Back at the Duval household, an undercurrent of intense animosity emanated from Celeste towards her mother. The air seemed charged with resentment, a storm of emotions brewing beneath the surface. Isabella, attuned to the shifting dynamics, attempted to bridge the widening gap.
"Hey, Celeste," Isabella ventured, her voice gentle, attempting to initiate a conversation. However, her efforts were met with the coldest shoulder she had ever encountered. Undeterred, Isabella persisted, unwilling to let the silence fester.
"Your father and your brothers will be back from hunting soon," Isabella tried again, hoping to find common ground. "You can go with them next time when you are fully healed"
Celeste's response, however, cut through the air like an icy breeze. "I wanted to go hunting with them and keep my killing streak, now Ethan and Marcus will have a higher number of kills than me." she muttered, eyes avoiding her mother's gaze.
Isabella, unrelenting, changed tactics, attempting to connect through Celeste's friendships. "How are Elsa and Petunia? I haven't seen them around lately."
A cold smirk touched Celeste's lips. "They're doing just fine, considering they're both... bitches. Always rudely telling me I'm not acting like a girl like for fuck sakes stop it."
"Celeste Irene Duval!!" Isabella's scolding interrupted the thread of conversation. "You don't talk like that, young lady. It's very unladylike."
"I'm sorry, Mother, but it's the truth. They're annoying," Celeste retorted, her voice laced with defiance.
"But, honey, are they wrong about you not acting like a girl?" Isabella inquired, seeking understanding. Before Celeste could respond, Isabella continued, "You're about to be nineteen, and at your age, I was already married to your father."
Celeste interrupted with a sarcastic quip, "And you lived happily ever after."
Taken aback by her daughter's words, Isabella asked, "What is that supposed to mean?" The room hung with tension, a silence pregnant with unspoken truths and unmet expectations.
In the quaint sitting room of Gabriel's house, an air of mystique hung between Aria and Fantine. Aria, with a blend of trepidation and curiosity, finally voiced the question that lingered in the shadows.
"How long have you known what I am?" Aria's gaze met Fantine's, searching for revelations in the lines etched upon her elderly face. In response, Fantine's smile, weathered and wise, held the weight of knowing.
"I have known since the moment you walked into my house," Fantine replied, her words carrying the assurance of ancient knowledge. "Don't be afraid, my child. You are in safe hands. Werewolves are welcomed here, in this house at least," she continued, the acceptance in her tone an unexpected balm to Aria's unease.
Aria, though visibly spooked, summoned her composure. Fantine, with a genuine interest in her guests, inquired about their journey to Blackwood and the unlikely pairing of Aria and Thorne "she asked how did you two meet." Aria, however, evaded the question with a diplomatic silence, understanding that appearances could be deceiving, even with someone seemingly harmless like Fantine.
Seizing the opportunity, Aria deftly steered the conversation toward Fantine's son, Gabriel. The sorceress, like a wellspring of stories, spoke fondly of her son "he has been able to make something of himself despite the injustice he had to live through. Living amongst people who are intent on annihilating his kind." Before long, the door creaked open, and Thorne stepped into the room. Aria breathed a sigh of relief; her master's presence signaled a shift in the narrative, and Thorne and Aria exchanged a knowing glance, acknowledging the unspoken truth that Fantine was privy to their supernatural nature.
Thorne, with a bundle of herbs in hand, gathered for the purpose of heightening his senses to track the Lupus Dei,and to know if he is even Blackwood, intended to confide in the sorceress. However, before he could unfold the secrets, Fantine cuts him off. "Let's not dance around the obvious. I am a sorceress, you are a sorcerer, and she is a werewolf," she declared, her piercing gaze unwavering. "I need your help, Thorne, if that's even your real name. Something unnatural is happening with my grandson—something extraordinary and unbelievable."
The room, suspended in a moment of revelation, held the promise of alliances forged in the crucible of the supernatural. As Fantine sought their assistance. "My real name is Thorne Blackwell, and her name is Aria. So please go on tell us exactly what is happening to your grandson," Thorne said with a calm demeanor.
—-----------------
As Taran's imposing form lay sprawled on the ground, subdued by Gerard's boot, Marcus looked at the man he just brought down, with excitement smeared on his face, he can't stop telling himself that "father will be proud of me for doing this," Viktor approached Ethan and Marcus, and without acknowledging what Marcus just did, he orders them "Head home, boys. Your kills for the day are waiting. Gerard and I will handle this," Viktor instructed, his tone firm, with smirk on his face.
Yet, Ethan, grappling with a tumultuous blend of anger, self-loathing, and lingering mistrust toward his father, couldn't resist posing the question. "What are your plans for him, Father?" he pressed, suspicion flickering in his eyes.
Viktor, irritated by this question, snapped, "Me and Gerard will take care of this, boy. Go home now."
But Ethan stood his ground, a stubbornness that mirrored the resolute glint in his eyes. He sensed there was more to his father's intentions than mere resolution. Marcus after not getting a pat on the back from his father wanted to go home as soon as possible, he attempted to defuse the situation, patted Ethan on the shoulder. "Let's go, Ethan."
Ethan refused to relent, insisting on clarity about Taran's fate. "What will be done to him, Father?" he demanded.
Viktor, growing increasingly irritated by his son's persistence, retorted, "You've been great so far, but it seems you want to ruin your perfect record, boy!"
Marcus, understanding the gravity of the situation, attempted to guide Ethan away, but he stood firm.
"Since you've grown up and can't seem to take simple instructions," Viktor declared in a cold, aggressive manner, "you will carry him home alongside your kills for the day."
Viktor and Gerard efficiently bound Taran's hands and legs, secretly they put a powdery substance in Taran's wound, the familiarity of their actions unsettled Ethan. Taran, now trussed up, became an ominous burden for Ethan to shoulder. The way Taran was secured fueled Ethan's suspicion that this wasn't the first time his father and Gerard had orchestrated such scenes. The air hung heavy as Ethan lifted Taran's weight; he couldn't shake the feeling that darker chapters of his father's world were unfolding before him.