she cannot seem to form any words, her tongue lying heavy in her mouth as she gazes in turn to the three vampires gathered before her. Briefly, they land on Bastille’s dark gaze before he turns it back to Pam, worry creasing his usual jovial face that seems to be a testament to the situation they now find themselves in. She follows his gaze, meeting Pam’s eyes once more; tears springing to her own as she sees the crimson tears rimming her friend’s eyes. She knows that Cassius’ taunt hit its intended mark; and has shocked those of them that heard it. They should be celebrating, she sluggishly thinks; they won. There should be no more tears.

But it is the sight of Eric that seems to resonate with her the most. Never before has she seen such a blank expression on his handsome, stoic face; looking more like a child who has witness a disaster that they will never unsee than the ancient, arrogant prick he usually is. His maker, who she had always understood chose to meet the sun because he was too tired of this world, unwilling to go on, did no such thing. An image of Godric as she knew him, a quiet seat on the table of Texas when she was sent there for some task or another, is followed by echoes of his questions; always about his child, always about his granddaughter. He died out of love for them. He died to protect them; and no matter how bad these past years have been, Diantha is aware they could have been much worse without his sacrifice. As her eyes swing back to Pam, her mind suddenly clear, she nods as she, who should be a natural enemy, realizes she will not allow his death to have been in vain.

“You’re going to get in the car,” Diantha instructs Pam, choosing to go with the easiest path in the moment, “You and Eric are going to get in the car; I’m getting you out of here. Like I promised.” She doesn’t give Pam a chance to argue, or to even speak before she reaches around her, opening the door to their rented car. Leaving Bastille to ensure that they will be seated, she takes a few steps away, turning to face the hotel once more. “Brother,” she says under her breath, her words twisting into the demonic language of her father’s tongue. In no less than a second her half-brother is before her, his eyes as wide as she’s sure her own must have been minutes before. She stops his unspoken question with a raised hand, only speaking the words, “Same plan. You know what to do. You know where to meet.”

She doesn’t wait for his response, knowing that he will do her bidding without question. Instead she turns back to the car, just as Bastille closes the door to the backseat. For the first time since they first met, they acknowledge each other as equals; partners in the task at hand. “I will stay to ensure he does not leave this place tonight,” Bastille murmurs, keeping his voice down for the benefit of the shocked vampires in the backseat, “Get them out.”

Diantha nods, her eyes expressing more thanks than she’s sure her tongue ever could; sure that she will never be ready to step into another court for some time. “I’ll be in touch,” she assures the French vampire.

“As will I,” he agrees; and though it is awkward at first, he catches on to the way that Diantha’s hand curls into a fist before he follows suit and bumps his hand against hers.

She finds that she cannot even glance in the rear-view mirror as she drives away, the tires squealing against the pavement. She’s sure that if she so much as looks at either Pam or Eric, she will lose her own hard won control. It is not her death to grieve.

It seems like only moments later that they have pulled up in front of the airport; nearly deserted at this time of night. Instantly, another car pulls up behind them; and Diantha can see her brother in the driver’s seat before he begins to unload the car. Diantha lets herself out, bracing herself before she opens the back door of the sleek car. The sight that greets her is no less heartbreaking than what she had imagined; Eric’s blank stare simply aimed straight ahead, while Pam’s is trained on her maker. “C’mon guys,” she whispers, attempting to sound normal but failing miserably; not that either creature seems to notice, “Time to go.”

It takes some work to pilot both vampires to stand on the sidewalk before the entrance to the airport; and even then their expressions do not change. Diantha stares at them as Nathan comes to stand at her side; her emotions at war with what she wants to do and what she knows must be done to ensure their continued safety.

“Here’s Marilyn,” she begins, taking the carrier from Nathan and passing it to Pam, having to wait longer than usual for Pam to wrap her fingers around the carrier’s strap. “There’s a few changes of clothes in here, and plenty of cash,” she instructs them as she manages to rest the strap of the duffel-bag over Eric’s broad shoulder; though for her effort he does not acknowledge her, “Everything you need until you land.”

Her last words seem to shake Pam from the grieving revere she was in. “When...when we land,” she says, her brow furrowing delicately at Diantha’s chose of words, “What we need until we all land.”

Swallowing thickly, the tears pricking her eyes almost painfully, Diantha shakes her head. “Not this time, Pammy,” she whispers, sniffing as she takes a step closer, placing a warm hand over their clasped ones, “You’re free. You don’t need me anymore.” Diantha’s smile is watery as Pam’s eyes widen, feeling guilty for delivering a second shock so soon after the first. “I’m needed here,” Diantha reminds her, “I need to make sure he...he’s taken care of. That he doesn’t come after you. I need to regroup with my own kind. I need to go home, too, Pammy.” She reaches up with her free hand, wiping away the tears as they begin to fall. “I’ll have my eye on you; if you need anything I’ll know; and I swear I’ll come running as soon as you call,” she promises before her eyes drift to where Eric stands, emotionless, “I can’t help anymore, Pammy. This is something you two need to do.”

Diantha is not sure if it’s out of agreement or out of shock, but Pam slowly nods her head after several moments on silence. Nodding her head as well, Diantha takes a deep breath before she steps closer to Eric. She throws her arms around his neck, hauling herself against him; though he remains completely unresponsive. “Don’t do anything stupid, you asshole,” she whispers fondly, her voice muffled against his chest before she pulls away, forcing his eyes to hers with two hands on his cheeks, “Don’t waste his gift, Eric. He loved you.”

Though Eric meets her eyes, Diantha has no way of knowing if he has truly heard her. Instead, she nods her head, taking her chance and placing a warm kiss on his cheek before she steps away. She smiles as she meets Pam’s own tear streaked face, reaching for her before she can be told no. She gathers Pam in her arms as best she can, pressing her cheek against the vampire’s cool one. “You were amazing,” she whispers, “Not just tonight...but every night; the past years, Pammy. I’ll miss you,  both of you, even if you won’t miss me.I reckon’ you grew on me.” She takes a step back, finding one last smile for the two vampires she has considered family before she speaks her parting words.

“Take care of each other.”

[thedancingdemon-blog]

Not for the first time, Diantha rolls her eyes nearly to the back of her head as she follows behind one of the French guards who is currently the only thing in this world keeping Eric Northman upright. "Jesus, Northman," Diantha drawls, adjusting the sleeping Pam in her arms as they near the elevator, "For the last time, I'm not going to fucking drop her."

"You better not," Eric slurs sleepily, dragging his boots as the guard finally gets him over the slight lift into the elevator, "Or she'll kick your ass."

Snorting, Diantha glances down at the sleeping vampire, who looks more peaceful than usual with her lips still curved in a smile even in her rest. "Yeah," Diantha says sarcastically, "She totally looks like she could kick my ass right now." She rolls her eyes again as Eric makes a sad excuse for a growl as he leans heavily against the wall of the elevator before she jerks her head for the guard to leave. "I can handle them from here," she assures him, stabbing at the button for the penthouse with her elbow.

"You're sure?" the guard asks in a heavy accent, casting a skeptical glance toward where Eric has closed his eyes to lean against the wall.

"This ain't nothin'," Diantha assures him with a wink, quite sure that Bastille no doubt gave specific orders for the guard to see them, or at the very least Pam, safely to their rooms, "I'll tell the gay baguette that you fulfilled whatever weird duties he wanted you to do." As the doors begin to slide closed, Diantha flashes him a sharp toothed smile that seems to give him the motivation to leave them the fuck alone, “Buh-bye now.”

Somehow, she manages to coerce Eric to at least follow her into the master bedroom, and he seems more than happy to collapse on top of the bed; though he whines like a newborn until Diantha gently places Pam beside him, still dressed in his tuxedo t-shirt and then pulls the blankets over both of them. But, surprisingly, Eric’s hand shoots out, wrapping around the demon’s small wrist before she can leave.

“The verdict?” he slurs, his eyes narrowing; and Diantha knows that whatever intoxicants he drank are slowly wearing off with the dawn approaching. 

Diantha shakes her head, slowly extricating herself from his grasp. “She hasn’t decided yet,” she informs him softly, “She had some questions, for both sides; but she wasn’t ready to call it yet.”

“What do you think...” Eric begins, and Diantha cannot help but marvel at how loose his tongue is for him to be asking her opinion.

