MISHA WALKS INTO THE ROOM LIKE THE FLOOR WILL GIVE OUT UNDER HER TINY BODY MASS. Every step is so light, no sound was made by her each steps, quiet and stealthy. Fear ransacked her ever cell, it was too consuming it overpowered her ability to think straight and remain calm although her attempts to try and mask that consuming fear within her, it was far too hard to suppress it within her. It ate at her ability to remove that fog that seemed to clog her mind and to order her body to fall in line. Retreat would be a disaster, a show of weakness as inlet for the enemy to surge through. Nothing in her face betrayed her, it was a mask of defiance and surety, that's why she was Marcel's right hand, second in command. The fear would need an out of course, she wasn't going the way of the others gibbering in their hammocks, but there was a time and a place and this sure as hell wasn't it.
But that fear she masked it always came surging through her in the presence of her Master Marcel. Marcel's presence brought a chill that ran up and down her spine, he simply frightened her, just like he always frightened everyone in his coven. Like a horror movie it played again in her mind as if somehow her brain was unwilling to let the images go and in its attempt to analyse them it made her see it all over again. It never stopped, she had witness Marcel brutal side, she was highly aware of who he was, what he was. He is temperamental and cold, the feeling of dread never wavered. It never left , only it lingered, churning within. Why was she the one to bare the bad news, she didn't want to be the bearer of bad news, she'd learned that when she came empty handed after her last encounter with Grayson. That idiot! It was his fault for everything, even for her punishment, nothing good came when he was involved.
Those memories of that fateful night never left it just kept flooding her mind like water rushing into a sinking ship. Dark and vile. A ghost of his hands tightening around her throat still remain there every given second that pasted. She was losing her sanity, it wasn't the first time it had happened she had experienced much worse than that side of him, but the sound of her begging, crying out for him to stop never left her mind. The back of his hand across her face. It wasn't hard to recall. After all, this was her life; if she ran, he would find her, hunt her down like some animal. He would get his revenge, everything would repeat, like it always did.
She knew there was no way out for her, everything felt like a dark dream, a dream she couldn't escape, trapped in her own prison. No matter what she did, there was no escape. Everything felt closed and iced, the feeling of feeling safe had fled a long time ago and even if she tried to breakout of this cage, a cage that she couldn't find a way out, although even if she found a way out where would she go? She had nothing, no one. Where would she run to but in the arms of her prisoner.
She approached closer and closer to her capture. He sat there slumped in his chair, bored. It was such a shame for a man who as far too handsome to be such a monster, his tousled dark brown hair, which was thick and lustrous. His eyes were a mesmerising deep green, flecks of silvery light performed ballets throughout. His face was strong and denied, his features moulded from granite. He had dark eye brows, which sloped downwards in a serious expression. Although Misha never saw Marcel ever smile she knew he would have a gorgeous one, the man was sculpted to perfection. His lips perfect and ripe for kissing not that she ever would dare come close to ever thinking such a thing. No matter how good looking he was, it never matched his personality, that remained ugly and cold. He will always be the devil in disguise.
The hate she felt within her was hard to explain, it had grown over the years. When he first turned her, he had told her that if or when she ever were to become afraid that would be her last moment spent on this earth. That constant thought of never being allowed to be afraid, always yelling and screaming within her mind. Always so suppressed and caged within her own tenseness that seemed to grow within her mind and her heart. She was a "warrior" and "Protector," that meant she had to remain strong, never weak. Just simply cold, like the creature she was. Weakness was something that always brought you down, failed you and to simply never survive. Here in this coven, weakness wasn't permitted, whatever that was felt it never mattered here. To anyone, especially Marcel.
"They have him." Misha ushered faintly too quietly, more quiet than she intended, to say she wasn't intimated by Marcel would be an understatement, it would be a lie. She feared him greatly. He wasn't a gentle leader who would cared about anyone but himself, even she wasn't quite sure why she still remained by his side a puzzling thought really. Always coming to a conclusion that it was simply out of fear. Maybe it was or maybe it wasn't? She didn't know anymore, she had lost sight of what was right and what was wrong a long time ago, right now she felt so overhead and her grip on holding onto reality was slipping slowly, loosening.
