Prelude (Underworld Lucian Fanfiction)

42 - Chapter XLII: A Stubborn Act of Will

A week later. 3:45 am.

It was not alright. His skin felt like it was on fire, his mouth felt dry, and for the most part, he was agitated. To make matters worse, Singe has prescribed him a tincture of St. John's Wort. It was a herbal extract meant to combat depression in humans. As though the name were not bad enough, it also had a nasty habit of causing skin irritation in animals...

Best of both worlds. Neither of which could run itself...so rather than dealing with the symptoms in his quarters, he was seated in the study, keeping his peace as a Line commissioner reported on the state of affairs between Monaco and surrounding France. The words starting to drone, the lycan potentially aware that he was losing his audience, having stuttered twice; Allegra circling the room, the sensual line of her back perhaps having much to do with the stutter. He himself was only paying a quarter of his attention to the man. A quarter on how much he wanted to flog his own skin off, and the rest still on that blood-slide.

Reinette.

Their wager. The catacombs. He had spent the morning in talks with Raze and Allegra, discussing the consequences. If she did pass deep enough into the catacombs, if she did find her escape, could he do what was necessary? Could he hunt her down as he ought to do? His answer lying in the affirmative, but his conscience at times swayed, not by politics or logic, but the distorted principles of a former slave. Principles he had tried to set aside only to find they were ingrained in his being. Simply put, he wanted her to choose to be on his side. Whether out of necessity, temptation or under duress...the reason for her choice did not matter to him; only that she had to choose.

First impressions were telling and he had not forgotten hers. Like poison, the scent of malice and spite directed at Tanis. The first sign that, however docile she might seem, Reinette had a rather...intense...capacity for hatred. Something one had to keep in mind when caging an immortal. Not just the initial imprisonment, but the years that must follow...

Years that presented him with two paths. The first, the way of the catacomb, opening the door now and forcing her to see how much better life was in the golden tower he-or rather Mrs. Fulligan-had built her...or lock the door permanently and spend the next hundred years watching her grow in bitterness, waiting not only to escape, but also to stab him in the face as she passed. No doubt with something blunt...and poisonous; aconitum, if he was any judge. Stabbing aside, however Raze might vie for the second option, for himself, he chose the first. Her decisions occurring quickly, hinging on circumstance, fate, and whatever trust he could build before the year's end. Hours, days...weeks spent crawling in the dirt of an abandoned maze of tunnels...the sight-holes still intact from the days when they used to trap their enemies and shoot them down from above...

...eventually she would have to break.

It was only logical. She would be cold, frightened, alone...her people extinct, her future dark if she did not accept his aid. Her existence causing him to wonder at times how many, if any, had survived Viktor's onslaught. His memories of the time brief, but potent ...images of bodies lying in a pit, awaiting the sun. An act he had never quite resolved out of his list of sins... so that it did not seem to matter that he had been a slave at the time, that he had been the victim of a cruel master. Only that for a time, he had believed in the will of Viktor. He had hunted bloodseers. He had aimed his weapons, he had stalked their tracks...and he had killed them.

Brutally.

It was on the cusp of this last thought that he began to notice how quiet the room was becoming. His inner thoughts dying away and as a result, his awareness of how uncomfortable he was rising in its strength. The Line Commissioner had long since finished, his eyes on the ground, his scent one of nerves and anxiety. Allegra was smelling of the opposite. Looking the opposite. Calm and at her ease. Her lips pale today, stained only by the blood of her glass. She was watching him watch her. Always aware when his mind was not on the subject at hand. She raised an eyebrow.