“We’ll be okay,” she immediately answers, “You and Pam will be fine...”

“Don’t start lying to me now, demon,” Eric slurs, and Diantha would swear she sees the hint of a smile in his scowl.

Sighing, she shrugs her shoulders. “Technically, you are guilty of job abandonment,” she says, though Eric only nods his head, “But Louisiana only stipulated that abandonment of the sheriff position is considered treason. Technically...you weren’t a sheriff. An interim sheriff was named. You were an...ambassador.”

“They wanted me to be a fucking beggar,” Eric snarls, his arm tightening around Pam who now lays sprawled across his chest.

“And you abandoned your post; with good reason,” Diantha says, unwilling to argue with a drunk vampire, especially without a way to record it, “But Cassius also overreached. And under the monarchy’s nose.” Sighing, she pinches the bridge of her nose, “It’s all muddled up. There are excuses on both sides. We just need to hope the old broad likes us a little bit more.”

Eric looks as if he’s ready to argue, and Diantha finds herself thanking his drunken haze for the way his head suddenly hits the pillow. She’s nearly out the door when he speaks again, his voice barely above a whisper, “And if the old broad doesn’t like us a little bit more?”

Surprisingly, Diantha giggles, shrugging her shoulders recklessly before she answers. And as she closes the door behind her, she could swear that she hears Eric laugh before his rest claims him.

“Then we fuck shit up.”

:::Fade to black:::

[thedancingdemon-blog]

hennesprins

Not trusting himself to speak, Eric merely nods his head, pressing his lips against Pam’s finger as he does so. Only then does she seem to relax against him ever so slightly, knowing that he would not break his word tonight; especially not about this. Instead, he merely tucks her head beneath his chin, wrapping his arms tightly around her as he cradles her against his broad chest. He can feel her cool tears as they drop onto the black fabric of his t-shirt, well aware that they are the last tears they can afford to let show. Even though he knows that they will both be pulled and pressed from the inside out, they will never allow it to show. Not anymore. Not when they can no longer afford to.

He is saved from speaking when there is a soft knock at the top of the stairs and Diantha slowly pushes it open. Even from this distance, Eric can see that the demon’s eyes are rimmed in red, and that her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes. Eric holds her gaze for what feels like several minutes, though he’s sure that barely even a few seconds have passed. For the first time, Eric realizes that the demon, the one who has always managed to save them at the last minute, the one who literally managed to keep them both alive on separate occasions by her own means, is as terrified as he is. And that while he and Pam have each other in their blood, she is utterly alone; with only her own voice to soothe her.

“It’s time,” Diantha says simply, softly, after another moment; though she makes no move closer to them. Eric nods his head, knowing that she is giving them at least one more moment.

Slowly, he gently places Pam on her feet, tilting her face upwards to his with his fingers beneath her jaw as he joins her. He smiles softly down at her, able to feel her putting the armor into place behind her wide blue eyes. He wipes away the few tears she has allowed to spill with his thumbs before his lowers his lips to hers. The kiss is far too brief, but Eric pours as much hope as he can spare into it.

Only when he steps away, one of Pam’s hands tucked securely in one of his own, does Diantha descend the stairs; followed by her mother and step-father. For an instant, Eric feels a tug in his dead heart at the look of pure grief on the woman’s face as she simply stands back, allowing her daughter and husband to gather some of the bags at the foot of the stairs. He watches, almost fascinated as Dana reaches out, her fingers barely brushing Diantha’s shoulder as her daughters lifts two of the suitcases into her hands. Diantha leans into the woman’s touch, offering her a quick smile before she ducks her head, leading the strange party back upstairs again. Eric takes up the last bag by himself, tugging gently on Pam’s hands to lead her up the stairs and pushes away any feelings that feel entirely too foreign to him.

It’s quiet on the farm tonight, and a light drizzle has begun as Eric finds himself out in the yard; holding his bag with one arm around Pam’s waist as they watch silently as the humans and Diantha load up the car. This may very well be the last few minutes of peace, of having a safe haven, that any of them ever experience again. Wordlessly, he lets Hank take his bag, watching as it is packed into the trunk. The slam of metal seems to echo around the property, magnified by the wards that Eric can feel have become stronger during their stay.

Eric’s arm only tightens around Pam’s waist when Diantha turns to meet his eyes; and he knows the girl is only just holding it together. She’s not ready to say goodbye again so soon; and for once Eric cannot blame her. Instead, when she raises her brows ever so slightly, he simply nods her head; giving her the sign she needs.

The sign that it is time to head directly into the heart of battle.

Diantha swallows thickly, trying to quiet the scream that has been threatening to burst from her since the moment she opened her eyes this morning. She’s not even entirely sure what would come out if she opened her mouth right now. A cry. A scream. A plea for her life to return to normal. A plea with any god that would listen to take her back in time; to turn her human.

Instead, she nods her head, allowing her eyes to fall from Eric and Pam’s bright blue ones. But in the instant that she turns to face her mother again, every wall she had thought she put in places comes crashing down. She feels like no more than a child as she all but throws herself into her mother’s open arms, inhaling the scent that has always been home to her. Diantha can feel her mother trembling against her; and she knows it is out of fear, a fear that she herself can feel.

“Don’t forget what I told you,” Diantha manages to say as she takes a step back, working her lips into a soft smile, “Because this two will kill me if I’m not already dead.”Diantha can see Hank pale behind her mother, no doubt at the audacity of her joke. But Dana merely smiles as tears begin to slide down her cheeks, used to her daughter’s humor. Her bright green eyes flash to Eric and Pam, and Diantha can only hope they keep their mouths shut.

“Diantha told us...” Dana begins, but she has to shake her head as a cry threatens to break through. It takes her only a moment to gather herself, and Diantha couldn’t be more proud of the way her mother is able to look at the two vampires in the eyes; as equals. “Diantha told us about your last wishes,” she manages to say this time, the human’s eyes finding and holding Pam’s, knowing that it was really Pam’s last wishes that were bestowed upon her, “She wrote everything down. I promise you...I promise that everything you wanted will be done...if it should come to that.” Dana swallows thickly, reaching out her hand for her daughter’s, and Diantha readily grasps her mother’s fingers, “Because you brought her back...even if it was just...”

“Mom, c’mon,” Diantha sniffs, wiping away her own tears with the back of her hand, “If you keep acting so cheerful they won’t think you’re taking this seriously.” This time her joke has the intended effect, and both Dana and Hank chuckle. Diantha flashes a smile as she reaches for Hank, pulling him into a hug with her arm around his neck, her other hand still clutching her mother’s. “Take care of her,” she whispers into his ear, pulling away only when she feels him nod his head, “You’re already doing better than my real dad, anyway.”

Hank shakes his head with a grin, and Diantha once more wraps her arms around her mother. Even now it strikes her how fragile the woman is; and yet how she’s managed to survive what few would ever believe her capable of. “I love you,” Diantha whispers as she kisses her cheek, inhaling the scent of home one last time. She pulls away, though she doesn’t drop her mother’s hand just yet. Though she knows she might be lying through her teeth to the woman who gave her life, she cannot help but offer the only hope she can. “We’ll be back,” she tells Dana, nodding her head before she glances over her shoulder, obviously trusting the vampires enough to at least allow her this; though her eyes hold Pam’s longer than Eric’s, “Won’t we guys?”

[hennesprins-blog]

Though he would be happy to be met with the blue gaze of Pam’s eyes when he first opens his own, it seems luck is not on his side when he awakens; and he is instead met with the strangely glowing green eyes of Diantha as she sits incredibly too close to him on the bed for his comfort. “Can I fucking help you?” Eric growls, reaching out blindly to shove her out of the way. But the demon is too quick, and she lands gracefully on her feet on the basement floor.

“When Pammy wakes up, get dressed and come upstairs,” Diantha says with a smirk, her eyes flickering to where Pam lays sprawled against Eric’s bare chest, “We have to talk.”

“We can talk right now,” Eric scowls, sitting up slowly as if moving too quickly could rouse his sleeping child from her slumber.

