Thomas Raith (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
emptynight) wrote2009-03-26 04:13 pm
emptynight) wrote2009-03-26 04:13 pm
Lost Time: Three Days Grace
It took most of the night to drive to the coordinates specified in the note, and Thomas spent the entire time cursing. Lara, the Venators, his own overdeveloped sense of responsibility. He even gave Harry a good mental tongue lashing at one point; life had been so much simpler before he started looking out for idiotic wizarding little brothers with bad fashion sense and a knack for trouble.
The coordinates brought Thomas to a flooded quarry in the middle of nowhere, and the hair on the back of his neck prickled as he slowed the car, turning down a gravel path that disappeared into dense woods. ‘This had been a massively stupid idea,’ Thomas thought to himself. His foes had taken advantage of his knee-jerk reaction to the Oblivion War to lure him to a deserted location, where they could see him coming for miles. He turned the headlights off and peered into the woods, but, even with supernatural senses and the fading night, he couldn’t make out much beyond the tree line. The only thing that told him there was anyone around was a faint sense of detached purpose. That alone worried Thomas more than anything; he wasn’t dealing with amateurs or vigilantes but with an unknown number of professionals.
He stopped the car and grabbed his bag, ducking below the windows of the woefully undersized car as he did so. The kukri went into his waistband, the long dagger into a converted little shoulder rig, and Dru’s wicked knife in hand. Thomas had a sneaking suspicion that, whoever these people were, they weren’t interested in putting a bullet through his head; they were more likely to be interested in figuring out who the other Venators were.
Thomas shook his head and opened the door of the car just wide enough to slide out, using his speed to make it to the treelike before the door slammed shut. The echo of the door sparked a faint sense of surprise from somewhere to his right and Thomas smiled grimly. At least two then. For the first time, he wished he’d brought some backup. He couldn’t have told Lara— that would have been giving away the rest of his cell— or Harry—that would have just led to Really Uncomfortable Questions—, but he had a feeling Edward, or maybe even Lacrimosa, would have come if he’d asked. Right now, alone in the woods with an indeterminate number of armed foes, he would give his right eye for a super fast, nigh indestructible vampire at his back. Even if said vampire were an idiotic prat with disco ball pelt.
Careful to stay upwind of the general vicinity from which he’d sensed the jump of surprise, Thomas slid from tree to tree, trying to catch a glimpse of something besides trees and underbrush. He closed his eyes and focused, trying to hear more than just the whisper of tree branches, and eventually caught the sound of a cough, hurriedly stifled. Thomas grinned and reached down into the brush, feeling around the growth until he found a sizeable chunk of fallen wood. Keeping his eyes in the general direction of the cough, he lobbed the wood. Now that he was watching for it, Thomas saw the faint twitch of motion as well as felt the nervous jump, still to his right, at about 10 o’clock and 100 feet away. He let the sound fade and the man calm before he sprung, covering the distance like a silent shadow.
To his credit, the man in question didn’t shout or try to struggle as Thomas clamped a hand over his mouth and pinned his arms to his side with an iron grip. “I think you were waiting for me,” Thomas all but purred into the man’s ear. Surprise gave way to fear as the man felt the promise of steel against his side, and Thomas smiled. “Good choice, now put that gun down quietly. And the one strapped to your ankle.” He could feel the beginnings of lust stir in his captive’s mind as he spoke, and Thomas rolled his eyes. Leave it to the White Court to be able to inspire desire during what was soon to be a hostage situation.
Still, whatever worked. Thomas let his inner demon touch the other man’s mind, twisting his emotions. It wasn’t much, but the beginnings of desire stirred more, and Thomas could feel some of the tension drain from his captive’s muscles. “Now let’s talk,” he continued, the Hunger making his voice richer, silky and laden with promise. “Why don’t you tell me how many of you are here and exactly what you’re trying to do.”
Beneath his palm, Thomas could feel the nameless man bite his lip, chewing on indecision. The man was yielding, ever so slightly, and it was enough for Thomas’ demon to get a better grip on his mind, soothing the caution and easing the worry while inflaming rising passions. Thomas eased his hand away from the man’s mouth with a lingering caress, and the man nearly swooned at the touch. “There’s three of us,” he whimpered. “Me, Aaron, and Vasiliy. I’m Kyle.” He paused, frustrated as his own betrayal, and the demon twisted his mind. Kyle let out a low, needy moan and pressed himself back against Thomas, who remained unmoved and simply dug his knife into the other man’s arm as prodding. “We came for you,” Kyle continued, breathless. “The Sisterhood demanded it.”