"Gabriel has him surrounded, how do you want us to proceed." She continued, trying her hardest to remain on point, confident and unbothered by his presence but inside she felt sick, too sick to even put it into words. They had Grayson, that stupid idiot, how stupid could he really be? He never really care about anybody else but himself and yet she cared about him, she wanted him safe. Thoughts of theories ran through her mind, trying to find a solution- this was what Grayson must feel, she thought. Maybe keeping him in the dark about everything was a mistake, but what choice did she have, Marcel would have her head if she opened her big mouth. Although having King Gabriel involve and rubbing his nose was defiantly something to worry about, if he figured out what Marcel had hide from him all these years he truly would loose his bloody mind. Gabriel defiantly was strong and powerful, he didn't obtain his position by just sitting around.
"It's very simple my dear, go fucking get him." The Vampire felt bored with everything that was happening, he looked it from the way he sat in his chair, leaning against his hand on his cheek. His mind still ached, body was still healing. Grayson had grown stronger, stronger than he remember him to be. Guess it was true what they say, out of troubles and pain, will emerge the strongest souls; the most massive characters will be seared with scars. The pain he felt seemed to have sparked his strength and that was good enough for Marcel. Even if he was the cause of that pain.
"B-ut Marcel they have him surrounded." She couldn't help herself stuttering, but he just sat there as if his chair had once belonged to a King, and he was the new commander, which in fact he was. He had defeated one of his common enemies territory, King Richard. King of the south border. A spiteful and greedy man.
For a King he was awful at it, it was simply a shame to have him rule over the south, for a King he was set in his ways of abuse and brutality. For him to be called a King should be a sin. A King stands for greatness, greatness that came from the way he loved. Who truly listened, with the heart as well as the ears and eyes. A true King saw the whole person in a way that others did not, as if he alone was somewhere calm while the rest could only attempt to have vision in the fog. The most troubled of should became calm, those from places far away sought his company and counsel. For everyone to have a thirsty soul, and for his people to give their respect as the King he was. Yet he was far from those things, he was the type to abuse his power to abuse children and rape other women. He was no King, he was a tyrant.
Disgusted, that feeling never left his stomach. He wasn't one to speak, some saw him far more worse than what that King was. Even she feared him... The image of her poisoned his mind, her hue of spring growth eyes, bright and soft all at once. There was always those flecks of strength, of the kind of green that came only as summer advanced. And they were never more beautiful than when she cried, when her gentleness flowed over her cheeks, nor when she became the wise women he came to depend on once. And yet no matter how gentle he tried to be with her, there was nothing he could do to simply rid of the image of her desperately trying to hide the fear she felt for him. He tried so many times and so many times he had failed. Despair ransacked him each time and now every time the thought of invaded his mind, despair and longing filled him, he really did missed her. All of her and yet he still stay away from her, as she lived and breathed just two hours away from him. So close, yet so far. She hated him and even he hated himself. Look what you did to Grayson. Those evil voices poisoned his mind, voices that never seemed to leave, they remained there, far too long. Too long to remember.
The kingdom that King Richards worked so hard to build had crumpled like the crumps of a loaf of bread. His people laid like dolls over the hard floor, limbs at awkward angles and heads in such a way that they cannot be sleeping. These bodies, once the repositories of people as alive as he was, are now abandoned shells left to rot in the open. Who will bury them and weep salty tears onto their grace? Who will send them away with a love song and kiss the breeze that carries them heaven-bound? Likely no-one at all. Some will be consumed by his people, who were just as thirsty as he was. Pleasure erupted, bursting through him like flies, that smell of blood brought great joy, images flooded his mind of him just simply draining their bodies of blood to nothingness just as they were, and others simply would decay, dumped just right outside these walls that Marcel had obtained through force.