“Yeah, right,” Diantha laughs, already heading back up the stairs and into the main part of the farmhouse that has become their refuge, “She’d pull my teeth out if she wasn’t in on this from the start.” And though Eric graces her with a look that has been the last sight of many, Diantha only cocks her eyebrow. “We’re a team, Northman,” she tells him, for once sounding more mature than he has ever heard her, despite the fact that he cannot stand her words, “Equals. So fucking deal with it.”

It’s a short time later that both Eric and Pam ascend the stairs hand in hand, peering into the strangely quiet dining room; and Diantha sits alone at the head of the table. There are two mugs at what has become Eric and Pam’s places at the dinner table, and the smell wafting from them seems to pull them closer. “I hit up one of the blood banks on my way back,” Diantha says, her own place marked by a tumbler of brown liquor, “There’s plenty. I put the rest in the fridge downstairs. Didn’t want to freak out mom too much.”  

“Where is your mother?” Pam asks as she takes her seat, her fingers wrapping around the warm mug before she takes a dainty sit; and for once, she doesn’t seem overly infatuated with the location of her new human crush.

“Her and Hank suddenly remembered some chores that need doing in the barn,” Diantha says steadily, meeting the vampires’ gazes head on, “And then I suggested a moonlight picnic might be romantic for them, too.” Eric merely nods his head; he knows it probably would be safest for the human to truly not know more than they already do.

Eric grunts as he takes a sip of blood, letting it warm his throat on the way down. He stares over the rim at the demon girl who, despite the bags beneath her eyes and her obviously travel-worn clothing, looks positively giddy. “Well,” Eric growls, knowing that their entire plans could be thrown off by the most insignificant of news, knowing that they could be running for their lives in a matter of minutes, “Are you going to fucking speak?”

[thedancingdemon-blog]

"Language, Northman," Diantha drawls in a perfect mimic of her mother's constant reprimands to her guests. And though Eric growls and Pam glares at her in warning, Diantha only smiles, tossing her red, wild curls over her shoulder. "I have good news," she says softly before she swallows, well aware that all three of them have been short in that supply over the past two years.

"I'll be the judge of that," Eric manages to grind out, and Diantha is sure that Pam's hand moves to cover his own beneath the table.

Diantha nods her head as she takes a deep drink from her glass, letting the whiskey warm her throat and settle happily in her stomach. Her night and day seem to flash her mind, and she is unsure of where to begin. "Louisiana will be staying at the hotel designated for the summit," she says lightly, figuring it easiest to start with the information she gained first, "One of the top floors is entirely theirs; not the penthouse, but certainly not where they're used to staying."

"And they can afford this?" Pam asks bitterly, causing Diantha to smirk before she swallows; a sudden bad taste in her mouth.

"Cassius is footing the bill entirely," Diantha continues, watching as both vampires tense at the name; Pam more so than Eric, "He will be there, at the king and queen's right hand." She smiles bitterly as she repeats her next gleaned information. "Cassius was named the interim sheriff of Area Five when Eric...abdicated. A year after...Romania, he was installed officially," she says, swallowing her own indignation at the thought of such a man anywhere near her previous residence, "In protest...your...I mean Area Five...is nearly completely empty of all vampires. And the ones that have stayed, do so very reluctantly."

"Our house in Shreveport?" Eric asks, a flash of anger in his blue eyes that is mimicked by Pam. "Fangtasia?"

"You signed your house over to me," she reminds him with a smirk, though neither of them could have ever have guessed that when he went to meet Jacoba that night that they would ever find themselves here, years later, "And Fangtasia, too. He...he tried to enter the house, but since I never offered him an invitation, he was not successful." Diantha smiles, looking pleased as she takes another sip of her drink. "It was the only clue that I was still alive. Perhaps clinging to life, but alive enough that no vampire could enter. My uncle put up wards after that; your house is still safe and remains untouched," she says, although she knows that neither vampire is perhaps ever planning to step foot in Louisiana again, "Fangtasia, as a vampire business in Area Five, has fallen to Cassius for management. No vampires at a vampire bar isn't exactly a recipe for success...and it's been closed for months. Although Nathan assures me it is kept in good repair."

"I'm waiting for the good news," Eric drawls, clearly having no love lost for his former business and home.

Diantha rolls her green eyes, but she knows that this is no time to play with the Viking's emotions, "We have the penthouse in a hotel across town. It's separate from the rest of the hotel; and it has its own elevator. I can ward the rooms themselves, and I'll post my guards at the elevator."

"You have guards now?" Eric asks mockingly, his lips twisted into a sneer.

"I do," Diantha says easily, as if she has been able to say this for her entire life.

"And you trust them with your life?" Eric presses her, scowling, "Why should I trust them with ours?"

"Because you trust me with yours," Diantha says bluntly, arching her brow as she waits for the argument that she knows Eric does not have, "And I trust them. They will stay by the elevator, on the ground floor; you won't even see them. They will not be able to enter your rooms."

"Wonderful," Eric says dryly, though his thumb moves in a soothing circle against Pam's palm, "I'm still waiting for the good news."

"I'm getting to it!" Diantha snaps, her eyes blazing for a moment before she settles back in her chair. She steadies herself, taking a deep breath. "Do you remember how surprised we were when the King of Sweden seemed to know all about you? All about what happened in Romania? And how he said it was being told almost as a legend?" Mutely, both Eric and Pam nod their heads. "He wasn't kidding," Diantha continues, wetting her lips excitedly as she recalls the way that hope surged through her at the knowledge she obtained just hours ago. "Vampires all over the world know your names. They know Cassius' name. And they know his crime," she explains, "He wasn't your sire; if he was, it would have been excusable; understood even. But with Godric gone, there was a link missing. He sided with a vampire's mortal enemy for the sole purpose of destroying another vampire. People have called for his head; Louisiana has become the outcast of the monarchies both in and outside the United States."

"And yet he's still alive," Eric growls, his anger at the man who first tortured his own maker, and then his child, "He's still in Louisiana."

"Not by Sophie Anne's choice," Diantha explains in a rush, "And not by Russell's either. They need his money; he's the only thing keeping them afloat right now. Louisiana has drained Mississippi; they have no other options." She leans back in her seat, a smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. "No one has been able to bring him to trial, because there was no one to accuse him. No one knows the full story of what happened when he kidnapped Pam, when he worked with...with my father," Diantha says, "And the crime was against the two of you, and no others." Slowly, Diantha allows her smile to grow as she sees the understanding begin to blossom behind the two pairs of blue eyes that are suddenly focused entirely on her. "Pam's death was an unforgivable crime," Diantha finishes, swallowing thickly as she turns her attention to the vampire that she knows has been smashed apart and put back together again almost too many times to count, "There could only be one outcome if Pam accused him outright. At a trial. At the summit." Diantha smiles softly, knowing that Pam’s blank expression could be hiding any and all emotions if she so chose to. “You’ll have to face him, Pammy,” Diantha breathes, “You’ll have to speak about what happened.”

[thedancingdemon-blog]

hennesprins:

The look of utter devastation in the depths of Pam’s eyes is almost Eric’s complete undoing; and if he thought it might help, he would turn the entire plane around himself. Instead, he knows that in reality it would do little more than prolong their suffering until they are found again; either by Cassius himself or one of his minions. His hands rise to frame Pam’s pale face, craning his neck down so that their foreheads can rest together as her arms slide around his trim waist. “Not for weeks,” he promise her, his voice soft over the purring of the engines below them, “And if anything seems…not right; we’ll leave. No one will know we are here until we let them know.” He wets his lips as his thumbs brush against her cheeks, “You’re safe, prinsessa. I promise you that.”

“I know,” Pam whispers back, sinking into his embrace to press her cheek against his chest, “I know I’m safe with you, min prins.” She sighs, allowing him to press a kiss to the top of her head while they simply stand in silence, soaking up each other in what could be their last few minutes of anonymity of the past few years.  

All too soon there is an announcement over the speaker system, asking the three passengers to return to their seats for the landing. Wordlessly, Eric and Pam clasp hands, returning as one to their seats across from Diantha. The girl has already tucked Marilyn back into his carrier, her hand placed over it protectively as she quietly watches them. But Eric does not allow Pam to sit in her own seat, and instead pulls her back down into his lap; knowing that his own arms around her are better prepared to save her than any seatbelts. Even the flight attendant that passes through doesn’t bother to correct them, perhaps already having dealt with Diantha enough to know that these are no ordinary passengers.