Mention of the Stygian Sisterhood was enough to make Thomas’ blood run cold. “The Sisterhood will have to do better than two-bit thugs,” he growled, twirling Kyle around to face him. Thomas’ eyes shone silver in the fading moonlight and he broke the other man’s neck with a snap, dropping him to the ground like so much discarded trash. He fully intended the other two, Aaron and Vasiliy, to hear the noise and come investigate. With fluid grace, Thomas scooped up the guns, a semi-automatic rifle and a pistol, and melted into the underbrush, waiting.
*****
He didn’t have long to wait. The sun was just starting to break over the horizon when Thomas heard the sound of footsteps approach. “Will you keep it down, Vasiliy?” a voice hissed. “The vampire will hear you. He’s here somewhere.”
“Idiot, of course he’s here. I can smell him from here. Vampire stink and blood.” The words were accompanied by loud sniffing and Thomas stiffened, hoping either the wind would change or the speaker would move into sight. “Fresh blood. He’s gotten Kyle.”
Thomas’ grip tightened on the pistol and he sighted, hoping to get some spot of luck on this idiotic trip. A thickset form, backlit against the rising sun, edged closer to his hiding spot in the shadow of a denser copse of trees and bramble and Thomas sighted along the gun, knowing he’d get only one chance to disable another of the men. He aimed at the head, but there wasn’t a clear enough shot, and shifted his sight down to center of mass. Breathing a prayer out to whatever nebulous forces happened to be watching, he pulled the trigger, scrambling out of the brush as he did so.
A flash, the acrid scent of gunpowder, and a scream. “He’s in the bushes! Shoot!” the same growling voice that had identified the scent of blood commanded. Shots buzzed by him, their bee-like hum way too close for comfort, and Thomas ran, counting as he did and hoping he’d evade the rest of the clip. Amid the shots, he could hear the sound of something heavy hitting the ground, then a low animalistic snarl.
The thought ‘Empty night, they’ve got a werewolf,’ crossed Thomas’ mind about a second before pain blossomed in his leg. He stumbled but managed to turn before he landed, giving himself a full view of the werewolf, whom he suspected was the growling Vasiliy. The shaggy wolf bore down on him, jaws wide and teeth glinting yellow in the morning sun. Instinctively, Thomas raised the gun and squeezed off rounds, trusting in practice and supernatural skills to guide the bullets home. There were more shots than he had bullets and Thomas felt fire in his shoulder as the gun fell uselessly from his hands.
For a moment he thought the pain had been caused by the werewolf catching him in its jaws, but after a few more pain laden moments, Thomas realized that the werewolf lay several feet away from him, blood pouring from wounds in its head and chest. There was a scream of fear and rage, another lance of fire through his side, and the whole world went black.
*****
Pain lay like a stifling blanket over Thomas’ entire body and consciousness came back slowly. It was bright out, whether still daylight or daylight again, he couldn’t be sure. All Thomas knew was that his wrists were bound, and he was being thrown unceremoniously into the back of a van. He landed on his shoulder with a grunt of pain and the last of his attackers turned back, eyes wild.
“Don’t you dare move!” Aaron jabbered, pulling a pistol on him. “I saw you kill Vasiliy and Kyle, but I put bullets in you, I can do it again.” Thomas eyed the gun warily; it was obvious that the werewolf Vasiliy had been the one behind the entire operation and, now that he was gone, it was falling apart. On one hand, it should make his odds of escape higher. On the other, it was also increasing his chances of being shot again by a nervous triggerman.
Thomas said nothing, using the time to take stock of his surroundings and trying to ignore the fact that the man’s hand was shaking. His shirt was gone, and his jeans had been cut away at the thigh; judging by the colour of the strips of cloth binding his leg, his shirt had been turned into impromptu bandages. At least Aaron had the common courtesy of binding his wounds after shooting. He’s stopped bleeding a while ago, if the less than fresh stains on the bandages were any indication, but every time Thomas moved needles of pain still shot through his body. Great, bandaged but bullets still imbedded in flesh, and the bandages were too tight for his natural healing to force the bullets out. At least the bullet in his side seemed to have gone clean through and the wound healed on its own.
