⚜️ What Is Dead May Never Die(But Rises Harder…)II
1977, NORTHERN IRELAND
Nia fought for air as Justin latched into her shoulder. “Hungry.”
His primal growls set shockwaves. Her blood was sweetened liquor to his senses. She took the drinking well as a half-vampire can.
It amazed him. He’d tripped acid twice in a day and never seen colors as with Nia. His transcendental rock queen was worth all the Troubles. Her lips lured a hundred kisses. Bullets died down, all shouts faded.
“We can leave now. My band must be wonderin’ where I am,” Justin decided. Nia giggled softly. He cleaned her chivalrously, nuzzling along the way.
“Okay. Yeah, I think they’d understand. Let’s not wait around for the squad to come in.”
He packed up the car outside the abandoned apartment. Nia flurried downstairs with combat boots. Justin silently ushered her in the passenger side.
The battle ended with 10 undead on their side, and 20 Loyalists who couldn’t return. Justin knew them all. He drove moodily past the chaos with his lover. Some silence was too much to bear. And as Nia said sorry, her soft hands stroking his claws, the young vampire shed bitter tears.
They were so much better and younger than this. He returned before dawn to memorialize fallen soldiers of broken dreams. His hands hurt from makeshift trenches. “We weren’t so much different,” Justin whispered and dematerialized back to the garage.
Liam was there, crying. His guitar buzzed with anticipation but he couldn’t play. Niall frustratedly threw his sticks at the ground and pulled back his twisted hair. Justin looked sullenly at the band.
“Need to talk?” He summoned his strength to ask. Niall shook his dreads, a Black punk tired of it all. “I want to be like Pure Hell! Bad Brains and Stiff Little Fingers and Zeppelin! You get me? But...it’s hard.”
He bares fangs to prove a point. “And we have these so I’m not just punkin’ out. I’m scared, fellas.”
“Yeah, what if it costs us everything? I wanna show the world what the fuck Northern Ireland’s dealing with. Still,” the oldest member Liam’s voice completely cracked, and Justin held them tightly. Niall tossed him a rag.
Liam dabbed sad green eyes. They each came from tough circumstances, but this is a kicker. All were k**s at the Troubles’ beginning. They knew little else.
“Put it into the music, man.” They hug, for longer than necessary. It lessened the horror even undead feared.
1877, BESENYO-BRASOV, ROMANIA
When Bunicu called Caius back to the forest, Bunica smiled. “Have you found a girl?”
He’s too mortified to respond prior to fleeing in a hurry, which was response enough. She chuckled to herself. The blue-green trees blurred beside him as Caius deftly ran through the old forest to Bunicu’s cliffside campsite.
A rotisserie slab of venison turned by his weathered hand. “Grandson,” he bowed slightly in their custom. “Good evening.”
Olen and Inara squabbled by the ciorba. He got protective, but reined back.
“Hello, I see some of you are fighting over the best meat, am I right?”
Caius could not have known that Inara and Olen were at odds over him. But the women’s blushes and awkward collective coughs clued him into the double entendre.
“Oh...hardly,” Olen coldly reminded Caius. His dark brow furrowed. “Just priority.” He stalked off to a less populated log and eyed Inara, who eyed Caius curiously. Antonin gave Olen an earful in clipped Kazakh. He had grace to look shy.
“Come, boy,” Grandfather beckoned. He obeyed for politeness’s sake. The attention was not without discomfort. A dozen golden eyes locked onto him. Inara’s burned Caius.
“So you want to help,” Bunicu confirmed aloud, handing him a bloody venison cut. He wolfed it down and agreed wordlessly. They sighed in relief.
Caius swallowed the last piece, then proposed an idea. “Come to my village. They will fear you more if you lurk. They’ll trust you more if introduced. Inara and Bunicu, and your most trusted soldier.”
The rotisserie ceased to turn, and Bunicu shook his head fearfully. “Caius, no.”
“You are fighting with us, for us! I want to tell Grandmother you are alive. She would want to see you, Bunicu, Lycan or not.”
His patriarch’s hands trembled, and Caius took them comfortingly. “Dragostea cea veche ati sopteste la ureche. YOU said that, no? Be your old self then.”
Young Anica steadfastly twirled her sabre in true Cossack fashion. Thick red braids fluttered like ribbons over embroidered cobalt trenchcoat. “Caius is right. We need allies in mass, the villagepeople will attack otherwise. The forest not so big nowadays.”