All three of them grimace as the wheels touch down on the runway; and the anxiety between the three of them seems palpable in the close confines of the airplane cabin. But all too soon Eric finds himself leading the way to an undescript rental car, Pam’s hand held protectively in his own as they leave the small terminal behind. Diantha quietly loads the trunk with their few bags before she rounds the car, her hand held out expectantly. But Eric shakes his head once, his fingers curling around the keys as he leads Pam to the passenger side, opening the door so that she can slide in, “I’m driving.”

“You don’t even know where we’re going,” Diantha reminds him, her brow furrowed at this turn of events. But when Eric holds out his hand for Marilyn’s carrier, Diantha wordleslly passes it to him so that he can set it by Pam’s feet. Perhaps, for once, the girl can actually read his mind; knowing that he needs some semblance of normalcy for even a few moments. She finally shrugs her shoulders, quietly letting herself into the backseat.

The drive itself is quiet, with the only interruptions being a few directions from Diantha as Eric navigates the car through the dark country roads. They pass only a few farmhouses on the nearly hour drive; and as far as Eric can tell, it is a sparsely populated area. He shares a tight smile with Pam when the demon directs them a dirt road, and Eric can feel more than see that they have passed through some sort of ward. “Park here,” Diantha murmurs, her eyes having gone wide in her head; and Eric can hear her heart hammering away in her chest.

Eric does so, pulling the car onto the grass, within sight of a farmhouse; which from this distance seems dark and abandoned. He and Pam share a glance before they both look over their shoulders at Diantha, wondering if she has perhaps led them to the wrong place. But from the wide smile on the demon’s face, he knows that the same wards that have protected them must also be in effect around her mother’s property. Still, it doesn’t stop Eric from putting every precaution he can in place, and he merely commands, “You first.”

Diantha doesn't need to be told twice, and she is already scrambling from the car. She barely waits for Eric and Pam to join her; but once their doors close and she feels them fall into step behind her, she knows she will not stop until she reaches the door. She hears Eric mutter a warning for her to slow down, and she knows he does so only out of his own uneasiness since they both know this is slow; at least for her.  

The closer they draw to the house, the thicker the wards become, but this does nothing to slow Diantha down. Not even when two figures step out of the shadows, and Eric and Pam's growls can be heard, does she so much as turn her head away from the prize of her mother's house. "Not tonight," she says simply, shaking her head at whatever her uncle and brother might think to say, and she glances at them just in time to see them staring at her with wide eyes. This alone causes her to pause, though she can hear Eric grumbling under his breath about demons.

Diantha meets the eyes of her uncle, wondering why they seem to look at her entirely different yet achingly familiar. As her brow furrows, a brief smile crosses the face that as far as she can recall has usually been incapable of doing so. "Dearest," he breathes, his sudden fascination echoed in Nathan's expression as well, "You're...you're okay."

Diantha nods stiffly, her eyes once more fastened on the house that is now only a few yards away. "I'm here," she affirms, meeting their eyes head on. But she shakes her head again as her uncle opens his mouth, holding up her hand to cut him off. "Does anyone else know?" Diantha asks, her eyes narrowing.

"No," Nathan answers, his eyes flickering to the vampires who linger behind her, "No one."

"Good," Diantha says, nodding her head, "You tell no one else. You lie if asked directly. As far as you know I'm dead. You haven't heard from me. You haven't seen me. You haven't seen us." Though they look slightly affronted, both her uncle and brother incline their heads, accepting her command. "We'll talk later," she says, striding past them, missing the way the incline their heads even deeper as she passes them, "But not tonight."

She doesn't bother to look behind her, somehow instinctually knowing that they will not disobey her. Picking up the pace, she's practically jogging by the time she passes through the thickest ward. All at once the yard lights up around them as they pass through, the warm glow of the house spilling out into the yard. Already a few flower buds are peeking their heads up through the ground; an inviting sight after the snow and ice they came from.  

Diantha only spares one glance behind her as Eric and Pam draw up beside her, their eyes flickering over what she's sure is not their first choice of residence. But she only grins at them before she turns to face the door again, able to hear the sounds of heartbeats and the quiet shuffles of a household settling in for the night.

As if in a dream she sees her hand rise, knocking a rhythm out on the door that she has used since she was old enough to reach the brass knocker. All at once there is a stillness within the house, and the three creatures outside can hear the breath that is being held. Then, there is a patter of running feet from the second floor, and Diantha can almost see them as they hit the steps she herself has run up and down over the years. Her heart is hammering in her throat by the time there is another heartbeat on just the other side of the wood, and though it takes only seconds it takes entirely too long for the door to be thrown open. Diantha only has time to register another presence behind her mother, her eyes finding the ones that are a mirror image of her own. "Mom," she says, though it is lost in a sob as she throws herself into her mother's arms, breaking down as if she were no more than the child she knows the two vampires sometimes call her, "Mom."

[thedancingdemon-blog]

Diantha has been waiting, quietly, ever since she woke up sometime in the late afternoon for Eric to awaken and let her out of her metaphorical cage; which just happens to be a basement. Idly, she flips through the pages of the large books Eric hurled at her days ago, her eyes hardly taking in any of the foreign words. Bored. She is completely and utterly bored. For the first time in weeks she feels more like herself. The headaches that plagued her; the chills that nearly sent her teeth cracking. The fever is gone, as is the nausea. She's well aware her improved condition has less to do with Eric's 'care' and more to do with the time that has passed without a relapse; but that awareness also comes with the fact that she's being held prisoner. A fact that doesn't sit well with her.

Her eyes are already on the door when she can clearly hear the locks being slid out and before Eric can even open it completely, she is at the bottom of the stairs with her change of clothes balled in her hands. Blue eyes meet green, and Diantha can see the merest hint of surprise from him that she is already ready and waiting. Silently, he jerks his chin up and she wastes no time in scaling the stairs.

"You didn't tell me it was Pam's birthday last night," she says accusingly, for once not bothering to keep her voice lowered in the reverent tone she has been using. A grunt is all she receives in response; one that doesn't surprise her in the least. "This is my last change of clothes," she informs him as he makes to slam the bathroom door in her face, and she's positive her words bounce of his deaf ears.

She takes her time in the shower, thoroughly washing her hair; going so far as to twist it up into a braid so that it stays out of her face while it dries. Reopening the door, she meets Eric's bored expression and they wordlessly follow the routine of their night and head toward the small kitchen. The only hiccup is when Diantha opens the fridge, her nose wrinkling in disgust at the odor that rises from its nearly empty depths.

"Choose something," Eric growls, catching the door before Diantha slams it shut.

"It's rotten," Diantha tells him, her eyebrow hitching over her bright eyes as she has to lean back to meet his gaze, "I'm not eating rotten food."

"Then choose something else," he hisses, wrenching open a cabinet; although it is poorly stocked with only crackers from what Diantha can see.

"I need more than that," she says, daring to meet his eyes head on; well aware that she is closer to an argument with him than a conversation, "I need real food."

"You'll eat what I fucking tell you," Eric growls, his eyes narrowing as he steps closer in what Diantha is sure is supposed to intimidate her into submission.

Though it is small, there is the briefest spark in her blood; the slightest inclination to fight back. She meets Eric's gaze head on, tilting her head to the side as she lowers her voice. "Why didn't you just kill me?" she asks, more curious than anything, "You've always wanted a reason; and I handed it to you on a silver platter." Eric says nothing, though from the way his chest is heaving, Diantha knows he won't stay silent for long. "You know that wasn't me," she dares to continue, her chin jerking up not in defiance, but in truth, "I've spent the last two years trying to save your asses; I wouldn't put all of that work on the line for nothing. I fucked up. I'm sorry. But that wasn't me. You know it wasn't me. And whether you like to admit it or not, you trust me enough not to do it again."

Eric's growl breaks loose, and Diantha is unsurprised to find herself suddenly being held off the floor with his fingers wrapped in her t-shirt. "A wooden door with some locks?" she presses, "Did you ever really think that would imprison me?" She smiles even as his fangs slam down in his gums. "It's the same reason you keep me alive. You need me. And you trust me. You know that to kill me is to bring down ranks on you that you would rather have at your back than opposing you," she whispers, and even she can hear the pride in her voice as it dawns on her that she has her own supporters, "And you know, in that black little heart of yours that's three sizes too small, that I would never call them for any other reason than to protect you. And you need that army. You still need me."