His silence seemed to only further confuse his captor, who began rambling, “You’re not going to get me the same way you got Kyle and Vasiliy. I swear I’ll put another bullet in your side! All I have to do is keep you tied up until I get to the drop off and then, then—” Aaron laughed and slammed the door, shutting Thomas in the van. “Then the Sisterhood can have you, f-f-filthy vampire scum.” Fear and confusion rolled off the man and Thomas sat waiting as Aaron opened the van’s driver side door and climbed in, starting the engine.
His reserves weren’t low but nowhere near enough to overcome his bonds, overpower his foe, and heal the bullet wounds the rest of the way. And if he didn’t accomplish all three, well Thomas wasn’t going to get far. He didn’t know how long he had, how far away the agreed upon exchange was to take place… He was flying blind and it was hard not to let blind panic take over. Thomas closed his eyes and took a deep breath, forcing his own rising terror away as the beginnings of a plan percolated through the pain and the fuzz.
The van began to bounce as Aaron guided it back down the gravel path and Thomas narrowed his focus, shifting his attention completely within himself. It was hard to consciously direct his body how to heal itself; the demon within him did it instinctively, but this was one time when he didn’t want it to heal right. He just wanted to not be bleeding. He swore he could feel the flesh and skin knit around the bullets still in his shoulder and leg, and the metal rubbing up against flesh hurt. The process drained him, but that was fine, just part of his plan, his risky stupid plan that hinged completely on his demonic Hunger.
With a deep breath, Thomas slid open the mental gates holding the demon in his head at bay, feeling the overwhelming darkness, the urge to devour sweep through his mind. He held on to names, to images, to a tiny little bubble of sanctuary in the flood, a mantra against the rising tide. Mom. Harry. Justine. MomHarryJustineMomHarryJustine… His grip on consciousness and control was tenuous, but it was there.
With limbs that were both his and not his own, Thomas snapped the ropes that bound his wrists, uncaring of the way it tore the skin to ribbons. The bundle of fear and anxiety in the driver’s seat was nothing but food, and Thomas called to it like some sensuous angel of death. His voice was deep and husky, all warm honey and silk over steel, tinged with the irresistible siren song of death on its wing. “Why don’t you stop the car, Aaron?”
*****
Thomas had always believed that as a member of the White Court, sexuality and emotional manipulation were his bread and butter, that he knew how best to manipulate his prey. His demon proved him wrong. Watching from within his own mind, Thomas saw his own abilities magnified tenfold as his Hunger drove the man to pleading, abject need with barely a touch, as a simple kiss brought his victim just a hairsbreadth shy of release. Thomas could feel himself strengthening as he watched his demon-controlled body ravage the other man, drawing the very life from his limbs as he begged for more. It was a display that would haunt Thomas’ dreams, to know that there existed a part of himself capable of twisting pleasure to bring death, to be not just the dark angel but the siren. It chilled him to the core to realize that this, this taking, that this toying, this bringing of his prey to the edge of release and never yielding, was how Justine would have died had he not been lucky enough to pull away.
That single crystalline thought brought Thomas back full control as his body shuddered in release. The man beneath his hands, skin slicked with sweat and blood, tensed and gave a weak, soul-deep moan of pleasure before going still. Slamming the now glutted demonic presence back into its mental cage, Thomas stood and didn’t bother to check the man’s pulse. He knew what he would find.
Ignoring every single uncomfortable thought trying to flit its way through his mind, Thomas scoured the van, finding his weapons and any bit of identifying information he could. There was little; hit men hired by the supernatural community tended not to have much in terms of a paper trail. Night was falling and Thomas dug around until he found a camping kit in what little supplies the men had brought with them. With his knife, he punctured the gas tank of the van, letting gasoline spill and soak the area around the van. Careful to stay out of the spreading puddle, Thomas lit a match and dropped it into the pool, backing away to watch as the flames lapped up the gasoline then began to consume the van. There’d be little enough left for anyone to find.
