ash

Jun holds the mug of steaming hot coffee so tightly with his left hand that his knuckles are white without him knowing it. The Kindred redhead, lying unconscious and limp on the couch, is still profusely bleeding black Kindred blood from ragged wounds all over his body that only another vampire could inflict.

Damien balances precariously on the edge of the upholstered armchair, his gaze never once leaving the single stalk of red rose sitting in the bottle of mineral water. His black turtleneck and khaki chinos are stained with Kindred blood; he was the one who'd brought the Kindred to Jun.

Jun's living room reeks of not the coppery, metallic smell of human blood, but of Kindred blood, human blood in a Kindred's bloodstream, smelling like ash and some bitter rotting animal that crawled into a leaf-litter before it died.

"I've administered some drugs, but the regeneration is still too slow for comfort." Jun cannot hide the worry in his voice.

"He won't die, will he?" Damien asks. "He can't die- he's Kindred." He reaches out to the rose, hesitantly, but then draws his hand back.

Jun shrugs. "There are two ways a Kindred can die. The first is a stake through its heart- but it's against Kindred laws for one Kindred to do that to another. The other way is to bleed a Kindred so profusely that it goes mad with hunger." He takes a sip of his coffee.

Damien removes the glove from his right hand. "Life is but a walking shadow,
a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard of no more.
It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing."

Jun takes a gulp of his coffee and holds it in his mouth for a moment before swallowing. "William Shakespeare."

Damien's smile is odd as he reaches out and touches the rose, the tip of his finger barely in contact with the smooth petal.

The black begins to eat away at the red, consuming the warm colour with morbid quickness.

Damien tries to pick up the rose and all he gets is a handful of crumbling ash.

…

Dominic doesn't look at Pabla. Dominic doesn't want to look at Pabla.

"Dom-" Pabla begins, but Dominic raises his hand in a jerky, angry movement, and she falls silent.

"Why did you do it?" Dominic's voice is a wolf's growl.

Pabla's wings are quivering. "Do what?"

Dominic runs bitten fingers through red-gold hair. "You sold information to people from aboveground."

"He was Kindred," Pabla says defensively.

"He wasn't Hypogeum Kindred," Dominic says hotly. "No, you knew he was from aboveground; I'm sure you did. You knew he had money and you let him buy information off you for it." There is disgust in Dominic's voice.

At that, Pabla hurls across the room with the lightning speed of a flight, and seizes Dominic by the shoulders, spinning him around to face her and pinning him to a wall.

"You know why I wanted that money?" Pabla's wings have unfurled completely and beat angrily on her back, blood red and mottled black blur of plumage. "You know why I do all this shit to get money? You know why, Dommeh?"

Dominic knows why. He's always known.

Pabla smiles, but it's not a slight-crinkling-around-the-eyes and mild-upturning-of-corners-of-lips Pabla-smile. It is a strange smile, one that looks like a grimace and a frown, and it looks like the kind of face one makes when one is going to cry. It is a smile full of everything but mirth.

Slowly, she says the one dreaded word that Dominic has been running from all his life. "Lycanthropy," she breathes, still smiling.

Dominic stands there, even though Pabla has released her vice-like grip on his shoulders. Slowly, Pabla backs away, still smiling.

"Come on, Dommeh. Hit me. Shout at me. Threaten me. I am despicable for selling that information. Spit on me." Pabla taunts mercilessly.

Dominic swallows painfully. Takes slow steps forward until he is face-to-face with Pabla. Opens hismouth to say something, but no words come out.

 

Pabla doesn't try to hold back her tears as she hears Dominic tripping down the staircase and out of the house.