Eric doesn't respond, though from the way his fingers loosen and let her sink back to the floor, she knows she has all but hit the nail on the head. She takes her chances, raising her chin again. "I need clothes. Or you need to get me laundry supplies. And I need food, fresh food. And unless you want to break the little charade we have going on where I'm Harry Potter under the stairs, you're going to have to get them for me," she reminds him, knowing that to ask to go out on her own would no doubt end with her head through a window. Eric merely grunts, hauling her back out of the kitchen and back toward the basement. Diantha goes quietly, but at the last second she turns, her hands bracing on either side of the doorframe.

"You can't be that mad at her," Diantha whispers fiercely, "You know she was trying to protect you; not me. It killed her; I saw it on her face, each and every time she had to even look at me. You couldn't have controlled me any better and you know it." Even when Eric slams the door in her face, Diantha presses herself against the wood, hissing through the hinges as the locks slide back into place, "You would have done exactly the same, Northman. You have done exactly the same."

[glamfangs]

Pam smiles up at Eric, just barely able to see his face over the pile of boxes in his arms; ranging in size from large dress boxes to tiny jewelry boxes, in nearly every color of the rainbow, all of them gifts that Bastille showered upon her in their short stay. Despite them weighing him down, as well as the countless bags looped over Eric’s arms, he still has a smile on his face as he watches her, one hand poised on the doorknob, the other balancing a plate of human edibles as easily as any seasoned waitress.

“When am I ever late for a bath?” she asks him, smiling brightly when he carefully shrugs his broad shoulder without upsetting his workload. She watches him as he turns his head, eyeing the hallway behind him with a frown of concentration, before carefully turning in the narrow hall space so that all her boxes don’t crumble from his arms like dominos with the movement, knowing that some of her gifts are breakable. For a moment her heart feels as if it will burst at the sight, adoration pouring out of her and into the empty space where their bond should be, and she barely feels her hand leaving the doorknob or her feet moving across the carpeted floors, her voice surprising her when she whispers, “Wait, min prins.”

Down the hall, he stills before he turns his head, his lips poised for a question, but Pam is already there, standing up on her tiptoes so that she can press her lips to his. His noise of surprise trails off into a happy moan, and she grins against his lips when he practically purrs when she touches his cheek with her free hand, just the barest drag of her fingertips against his rough, stubbled skin. “Hurry up,” he says, more forcefully this time, somehow managing to lift a foot to push her backwards towards the door, landing a more solid nudge to her backside when she turns to dart away, giggling.

“Yes, Sir,” she teases, and laughs as he growls at her tone and all that it implies. She’s still snickering when she reaches Diantha’s door, and still grinning as she lets herself in, the sound of Eric’s growling fading away into nothingness as she steps fully inside. Her smile is gone in almost the same instant, her nose wrinkled delicately as the scent of unwashed demon, dirty clothes and dirty dishes all invade her senses at once. She does her best to hold her breath, and her eyes scan the room, her sharp vision allowing her to pick out the lump of demon beneath the covers even in the dark.

“Diantha?” Pam asks, hating the way her voice quivers ever so slightly, but unable to forget the injuries she sustained the last time she ventured into the girl’s room. But after all she’s faced, all she’s lived through, she refuses to be afraid of such a—currently, anyway—wretched creature, so she lifts her chin, striding across the room with purpose.

“Diantha,” she says again, clearing her throat before she announces herself, lest there be any confusion, “Diantha, it’s Pam. Pam Northman. Formerly Pam Ravenscroft.” There’s not even a breath’s movement from the bed, and so Pam places the loaded plate down on the end, before walking past the bed to wrench open the curtains, allowing the moonlight and the lights from the city to spill in. She opens the window next, allowing fresher air than the stagnant swamp the feverish demon’s room has become to waft in, taking a deep breath to clear her airways.

It’s on her exhale that she hears the noise behind her, and when she turns her head there’s no century of practice to keep how startled she is off her face to find Diantha no longer huddled under her covers, but instead standing beside the bed. Pam blinks at her, the way the girl stands on the balls of her feet, like a cat waiting to pounce, making her uneasy. “Oh, you’re up,” Pam says dryly after a moment, wetting her lips when this earns no response from the demon, who stares at her still with eyes that seem inky black, even in the moonlight.

Pam reaches out, tugging the window shut once more, before turning back to Diantha and wetting her lips. “I brought you some food,” she tells her, keeping her voice soft as she takes the smallest of steps towards the door, “It comes from the King of France’s chef, so…I guess it’s probably pretty good.” A sardonic smile temporarily flicks up the corners of her mouth as she adds snarkily, “You’re welcome, you know.”

She turns away then, rounding the side of the bed, but spins back to face Diantha when she senses movement, finding her this time at the corner of the bed. Although at first Pam thinks she must be starved and already lunging for the plate she brought her, she finds her instead staring directly at her, meeting her bleary gaze seconds before it slides down to her throat.

“Okay,” Pam says, rolling her eyes as she reaches out a hand, “You need to fucking snap out of it. And fix your eyes, that’s only a good look for Crowley.” Pam waits a moment, convinced that at any second Diantha will give a pained chuckle, blink, and tired green eyes will be staring back at her, before she digs into the food Pam brought her, just as she imagined this would go. Not like the last time, when the demon was feral, dangerous. When she hurt her.

“Diantha,” Pam says slowly, as she takes another step backwards, only for Diantha to mirror it, taking a step forward. Her instincts flare to life, both to fight this creature that is her kind’s mortal enemy, but even more so, to scream for Eric; the one failsafe in the entirety of her life. But even as the thought crosses her mind, she pushes it away; knowing what it would mean for all of them if Eric knew the truth. “Come on, Diantha,” Pam says quietly, knowing she is stronger now than the last time they faced off and she lost, but this crazed version of her former friend before her suddenly looks like something animal, feral. Even still, she tries her best to connect with whatever part of the girl is still human, attempting a friendly smile as she tells her, “Look…I brought you pie.”

[thedancingdemon-blog]

Vaguely, the voice from the creature in front of her registers in Diantha’s mangled mind. Something about food. Food she can smell. But the scent of the edibles only turns her stomach, and a much angrier hunger claws its way up her throat. Even now, her eyes are locked on the throat of the relatively small creature in front of her, and she knows what lies just beneath that pale flesh. Fresh blood. Blood that is hers for the taking.

“Stop it, Diantha,” she hears the woman say, though the words slide off of her as she takes another step forward. The woman takes another one back, and as one they both glance toward the closed door at her back. Faster than Diantha has felt herself move in weeks, she’s placed herself in front of it, her entire being poised for the hunt; for the takedown. “Diantha,” the woman tries again, but it reaches Diantha as if garbled from beneath water.

“She won’t know,” Diantha murmurs, her cracked lips barely moving, “Just a taste, and she won’t know. Just a taste…and it won’t hurt so much.” She continues her mantra, the silence of the room seeming to close in on her with each step she takes forward. Her gaze is tinged with blackness, only able to focus on the blood that will take away some of her suffering.

There is one beat of pure silence before both women move at once. But Diantha is quicker, even in her weakened state. She launches herself at her target, her knee making contact with an oddly satisfying crunch as she lashes out with her nails, swiping as she hits flesh and they both topple in silence to the bed. The scent of blood fills her nostrils, and the surprise allows her opponent to gain the upper hand, if only for a moment.

Diantha’s back hits the mattress as the woman tries to hold her down, yet the wheezing sounds from her chest seem to prove she’s having difficulty breathing. Her pained groan is silenced while they grapple, until Diantha finally lands atop her once more. Diantha’s hands clamp down on her slim wrists, pinning her to the bed. Her sharp teeth seem to glint in the moonlight as she begins to lower her head, her heart beating a drum against her chest.

She’s inches away from her prize, and only now does the creature choose to scream out. It’s a single word, yet somehow in the back of her subconscious, the sound sends a chill through Diantha’s bones; as if she instinctively knows she should fear whatever comes next.

“Eric!”