The blood flowed thickly over his fingers, cold. They had died a few minutes ago and yet his hands remained stained, the colour burning his mind along with what he had done. The sickness feeling that always seemed to stay there, crawling within him as it always did, it used to bother him but his kind were simply trying to survive, him on the other hand he never did it for thirst he just simply liked the feeling, that feeling of power. He never felt guilty for what he had done, they deserved what was coming to them, he would simply do it again and agin and again until he was satisfied. They all need to know, to know what it was like when they did the same to him, ripping everything away from him. They all called him a monster and he might as well be one but they are far more monstrous than what he was. all blame goes to them, they were the ones who made him into what he was. She made him.
"Marcel?" Misha tried once more, trying her best to gain her Masters attention.
"Did you hear what I said? It would be suicide for anyone-" Her attempt to make him understand was cut short. Far too short.
"Yes, I 'heard' you," he said, as if he were some wily sheep dog and she was his quarry.
"If you're so worried about everyone else Misha, then YOU go fuckin' get him!" He roared, commanding his demand as he stood to a stand, a towering height over the small framed vampire that stood just before him. Patience once again fleeting him, leaving him in a passive state. The shock that register upon her face never seemed to surprise him anymore, he was more than aware that she was afraid even if she tried to hide it, he saw through that mask of hers. She had no choice, no matter how much she hated him, but she also admired him. Marcel had given her a home and a purpose and she owed him for that, because if she didn't have any of that she would be dead in the gutters of her village, six feet under.
"As you wish, Master." She bowled her head slightly, showing her respect. Even if he didn't deserve it.
"HOW SWEET, DON'T YOU THINK," the only announcement of his arrival was a slight drop in the air temperature and the descent of absolute silence. Without turning Grayson knew he was there, pale in the shadows of the forest.
His voice came out mocking and cold, "You finally listened to someone other than your own fucking head Gray." He continued to mock at his actions.
The rage that once left Grayson before, had suddenly remerged itself back, for the man just a mere distance away from him, fuelled it back, lightening its fire once again. Pushing him into a passivity against his own will, that's what he expected though. Grayson turned all but slowly, taking in the vampire, who seemed to look nothing but utterly bored. The nerve of him, anger piercing his veins, that anger that Grayson felt was let out in a rich, low, warning growl, a growl that caused everything to stop, even the birds had stopped flapping their wings in the sky above. Awaiting for it to happen. Awaiting for Grayson's moment of snap, but he never did, not this time at least.
"Titan." His name was like poison in his mouth, his name felt poor coming out. That's all he could say, too disgusted at the sit of him. He knew him very well, they'd grown up together, fought together and yet his betrayal was the hardest to bare, a stab in the his back, a stab that hasn't stopped bleeding and never seemed to heal, not yet anyways. They were brothers, not by blood but they never really had anyone else besides each other.
"Brother." Imitating Grayson's tone. The shadows didn't do him justice to his tall figure and his skin paler than the moon, and his features flawless, although not for long. Titan's stare at Grayson never wavered, just simply looked into his forest green eyes staring him down, never uttering anything further.
The vampire was highly aware of their audience, but they were bound. Bound to their spot like good little dogs that they were. Bound until he completed his Master's task, although Misha sent the wrong person to bring him back, he would rather kill him with his bare hands than to even think of him breathing one more life of breathe, but that choice was never on the table for him, he never had a choice in the matter. Lucky bastard.
Their smell intoxicated his fresh air, polluting it, striping of its cleanness, his precious air stunk with the scent of his most hated creature. Werewolves, their scent was like a wet dog- well at least to him anyways, he despised it more than anything.
Titan saw the hate in his eyes, the betrayal. Everyone saw the world only from their own perspective as a kid, Titan knew that, it was just natural brain development. But it was as if Grayson got stuck in that mode. Never really understanding who betrayed who, they were brothers! For God sake now here he stood before him, standing right in front of him, looking at him like he was some sort of slither of worthlessness.
