Hellfire

Interval Twenty-Two

Lucius had been locked in a battle of wills for too long – standing resolute within the Well, resealing every crack and threading whatever blood-threads that snapped. He couldn't relent, or she'd overwhelm him. It was wearing him down. His body ached with exhaustion from a lack of true sleep, his teeth and mouth hungered Susan more than ever as the addiction in him stirred. He held though. He would for however long he needed to. He trusted Susan. She would find what it was he needed.

Susan.

He tried not to think about his bride too much. If he did, a floodgate would open, making him painfully aware of the wrongness in him. The addiction. It was knotted in his body, his teeth aching and his throat dry. He needed Susan. He had to have her. His body demanded it. His teeth. His hunger. It was a fight not to abandon his fight and seek her to kiss and have her. It had been too long.

Control yourself, Lucius warned himself.

He had to control himself.

But then alarm cut through his focus and sleep. It spread up his spine – a shivering instinct something wrong was happening to his body. A threat was near him.

He released his position then – allowing the cracks in the ice to deepen and his webs of control to shred apart. He had no choice. If a threat was near him, then Susan was in danger. The thought riled him, sending him into an instinctive need to defend her.

He flung himself into consciousness, his teeth fierce and his body knotted with a wolfish desire to fight. But, the second breath he took, he was in such fierce pain he couldn't breathe – the sensation his bones were breaking repeatedly, and his veins were nothing but fire. He knew this pain – the bite of witch-chain surrounding his arm, biting into his flesh so deep blood was flowing freely. He roared out, his teeth thick with savagery, and forced himself to rise, knotted and fierce. He face his aggressor, prepared to tear them apart with a single command whispering from his mouth, only to pause.

Oliver stood before him with Thorn in hand, yet it wasn't him. His eyes weren't that brown he knew, but a fierce, deathly blue. He couldn't move. The witch-chain was tangled about his arm, locking him down with flaming agony and boiling blood, and Morrigan pressed lightly through Oliver's gaze.

'She'll wake.' He murmured.

Lucius thrust his magic forward, roaring for Oliver to sleep.

Morrigan laughed in the distance however and tossed aside his magic, whispering for him to be still with absolute control, then raised Oliver's hand and buried Thorn into his head.