[thedancingdemon-blog]

Diantha isn’t sure what draws her out of her restless slumber, but it takes her several minutes to even realize that she is in fact awake. Her small body trembles from the remnants of yet another nightmare; a constant occurrence since she found herself in France and under Pam’s version of house arrest. Slowly, she pushes herself to sit up in the large bed, kicking weakly at the blankets and sheets that have wrapped themselves around her legs as she slept.  The house itself is quiet, which she assumes is because her usual roommates are asleep; her internal clock telling her that it must be at least past noon.

Her feet finally hit the floor, and she winces at the cold against her skin. She shakes her head before she rises, trying to clear the jumble that has replaced her brain. As she makes her way to the bathroom, she’s vaguely aware that she has done this before. Yesterday; when the house was just as quiet. Weakly, she raises her head, staring at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. She barely recognizes what she sees there; her bright eyes glazed over, seemingly sunken into her skull. Her once fiery hair is matted, frizzed along the ends. She’s a mess, plain and simple.

All she can find the energy for is to splash a bit of cold water on her face, and she doesn’t even bother to wipe it away before she moves back into the bedroom. Hunger gnaws at her stomach, coupled with a deeper, more insistent hunger that has haunted her every thought. Blood. Her body craves it; and she cannot ignore it no matter how much she pushes it to the back of her mind, fighting it off with each waking moment. She assumes it should be getting easier; or at least she hopes so. But with each passing day, she can feel herself sinking into misery.

Her footsteps carry her past the closed door to Eric and Pam’s room, and she hesitates for only an instant before she turns the doorknob. Surprisingly, it twists easily in her hand and she’s able to push it open; having grown used to hearing Pam lock it behind them each dawn when they retire. But the reason becomes obvious when she peers inside and finds the bed empty. Even Marilyn is nowhere to be found. Panic replaces any thought of hunger, even though she knows they have left the villa for a full night before. She’d know if they were in trouble…wouldn’t she? Diantha tries to reach that spot in her brain where her connection to Pam dwells; the connection that brought her running when they were in trouble last time. But she feels nothing; or at least nothing over the hunger pains that are currently consuming her body.

Laughter bubbles up in her throat as she painstakingly makes her way down the stairs, gripping the railing with trembling fingers. “Maybe they left without me,” she giggles to nobody but herself; well aware that it would be Eric’s greatest wish to do so. “Maybe they think Marilyn is a better guard dog than me,” she continues, her own play on words causing the laughter to pour from her lips as she crosses the floor to the kitchen. But the laughter turns in sobs when she finally makes it to the fridge, and she shakes her head in confusion, wanting nothing more than to crawl back into bed. Her stomach growls as she yanks open the door, only to find the fridge bare. They’ve been here for weeks, and Diantha can recall taking the last few pieces of cheese and meat from the confines of the fridge just the other night. She’s not sure how she thought they would be replaced; and her tears turn to laughter once more at the thought of either Pam or Eric in a grocery store.

Despite the fact that she is barefoot, she makes her way to the front door. Before she can even remember the fact that Pam has forbidden her from leaving the property, the bright sun does the work for her. It’s bright, too bright for Diantha’s eyes. She whimpers as she raises her hand, trying to shield it before she slams the door closed again. For all the good it’s done her, she should have just stayed in bed.

She crawls back into her tangled mess of sheets and blankets, not even bothering to cover herself despite the chills that wrack her body. “Pam will be back soon,” she says out loud, more for herself than anything else. Even her voice seems foreign to her, cracked and needy. She allows her eyes to close, and for the darkness to seep into her mind once more, pulling her back in. “Pam will help me.”

:::Fade to black:::

[glamfangs]

Pam glances over at Eric, watching the almost boyish glee on his face as he pilots his rented sports car down the mostly deserted country roads; his eyes sparkling when the headlights of the odd car passing by, his lips curved into what surely seems to be a permanent smile, stuck in place since he rose earlier that evening. She smiles almost shyly, pleased with herself, before turning her eyes back to the road ahead of them, watching the hills of France pass them by.

After several moments, her eyes drift downwards, smirking again when she sees the blood streaking the skin of their entwined fingers, inky black in the moonlight that filters into the cockpit of the car. It covers them both beneath their clothes, smudges on their faces and tinting their hair and covering their chins, but Eric had been insistent that they not wash it away before they left the mansion Bastille lent to them for the evening. She had been more than happy to oblige, as she had awoken somewhat unsure she could even stand long enough to take a shower; the day she spent without rest and their activities of the night before that spilled over into mid-morning all taking a toll on her she didn’t quite expect. It’s been weeks, perhaps months since she felt tired, but she finds she doesn’t mind; Eric’s happiness well worth a little discomfort on her part.

Best of all, she reminds herself with a small smile, is something she hasn’t yet chosen to share with him; the slightest niggling feeling in the back of her mind, emotions that mirror hers, but yet aren’t her own. It’s almost unfamiliar to her after so long without it, despite having spent a hundred years with it a part of her, but it’s there…Eric’s emotions whispering to her, his happiness and contentment, his ever-present horniness, his excitement as the powerful machine beneath him roars down the road. It’s as if a missing puzzle piece, something to make her whole, has begun to slowly slide into place, and she knows if he could feel her, he would be overrun with her elation.

It’s not long before Eric is pulling to a stop in front of their rented villa, and they both turn to look at it at once, still as dark and deserted looking as it was when they left it the night before. “Ready?” Eric asks softly after a moment, and Pam slowly nods her head, trying to ignore the dread that begins to well up inside her as she looks at the unassuming house; guilt rising in her throat, as if being close to the real secret she’s been keeping has broken the placid tranquility they found in each other the evening before.

Eric breaks the silence when he opens the car door, fetching their bag from the backseat before rounding the car to help her out. His arm loops around her waist protectively, and he steers her quickly into the safety and anonymity of the wards, lest one of the neighbors or passersby notice the two of them awash in dried blood; Pam more obvious than Eric, thanks to wearing only his stained t-shirt.

She waits patiently for him to unlock the door, before slipping inside, her brow furrowing immediately as she realizes nothing has changed since the night before, indicating Diantha hasn’t left her room. Further indication comes in their greeting from Marilyn, who screeches mewls at her indignantly, not used to having to wait for his supper.

Pam bends at the waist to scratch his ears, murmuring to him and asking for his patience. “I guess I should go check on Diantha,” she says softly as she stands upright once more, catching Eric’s eye before looking away again.

“Is she still sick?” Eric asks, in a tone that clearly implies he couldn’t care less, as he plops down on the couch, tossing the bag down beside him.

“How should I know?” Pam asks defensively, earning herself a strange look in response. “I’m not an expert in demons, after all,” she adds, more softly this time, before turning to head slowly up the stairs, calling over her shoulder as her hand grips the bannister for support, “I’ll be right back down.”

She hears Eric hum in response, her eyes catching sight of him from the landing as he turns to delve into the duffle bag she packed from them the night before. Her bare feet make no sound on the wood floor as she makes her way down the hall, pausing only for a moment before pushing the door open to the demon’s bedroom.

Only a small lump under the covers gives her any indication that the demon is even there, one quick look at the plate of food Pam brought her during the day before they left for the evening proving that the girl has only taken a few bites. In an uncharacteristic moment of uneasiness, Pam wrings her hands in the doorway, before slowly approaching the bed, biting her lip as she finally catches sight of the minute rise and fall of breathing below the mound of blankets.

“Diantha?” Pam whispers softly as she comes to stand at her bedside, “We’re back. Although…I’m wondering if you noticed we left.” She’s met with only silence, and she wets her lips, attempting to keep her voice light as she adds quietly, “We did. Leave, that is. Yesterday was Eric’s birthday, and I was worried I wouldn’t be able to pull it off without ordering you around to do things for me, but you know what? I think I did a better job without you. So, how about that. Go me, right?” She laughs hollowly, before creeping closer, concern just beginning to knit her brow a she reaches out, starting to tug down the covers. “Diantha?” she whispers, “You alive under there? Because, just FYI? You certainly don’t smell like it.”

[thedancingdemon-blog]

Vaguely, Diantha registers that a voice is calling to her; that someone is close by. But the voice seems to come to her as if beneath water. It wavers in and out, looping through her subconscious as her mind tries desperately to pull her back into the welcoming darkness. It’s her only escape from the torture her body seems intent to put her through. Her brain pounds against her skull. Her tongue lies dry in her mouth. Her eyes hurt even when she closes them. And hunger gnaws at her insides; a hunger that is not satisfied with the food it used to consume greedily.