He once trusted Grayson with his life, he cared for him and this was how he repaid him! Sleeping with his mate. Something he couldn't forgive. Brothers would never do that to each other. It broke his trust, the trust he had for Grayson as a brother, as a friend. What was even unfair is that now he had found his mate. The urge, a need to rip her filthy throat out was far too strong, he so badly wanted to do it on impulse, a desperate need to do what Grayson did was now manifesting within his mind. He moved far too fast standing now in front of the person he once trusted the most in this cruel world. Grayson, staring him right in the eyes. That thought never left but he didn't dare act on it, not now anyways.
"I'm your escort for tonight." His voice smoother then butter, fanning Grayson with his cold breath.
"Escort?" Grayson's eyebrow raised slightly at the stupidity of his comment. Had Marcel finally lost his mind, this was a joke, he didn't need a bloody escort. But he never moved, only stayed in place, the sparks that once lingered came flowing back again, pulling him further away from his enemy, from his once friend. Alison grasped his hands, pulling him slightly towards herself and yet he didn't move an inch, he wasn't afraid of the person in front of him, it would be a joke to be. He knew Titan better than anyone, He knew what he was capable, he taught him everything.
But her attempts never faltered, she just pestered further, her movement felt strange to him, no one had ever been concerned about him or at least that's what he thought was wrong with her, if not that then what? What did she want with him? Her sudden protectiveness confused him, surprised him, a puzzle he was not ready to uncover just yet. But she kept pulling him closer and away from Titan. He didn't fully understand why, but he like the notion.
"Marcel has requested your presence-" A dark mocking laughter erupted out of Grayson.
"I mean it Gray, you need to come with me." Titan continued. His precious time was being wasted by this chit-chat. Useless and boring.
"If you haven't notice dickweed I'm not coming with you. If I wanted to see Marcel, I would've willingly went to him, I don't need a fucking escort to take me." He felt like a spoiled kid having a tantrum because his mom or dad didn't give him cookie. He felt insulted, an escort? For him to be escort back to Marcel was extremely insulting. It went against everything he was trying to obtain- freedom.
"I'm very aware of that dipshit." Titan answered, outraged at the nickname Grayson had so kindly given him, but Grayson never answered, he just stayed silent at his remark.
"Stop being a little Fuckin brat and just come with me" He continued, far too bored with his Behaviour
But the urge to rip out his head was pulsating in Grayson's mind but one thing stopped him. Those sparks that seemed to never leave, her hand that grasped his arm pulling him further away from Titan. Centring his anger. How could he care so much about her without knowing her. She was a mere stranger, what magic was she using?
"Suit yourself." Titan replied leaving no room for reply as fast he came he disappeared.
Grayson looked at the lingering empty space Titan had once occupied, puzzled to no end. Titan wasn't the man to not get what he wants, he got it either way. In the most of unexpected way.
Seconds past in silences as he tried to figure out what just happened, had he just left without pursuit of any sort. There was no way, he knew Titan very well, he always had a plan.
All too late, he heard the whispers, whispers of a spell being casted just for him. A spell that was used far too often before. Another stab in the back was freshly bleeding, Titan had know full well that that sort of spell was never pleasant. He knew that at first hand, but here he was using it on him. A forceful spell that caused your entire body to wither away in complete mercy of another.
His head throbbed. The pain felt like someone had taken a knife to his skull, the pain was all too familiar. He leant his head slightly forward, bawling as he gripped it to the side. desperately covering his ears pushing away the words from entering his head. For them to do more damage. Squeezing his eyes shut, he willed the pain to go away but it never did. It never bloody did. The rest of the world became detached, all he could concentrate on was the pain rooted deep in his head.
He could barely hear the people chattering around him. All he felt, all he knew was the pain of that moment and the most painful moment was her blurring figure, gripping tightly onto his arms, pulling him back up but failing.
The further down he went, he promised himself that the next time he woke up, he would cause the most havoc to whoever crossed him. He had finally had enough. He had enough of being pushed and dragged and pulled like a rag doll. This was where he drew the line.