Hunger glutted but mind and body exhausted and in pain, Thomas stumbled back to his own car, nearly asleep before he even hit the back seat. He would drive back in the morning, but tonight he would sleep out in the middle of nowhere, where the only ones who would hear him screaming from his nightmares were the dead.
The coordinates brought Thomas to a flooded quarry in the middle of nowhere, and the hair on the back of his neck prickled as he slowed the car, turning down a gravel path that disappeared into dense woods. ‘This had been a massively stupid idea,’ Thomas thought to himself. His foes had taken advantage of his knee-jerk reaction to the Oblivion War to lure him to a deserted location, where they could see him coming for miles. He turned the headlights off and peered into the woods, but, even with supernatural senses and the fading night, he couldn’t make out much beyond the tree line. The only thing that told him there was anyone around was a faint sense of detached purpose. That alone worried Thomas more than anything; he wasn’t dealing with amateurs or vigilantes but with an unknown number of professionals.
He stopped the car and grabbed his bag, ducking below the windows of the woefully undersized car as he did so. The kukri went into his waistband, the long dagger into a converted little shoulder rig, and Dru’s wicked knife in hand. Thomas had a sneaking suspicion that, whoever these people were, they weren’t interested in putting a bullet through his head; they were more likely to be interested in figuring out who the other Venators were.
Thomas shook his head and opened the door of the car just wide enough to slide out, using his speed to make it to the treelike before the door slammed shut. The echo of the door sparked a faint sense of surprise from somewhere to his right and Thomas smiled grimly. At least two then. For the first time, he wished he’d brought some backup. He couldn’t have told Lara— that would have been giving away the rest of his cell— or Harry—that would have just led to Really Uncomfortable Questions—, but he had a feeling Edward, or maybe even Lacrimosa, would have come if he’d asked. Right now, alone in the woods with an indeterminate number of armed foes, he would give his right eye for a super fast, nigh indestructible vampire at his back. Even if said vampire were an idiotic prat with disco ball pelt.
Careful to stay upwind of the general vicinity from which he’d sensed the jump of surprise, Thomas slid from tree to tree, trying to catch a glimpse of something besides trees and underbrush. He closed his eyes and focused, trying to hear more than just the whisper of tree branches, and eventually caught the sound of a cough, hurriedly stifled. Thomas grinned and reached down into the brush, feeling around the growth until he found a sizeable chunk of fallen wood. Keeping his eyes in the general direction of the cough, he lobbed the wood. Now that he was watching for it, Thomas saw the faint twitch of motion as well as felt the nervous jump, still to his right, at about 10 o’clock and 100 feet away. He let the sound fade and the man calm before he sprung, covering the distance like a silent shadow.
To his credit, the man in question didn’t shout or try to struggle as Thomas clamped a hand over his mouth and pinned his arms to his side with an iron grip. “I think you were waiting for me,” Thomas all but purred into the man’s ear. Surprise gave way to fear as the man felt the promise of steel against his side, and Thomas smiled. “Good choice, now put that gun down quietly. And the one strapped to your ankle.” He could feel the beginnings of lust stir in his captive’s mind as he spoke, and Thomas rolled his eyes. Leave it to the White Court to be able to inspire desire during what was soon to be a hostage situation.
Still, whatever worked. Thomas let his inner demon touch the other man’s mind, twisting his emotions. It wasn’t much, but the beginnings of desire stirred more, and Thomas could feel some of the tension drain from his captive’s muscles. “Now let’s talk,” he continued, the Hunger making his voice richer, silky and laden with promise. “Why don’t you tell me how many of you are here and exactly what you’re trying to do.”
Beneath his palm, Thomas could feel the nameless man bite his lip, chewing on indecision. The man was yielding, ever so slightly, and it was enough for Thomas’ demon to get a better grip on his mind, soothing the caution and easing the worry while inflaming rising passions. Thomas eased his hand away from the man’s mouth with a lingering caress, and the man nearly swooned at the touch. “There’s three of us,” he whimpered. “Me, Aaron, and Vasiliy. I’m Kyle.” He paused, frustrated as his own betrayal, and the demon twisted his mind. Kyle let out a low, needy moan and pressed himself back against Thomas, who remained unmoved and simply dug his knife into the other man’s arm as prodding. “We came for you,” Kyle continued, breathless. “The Sisterhood demanded it.”