She’s tried to keep count of the days since they arrived in France; but it’s becoming harder and harder to do. The curtains have not moved from the windows; and she has begun to hide from the sunlight as if she herself was a vampire. She’s not sure the last time she managed to drag herself to the bathroom, the last time that she bathed. It’s all one long night. With no sunrise in sight.

Diantha can still hear that same annoying voice, this time a bit more insistent as cooler air hits her skin. Her body has hurtled between freezing cold and blazing hot; and the rush of air chills her to her very bones. She whines incoherently, trying desperately to clutch at the blankets as they are yanked down her body. Somewhere, a light is flicked on, and Diantha covers her already closed eyes, trying to keep it at bay.

“You should probably eat more than a few bites,” that same voice continues, the tone and pitch wavering over an entire plane of sound. Too loud. Too soft. Too fast. Too slow. “Unless of course you’re trying to get my figure,” it trills, the laughter warping into a deep chuckle, “And let’s face it, honey; that’s impossible.”

Diantha’s brow furrows, no longer concentrating on the words but on the rest of her senses that are seemingly forced into overdrive. But most off all, on what she can smell. Blood. Vampire blood; among others. Dried, but it still makes her mouth water. The scent is almost familiar, though the others seem to cloud it; and she gives up trying to place it. She waits, able to sense the figure beside her. And when it makes the mistake of leaning over her, its cool fingers touching her fevered brow; she strikes.

Her body is hardly as strong as it used to be; but it is fueled by the desperation to taste blood. It craves it; the only thing that will make the pain recede. She struggles quietly, doing her best to fight back against her equally silent opponent; who only seems to try and pin her down. Diantha kicks, her sharp teeth gnashing together as she blindly fights for the upper hand. It’s only for a second that she feels the fingers around her wrist slacken, but it’s all she needs.

She lashes out, her nails making contact with cool skin. The scent of blood seems to erupt in the air around her; and the smell sharpens her senses to an almost painful awareness. She knows that blood. She’s had it on her. She’s wiped it away, did her best to keep it within its body; on more than one occasion. Her eyes are suddenly wrenched open, the pupils blown out until the green appears black. But she meets the equally wide blue eyes of her opponent, her pale face smudged with the dries blood Diantha smelled earlier. Her voice cracks when she finally speaks, her throat and lips unused to working. But when it finally passes her lips, it is only a whisper; a question and an apology all at once.

“Pam?”

[thedancingdemon-blog]

“Pathetic.” The word is all Diantha can hear; it is being screamed at her, whispered. Spoken from cracked lips that resemble her own; spoken from lips of people she’s never seen. “Pathetic.” There is no escaping it, it beats and echoes off of the very walls of her mind.

“Pathetic.” This time, she knows those lips. She knows that voice. And even though she cannot even find the strength to wrench her tired eyes open, she knows her father must stand before her. “Pathetic,” he purrs again, disgust tainting every syllable. His laughter fills Diantha’s skull as she tries to shake her head; tries to tell him that she’s not pathetic. Not her. Out of all his children, least of all her. “And you think you will sit on my throne,” he continues, his voice sickly sweet as he must lean closer and Diantha can feel his hands around her throat, “Your blood will paint it for longer than you’ll ever sit on it.”

“Don’t touch me!” The scream in wrenched from her parched throat, and she’s suddenly thrashing against the chains that hold her. But slowly, recognition begins to set in. The hands that she feels on her skin are cool, not burning hot. And the chains that she thought were pulling her down into Hell itself are no more than her bedsheets, wrapped around her trembling limbs.

“Bee in your bonnet?” she hears Pam say before Diantha can fully open her eyes, staring at the blonde vampire who stands at the edge of her bed.

“Pam,” Diantha whispers, her eyes still darting around the room, expecting him to appear at any moment, “I thought…I thought you were my dad.”

“Ew,” Pam murmurs, her nose wrinkling delicately in disgust.

“Yeah,” Diantha breathes, her eyes falling on the plate and glass bottle of water Pam no doubt placed on her nightstand. But the sight of food makes her stomach roll, and she knows that even the cool water will do nothing to quench the burning ache that is consuming her small body. “Pam,” she whispers, disgusted with herself but not enough to keep the words from coming, “Please.”

“What?” Pam asks distractedly, and for the first time Diantha notices the blood leaking from her nose; it must be past dawn.

“I just need a little,” Diantha whispers, unable to find it within herself to care as Pam’s fangs make an appearance and she snarls at her. “Please, Pam,” she continues, all but begging, “I’ll come back. One hour. I just need one hour and I’ll come back. He’ll never know. He won’t know anything. You just don’t have to say anything—“

Diantha is cut off by Pam’s palm against her cheek, jerking her head to the side before the vampire’s cool fingers are wrapped in her matted hair. “You listen to me you pathetic little girl,” Pam hisses, keeping her voice low though Diantha can guess that the only reason she’s here is because Eric is no doubt in his rest, “You leave here, and you don’t come back. If you leave, I will tell him everything; and he won’t let you come back…not alive at least. Look at yourself; he would win this fight with one hand. You wouldn’t know what hit you.”

Pam shoves Diantha away from her, leaving her on the bed as she stalks toward the door. “Then why don’t you just tell him?” Diantha hisses, past the point of caring; only wanting escape, one way or another, “Tell him right now, and end your lies if it’s so important to you.”

“Your lies,” Pam counters, reaching to close the door behind her, “You’re lying, too.”

Even as it slams closed, Diantha laughs; a hysterical sound that she barely recognizes as her own. “My lies,” she whispers, knowing full well that Pam can hear her perfectly, “Except, he’d expect that of me.”

:::Fade to black:::

[thedancingdemon-blog]

Water beats down on Diantha; and though the small bathroom is quickly filling with steam, she cannot stop shivering as the cold seems to sink into her very bones. She’s not sure how long she’s spent in the shower, her pounding head laying against the cool tiles, her skin desperately trying to retain heat; but she’s guessing that it must be close to dawn by now.

Her timing can’t be all that bad; and Diantha flinches when the shower curtain is wrenched back, revealing a scowling Pam on the other side. Despite the fact that she’s sure there are much more relevant topics to be discussing at present, Diantha peers up through the water, her lips trembling when she speaks. “Why are you all wet?”

“Eric pushed me in a fountain,” Pam says flippantly, though Diantha can see her fond smile, can hear the affection in her voice. And that tone changes completely as she looks back down at the demon, arching her brow as she asks, “Why are you all wet?”

Diantha’s brow furrows until she slowly looks down at herself. She’s curled at the bottom of the tub, water from the showerhead raining down on her fully clothed body. She shakes her head, unsure of when she became so desperate for warmth that she didn’t even both to undress for her second shower of the night. “I was…cold.”

Pam rolls her eyes, and Diantha fully expects that she will be left alone again. Instead, Pam’s strong grip hauls her from the shower, cutting off the water. Diantha continues to shiver as Pam roughly, yet efficiently, strips her down and wraps a towel around her. Surprisingly, Diantha feels the teeth of a comb being dragged against her scalp just before she’s guided back into her bedroom.

“Nightgown?” Pam asks, and Diantha manages to wrench her eyes open enough to see Pam rummaging through her one very small bag, “Pajamas?”

“Huh?” Diantha mumbles drowsily, flinching when Pam sighs and throws her hands up in exasperation.

The next thing Diantha is aware of is her pillow beneath her head, and the blankets drawn up around her body. She peers up through her locks of wet hair to see Pam eyeing her barely eaten dinner with a disgusted look on her face. “I slaved over a hot stove for you…and you couldn’t even eat more than five bites?” she mutters, shoving the plate further away.

“It was cold meat and cheese,” Diantha mumbles, smirking as this doesn’t seem to make a difference to the vampire.

“Pam.” Both women flinch at the whine that comes from down the hall; and it seems as though Eric tires of how long Pam has been out of his sight. And even though he sounds like the neediest man-child Diantha has ever heard, Pam’s smile brightens as if she could not have heard a more beautiful sound. It’s unsurprising to Diantha then, with her parting words, that she’s answered with only a slamming door.