Anica was their best. He could definitely see the Lycan winning any battle with skills like that. Caius threw a stick in her path, and she sliced it in paper-thin pieces. Impressive.
“What do you think, Inara, everyone? You’re part of this. You have input. This is also your home,” he suggested.
“Thank you,” Olen mentioned gruffly but gratefully.
“Anica has the most...experience,” Marija, the archer, shadily appraised her. “Let her go for us.”
Anica snorted and took the opportunity. “I will. Inara?”
The statuesque fighter glanced at all but Caius. Marija shifted hopefully in place.
“I...” Inara resolutely balled her fists and declared she’d go. “I’ll go as emissary too.”
Bunicu sat alone in heightened despair. Caius sighed guiltily. “I can’t force you-“
“You are stronger and wiser than a creature four times your age,” the elder Baluta lamented. “I could have come back. I know.”
“Then do it! Just face your fear, this one fear. Please,” Caius yelled. He could not take it. Olen dematerialized beside his grandfather.
“Take it from someone who regrets running from their past. You must try. We all must.”
Caius thanked him for convincing Bunicu as the fire fizzled hours later. His grandfather withdrew to see Bunica beforehand. The grizzly undead shrugged and dismissed it.
“You are good, so is he! Just stubborn. We need more of that sometimes.” He looked over Caius’ shoulder and left tensely. “Good night, Baluta.”
“Hello, Caius,” Inara said sleepily. “Are you leaving for the night?” Her pretty cheeks were rosy with cold.
She was more awake when he stretched his arms in fatigue. Chopping wood and disassembly took energy. Thankfully he had plenty.
“Yes. I’ve done my part for now.” Unspoken feelings traversed each others’ stare. What were they NOT saying?
“When will you come?”
“When should I come?” They inquired simultaneously. He laughed in tandem.
“Four days,” the vampire relayed surely.
“All right.” Inara fidgeted for some seconds until kissing his cheek. He turned and their lips mistakenly met. A spark ignited like wildfire. It left him quite boyish.
“Oh, I-hehe, ummm-“ Caius cupped her visage and kissed her forehead chastely.
“I liked it too. Good night, Inara. Soon.”
Every time, departure feels heavier.
Nia fought for air as Justin latched into her shoulder. “Hungry.”
His primal growls set shockwaves. Her blood was sweetened liquor to his senses. She took the drinking well as a half-vampire can.
It amazed him. He’d tripped acid twice in a day and never seen colors as with Nia. His transcendental rock queen was worth all the Troubles. Her lips lured a hundred kisses. Bullets died down, all shouts faded.
“We can leave now. My band must be wonderin’ where I am,” Justin decided. Nia giggled softly. He cleaned her chivalrously, nuzzling along the way.
“Okay. Yeah, I think they’d understand. Let’s not wait around for the squad to come in.”
He packed up the car outside the abandoned apartment. Nia flurried downstairs with combat boots. Justin silently ushered her in the passenger side.
The battle ended with 10 undead on their side, and 20 Loyalists who couldn’t return. Justin knew them all. He drove moodily past the chaos with his lover. Some silence was too much to bear. And as Nia said sorry, her soft hands stroking his claws, the young vampire shed bitter tears.
They were so much better and younger than this. He returned before dawn to memorialize fallen soldiers of broken dreams. His hands hurt from makeshift trenches. “We weren’t so much different,” Justin whispered and dematerialized back to the garage.
Liam was there, crying. His guitar buzzed with anticipation but he couldn’t play. Niall frustratedly threw his sticks at the ground and pulled back his twisted hair. Justin looked sullenly at the band.
“Need to talk?” He summoned his strength to ask. Niall shook his dreads, a Black punk tired of it all. “I want to be like Pure Hell! Bad Brains and Stiff Little Fingers and Zeppelin! You get me? But...it’s hard.”
He bares fangs to prove a point. “And we have these so I’m not just punkin’ out. I’m scared, fellas.”
“Yeah, what if it costs us everything? I wanna show the world what the fuck Northern Ireland’s dealing with. Still,” the oldest member Liam’s voice completely cracked, and Justin held them tightly. Niall tossed him a rag.
Liam dabbed sad green eyes. They each came from tough circumstances, but this is a kicker. All were k**s at the Troubles’ beginning. They knew little else.