Mention of the Stygian Sisterhood was enough to make Thomas’ blood run cold. “The Sisterhood will have to do better than two-bit thugs,” he growled, twirling Kyle around to face him. Thomas’ eyes shone silver in the fading moonlight and he broke the other man’s neck with a snap, dropping him to the ground like so much discarded trash. He fully intended the other two, Aaron and Vasiliy, to hear the noise and come investigate. With fluid grace, Thomas scooped up the guns, a semi-automatic rifle and a pistol, and melted into the underbrush, waiting.
*****
He didn’t have long to wait. The sun was just starting to break over the horizon when Thomas heard the sound of footsteps approach. “Will you keep it down, Vasiliy?” a voice hissed. “The vampire will hear you. He’s here somewhere.”
“Idiot, of course he’s here. I can smell him from here. Vampire stink and blood.” The words were accompanied by loud sniffing and Thomas stiffened, hoping either the wind would change or the speaker would move into sight. “Fresh blood. He’s gotten Kyle.”
Thomas’ grip tightened on the pistol and he sighted, hoping to get some spot of luck on this idiotic trip. A thickset form, backlit against the rising sun, edged closer to his hiding spot in the shadow of a denser copse of trees and bramble and Thomas sighted along the gun, knowing he’d get only one chance to disable another of the men. He aimed at the head, but there wasn’t a clear enough shot, and shifted his sight down to center of mass. Breathing a prayer out to whatever nebulous forces happened to be watching, he pulled the trigger, scrambling out of the brush as he did so.
A flash, the acrid scent of gunpowder, and a scream. “He’s in the bushes! Shoot!” the same growling voice that had identified the scent of blood commanded. Shots buzzed by him, their bee-like hum way too close for comfort, and Thomas ran, counting as he did and hoping he’d evade the rest of the clip. Amid the shots, he could hear the sound of something heavy hitting the ground, then a low animalistic snarl.
The thought ‘Empty night, they’ve got a werewolf,’ crossed Thomas’ mind about a second before pain blossomed in his leg. He stumbled but managed to turn before he landed, giving himself a full view of the werewolf, whom he suspected was the growling Vasiliy. The shaggy wolf bore down on him, jaws wide and teeth glinting yellow in the morning sun. Instinctively, Thomas raised the gun and squeezed off rounds, trusting in practice and supernatural skills to guide the bullets home. There were more shots than he had bullets and Thomas felt fire in his shoulder as the gun fell uselessly from his hands.
For a moment he thought the pain had been caused by the werewolf catching him in its jaws, but after a few more pain laden moments, Thomas realized that the werewolf lay several feet away from him, blood pouring from wounds in its head and chest. There was a scream of fear and rage, another lance of fire through his side, and the whole world went black.
*****
Pain lay like a stifling blanket over Thomas’ entire body and consciousness came back slowly. It was bright out, whether still daylight or daylight again, he couldn’t be sure. All Thomas knew was that his wrists were bound, and he was being thrown unceremoniously into the back of a van. He landed on his shoulder with a grunt of pain and the last of his attackers turned back, eyes wild.
“Don’t you dare move!” Aaron jabbered, pulling a pistol on him. “I saw you kill Vasiliy and Kyle, but I put bullets in you, I can do it again.” Thomas eyed the gun warily; it was obvious that the werewolf Vasiliy had been the one behind the entire operation and, now that he was gone, it was falling apart. On one hand, it should make his odds of escape higher. On the other, it was also increasing his chances of being shot again by a nervous triggerman.
Thomas said nothing, using the time to take stock of his surroundings and trying to ignore the fact that the man’s hand was shaking. His shirt was gone, and his jeans had been cut away at the thigh; judging by the colour of the strips of cloth binding his leg, his shirt had been turned into impromptu bandages. At least Aaron had the common courtesy of binding his wounds after shooting. He’s stopped bleeding a while ago, if the less than fresh stains on the bandages were any indication, but every time Thomas moved needles of pain still shot through his body. Great, bandaged but bullets still imbedded in flesh, and the bandages were too tight for his natural healing to force the bullets out. At least the bullet in his side seemed to have gone clean through and the wound healed on its own.