“I can’t believe you haven’t told him.”

:::Fade to black:::

[thedancingdemon-blog]

glamfangs:

Pam smiles sweetly up at Eric, going to great lengths to wedge her arms beneath his so that she can wrap them around his waist, mirroring his position; the biggest difference being his lack of clothing, and her hands which take advantage of that, sliding below his waist to place each of her small hands on his very squeezable ass. “A bowl of milk?” she asks, arching a brow as he nods his head, his hand rising to trail through the hair that frames her face, “Do I want to drink something that squirted out of a cow’s tit? I think not.”

She screws up her face in disgust as she looks at him, clearly expecting him to do the same, but she only finds him peering down at her, the slightest glint of amusement in his blue eyes. “Pamela,” he says, in the steady tone that lets her know he thinks he’s about to make an excellent point, “I’ve seen you bite plentyof tits and absolutely feast.”

“That is entirely different,” she tells him, grinning as he rolls his eyes at her logic, and she pats him on the ridiculously chiseled muscles of his behind before slipping from his embrace, telling him as she takes a step away from him, “I’m drinking….not…there’s no squirting involved.”

Eric’s grin is wolfish as he watches her turn away, padding barefoot across the kitchen to the refrigerator, next to where Marilyn crunches happily at his kibble. “You know as well as I do, that all depends on where you bite,” he tells her, his eyes flashing dark when she glances at him over her shoulder, knowing that they both are thinking about the bloodbaths they’ve caused in their life together, especially back when she was still new and eager to spill blood just to see red and he was too far gone on her to say no. “And since when do you not like squirting of all kinds?” he says, his tone conversational as he watches her toss two bags of blood on the countertop, and she rolls her eyes again at his terrible innuendo. “Come here, Pamela,” she hears him purr behind her, the tone of his voice dropping to something so deeply sensual that she feels herself pause as she reaches into the refrigerator again, temporarily under his spell until he whispers, “Let me remind you how much you love—”

“Stop,” Pam says desperately, standing up from where her head was poked in the refrigerator, “Stop saying squirting, or I swear to god, neither of us will be squirting tonight.”

She has to laugh at Eric’s heartbroken expression, before his eyes fall, and hers follows his, both of them looking rather confused at the sight of the items in her hands. “What are you doing?” he asks her, stepping closer like a shadow as she begins to place the human food she retrieved on the counter top.

She ignores him for a moment, moving about the kitchen surprisingly easily, gathering a plate and a sharp knife that causes Eric to take a step back upon seeing her wielding. “I assume there isn’t a bag of demon food up there with the cat food?” she asks, gesturing towards the cabinet with the blade, before she turns back to the counter with a frown of concentration.

She carefully unwraps a wheel of cheese, local, according to the label, wrinkling her nose in disgust at the smell before she carefully cuts several slices, her precision cuts exact, as if this is something she does every day. She can feel Eric eyeing her curiously as she sets them on one side of the plate, before she cuts a few slices off a stick of some sort of dried meat. She adds them to the plate, before adding a small stack of sliced vegetables, and a piece of fruit she’s fairly sure didn’t exist when she was human, but decides that it smells quite sweet. She steps back to admire her handiwork, the plate arranged in an effortlessly artful way, as if she plans to get judged at any moment.

When Pam glances over her shoulder, she finds Eric looking at her as if he suspects that once again she has lost her mind. “What the fuck?” he says, his voice flat as his eyes slide to her plate of fresh, local foods, all of their fragrances mingling beautifully even to their sensitive noses. Pam arches a brow, clearly telling him he should expect nothing less from her, to which he replies simply, “Where is my dinner?”

“In that bag on the counter,” she tells him, flicking her finger in that direction, before gathering up the plate of food. She stops briefly, scooping a bottle of expensive looking water into the crook of her arm, before she starts to cross the room, reaching out to slap his bare bottom as she walks by him, still watching her almost as if in a daze, “Be a dear and make our dinner. I’m going to go feed the demon.”

Eric makes a disgruntled noise, but she ignores him, balancing the plate in her hand before she begins to ascend the stairs. She pauses briefly outside the door of the demon’s room, able to hear her heart beating steadily inside, but other than that fact, and that the demon needs a bath, she finds she doesn’t know what to expect.

She manages to open the door even with her hands full, pushing it open far enough to slip inside, before closing it behind her once more, keeping at least that barrier between Eric and the demon who craves their blood. She flicks on the light with her elbow, and frowns when the demon, whose back is turned to the door, doesn’t stir. Pam wrinkles her nose as she comes closer, smelling the demon’s sweat, seeing the way her hair is damp with it even though she remains nearly completely covered by the thick duvet on the bed.

She creeps closer, before turning to sit down gently at the foot of the bed, placing the plate of food and the glass bottle of water on the mattress beside her. “Diantha,” she says steadily, trying to keep her voice neutral of the bitterness Pam feels from simply being in the room with her, “Wake up. I brought you some food.” Diantha stirs, but doesn’t answer, and Pam can feel her sharp green eyes on her when they must finally open, although she pointedly doesn’t turn to face her. “Tonight, I was reminded that some things require sustenance to stay alive,” she sighs, as if this fact is of great inconvenience to her, before adding in a deceptively light tone as she cuts to the chase, “Unless you’ve decided to continue trying to live off the blood of my kind…to which I would say, maybe staying alive isn’t very high on your priority list anymore?”

Slowly, her small body seeming to protest every inch she dares to move it, Diantha finally manages to keep her eyes open long enough to sit up on the bed. She pushes away her red hair, matted as it is to her face as she struggles to focus through the obnoxiously bright light; Pam’s profile swimming into vision. “I want to stay alive,” she mumbles, her mouth feeling as if it’s full of cotton, and her voice rasps past her lips.

“Lovely,” Pam says as though Diantha’s statement in the furthest thing from that. Still not quite looking at her, she nudges the plate and bottle of water closer, pointing at it imperiously as she says simply, “Eat.”

Not having to be told twice, Diantha snatches the bottle of water off the bed. She’s barely uncorked it before she pours it down her parched throat, emptying it in seconds. She’s well aware that Pam watches her with an expression of disgust, but for the moment she is beyond caring. Setting it the glass bottle on the bedside table, she glances toward the food before she looks away again; the sight causing her empty stomach to roll.

“Thank you,” Diantha mumbles, darting a quick glance up at Pam, vaguely wondering how anyone could look as polished as she does, even though she’s sure she must have only just woken up. And it only makes her own stench, her own sweat soaked clothes all the more obvious.

“Don’t mention it,” Pam drawls, and from her tone alone Diantha knows she means it; both of them wishing to never speak of this again. There’s a beat of silence, during which Diantha plays with the fruit on her plate –unsure if she’s ever seen it before—before Pam speaks up again, her voice lowered to barely above a whisper, “Are you staying?”

This time when Diantha raises her gaze, she finds Pam looking directly at her. Diantha meets her stare, no matter that she has to blink several times, her eyes watering from the bright light and from her own misery. She knows the requirements that come with her staying; just as she knows Pam will not stray from them, no matter how far she has reached to help her. To become all but a prisoner as her body flushes away the remnants of the vampire blood she imbibed; a detox that barely seems to be in full swing judging from the way she’s spent her last two days. But the only alternative is a freedom she’s not sure she would survive. Either by blood or assassination, her own instincts dulled, she will die. Her only hope is to stay, and to pray that Pam doesn’t tell Eric. Because out of all of the other ways she might meet her end, one that is delivered by Eric scares her the most. And she knows this is something he will not ignore; not again.

“I’m staying,” she says shakily, swallowing thickly before she repeats herself though her voice never rises above a whisper, “I’m staying.”

Pam merely nods her head, rising from the bed. “Fine,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest as she begins to move away and jerks her head toward the bathroom attached to Diantha’s room, “Take a fucking shower, then.”

A ghost of a smile lifts Diantha’s lips as she watches Pam walk toward the door, opening it before she makes to close it behind her. “Pam,” Diantha speaks up, waiting until the vampire’s eyes land on her sitting up in the middle of the bed. “Thank you,” she whispers, knowing it may be days before she sees her again; though for her stomach’s wellbeing she hopes not, “I promise…I’ll make it up to you.”