“Put it into the music, man.” They hug, for longer than necessary. It lessened the horror even undead feared.
1877, BESENYO-BRASOV, ROMANIA
When Bunicu called Caius back to the forest, Bunica smiled. “Have you found a girl?”
He’s too mortified to respond prior to fleeing in a hurry, which was response enough. She chuckled to herself. The blue-green trees blurred beside him as Caius deftly ran through the old forest to Bunicu’s cliffside campsite.
A rotisserie slab of venison turned by his weathered hand. “Grandson,” he bowed slightly in their custom. “Good evening.”
Olen and Inara squabbled by the ciorba. He got protective, but reined back.
“Hello, I see some of you are fighting over the best meat, am I right?”
Caius could not have known that Inara and Olen were at odds over him. But the women’s blushes and awkward collective coughs clued him into the double entendre.
“Oh...hardly,” Olen coldly reminded Caius. His dark brow furrowed. “Just priority.” He stalked off to a less populated log and eyed Inara, who eyed Caius curiously. Antonin gave Olen an earful in clipped Kazakh. He had grace to look shy.
“Come, boy,” Grandfather beckoned. He obeyed for politeness’s sake. The attention was not without discomfort. A dozen golden eyes locked onto him. Inara’s burned Caius.
“So you want to help,” Bunicu confirmed aloud, handing him a bloody venison cut. He wolfed it down and agreed wordlessly. They sighed in relief.
Caius swallowed the last piece, then proposed an idea. “Come to my village. They will fear you more if you lurk. They’ll trust you more if introduced. Inara and Bunicu, and your most trusted soldier.”
The rotisserie ceased to turn, and Bunicu shook his head fearfully. “Caius, no.”
“You are fighting with us, for us! I want to tell Grandmother you are alive. She would want to see you, Bunicu, Lycan or not.”
His patriarch’s hands trembled, and Caius took them comfortingly. “Dragostea cea veche ati sopteste la ureche. YOU said that, no? Be your old self then.”
Young Anica steadfastly twirled her sabre in true Cossack fashion. Thick red braids fluttered like ribbons over embroidered cobalt trenchcoat. “Caius is right. We need allies in mass, the villagepeople will attack otherwise. The forest not so big nowadays.”
Anica was their best. He could definitely see the Lycan winning any battle with skills like that. Caius threw a stick in her path, and she sliced it in paper-thin pieces. Impressive.
“What do you think, Inara, everyone? You’re part of this. You have input. This is also your home,” he suggested.
“Thank you,” Olen mentioned gruffly but gratefully.
“Anica has the most...experience,” Marija, the archer, shadily appraised her. “Let her go for us.”
Anica snorted and took the opportunity. “I will. Inara?”
The statuesque fighter glanced at all but Caius. Marija shifted hopefully in place.
“I...” Inara resolutely balled her fists and declared she’d go. “I’ll go as emissary too.”
Bunicu sat alone in heightened despair. Caius sighed guiltily. “I can’t force you-“
“You are stronger and wiser than a creature four times your age,” the elder Baluta lamented. “I could have come back. I know.”
“Then do it! Just face your fear, this one fear. Please,” Caius yelled. He could not take it. Olen dematerialized beside his grandfather.
“Take it from someone who regrets running from their past. You must try. We all must.”
Caius thanked him for convincing Bunicu as the fire fizzled hours later. His grandfather withdrew to see Bunica beforehand. The grizzly undead shrugged and dismissed it.
“You are good, so is he! Just stubborn. We need more of that sometimes.” He looked over Caius’ shoulder and left tensely. “Good night, Baluta.”
“Hello, Caius,” Inara said sleepily. “Are you leaving for the night?” Her pretty cheeks were rosy with cold.
She was more awake when he stretched his arms in fatigue. Chopping wood and disassembly took energy. Thankfully he had plenty.
“Yes. I’ve done my part for now.” Unspoken feelings traversed each others’ stare. What were they NOT saying?
“When will you come?”
“When should I come?” They inquired simultaneously. He laughed in tandem.
“Four days,” the vampire relayed surely.
“All right.” Inara fidgeted for some seconds until kissing his cheek. He turned and their lips mistakenly met. A spark ignited like wildfire. It left him quite boyish.
“Oh, I-hehe, ummm-“ Caius cupped her visage and kissed her forehead chastely.
“I liked it too. Good night, Inara. Soon.”
Every time, departure feels heavier.
1 年 前