His silence seemed to only further confuse his captor, who began rambling, “You’re not going to get me the same way you got Kyle and Vasiliy. I swear I’ll put another bullet in your side! All I have to do is keep you tied up until I get to the drop off and then, then—” Aaron laughed and slammed the door, shutting Thomas in the van. “Then the Sisterhood can have you, f-f-filthy vampire scum.” Fear and confusion rolled off the man and Thomas sat waiting as Aaron opened the van’s driver side door and climbed in, starting the engine.
His reserves weren’t low but nowhere near enough to overcome his bonds, overpower his foe, and heal the bullet wounds the rest of the way. And if he didn’t accomplish all three, well Thomas wasn’t going to get far. He didn’t know how long he had, how far away the agreed upon exchange was to take place… He was flying blind and it was hard not to let blind panic take over. Thomas closed his eyes and took a deep breath, forcing his own rising terror away as the beginnings of a plan percolated through the pain and the fuzz.
The van began to bounce as Aaron guided it back down the gravel path and Thomas narrowed his focus, shifting his attention completely within himself. It was hard to consciously direct his body how to heal itself; the demon within him did it instinctively, but this was one time when he didn’t want it to heal right. He just wanted to not be bleeding. He swore he could feel the flesh and skin knit around the bullets still in his shoulder and leg, and the metal rubbing up against flesh hurt. The process drained him, but that was fine, just part of his plan, his risky stupid plan that hinged completely on his demonic Hunger.
With a deep breath, Thomas slid open the mental gates holding the demon in his head at bay, feeling the overwhelming darkness, the urge to devour sweep through his mind. He held on to names, to images, to a tiny little bubble of sanctuary in the flood, a mantra against the rising tide. Mom. Harry. Justine. MomHarryJustineMomHarryJustine… His grip on consciousness and control was tenuous, but it was there.
With limbs that were both his and not his own, Thomas snapped the ropes that bound his wrists, uncaring of the way it tore the skin to ribbons. The bundle of fear and anxiety in the driver’s seat was nothing but food, and Thomas called to it like some sensuous angel of death. His voice was deep and husky, all warm honey and silk over steel, tinged with the irresistible siren song of death on its wing. “Why don’t you stop the car, Aaron?”
*****
Thomas had always believed that as a member of the White Court, sexuality and emotional manipulation were his bread and butter, that he knew how best to manipulate his prey. His demon proved him wrong. Watching from within his own mind, Thomas saw his own abilities magnified tenfold as his Hunger drove the man to pleading, abject need with barely a touch, as a simple kiss brought his victim just a hairsbreadth shy of release. Thomas could feel himself strengthening as he watched his demon-controlled body ravage the other man, drawing the very life from his limbs as he begged for more. It was a display that would haunt Thomas’ dreams, to know that there existed a part of himself capable of twisting pleasure to bring death, to be not just the dark angel but the siren. It chilled him to the core to realize that this, this taking, that this toying, this bringing of his prey to the edge of release and never yielding, was how Justine would have died had he not been lucky enough to pull away.
That single crystalline thought brought Thomas back full control as his body shuddered in release. The man beneath his hands, skin slicked with sweat and blood, tensed and gave a weak, soul-deep moan of pleasure before going still. Slamming the now glutted demonic presence back into its mental cage, Thomas stood and didn’t bother to check the man’s pulse. He knew what he would find.
Ignoring every single uncomfortable thought trying to flit its way through his mind, Thomas scoured the van, finding his weapons and any bit of identifying information he could. There was little; hit men hired by the supernatural community tended not to have much in terms of a paper trail. Night was falling and Thomas dug around until he found a camping kit in what little supplies the men had brought with them. With his knife, he punctured the gas tank of the van, letting gasoline spill and soak the area around the van. Careful to stay out of the spreading puddle, Thomas lit a match and dropped it into the pool, backing away to watch as the flames lapped up the gasoline then began to consume the van. There’d be little enough left for anyone to find.
Hunger glutted but mind and body exhausted and in pain, Thomas stumbled back to his own car, nearly asleep before he even hit the back seat. He would drive back in the morning, but tonight he would sleep out in the middle of nowhere, where the only ones who would hear him screaming from his nightmares were the dead.