Hellfire

Interval One

Lucius stood before sweeping window, his attention fixed on the night sky scattered with white specks of stars and little else. No clouds hung there, no moon, just the roar of Bath's nightlights glowing beneath it.

His arms were folded in an attempt to keep himself relaxed, his feet bare, his shirt undone at the throat with his tie loose and his sleeves pushed up to his elbows. His mind danced along the edges of the humans in this place, taking in their dramas, their thoughts, the business of the workers and the pleasure of the guests. Normally, this would distract him. Humans were a curiosity to him – a snapshot of life that burned out quickly but brightly, full of swift emotions he couldn't replicate. Not a single mind interested him though. He stood tensely, his muscles locked tightly, his body primed to move from the itch of his flaring temper.

Bats winged by outside like passing shadows, all connected to him, whispering of news and events that they spied in the city. None of it interested him, either. He longed to connect to the bats within his home. He needed to see her - that witch that was so difficult to keep safe. But he couldn't, no matter how every inch of him roared he had to be beside her. Not long had passed since he had carried her home, limp and covered in blood, skin peeling and trapped in a terrible fever.

Lucius tightened his jaw, ignoring the frenzied screeching as his bats adopted his worsening mood and the veins of frost beginning to snake over the glass. He flicked his wrist out, looking over the clock-face with a still expression. Twenty-four hours had passed since he left her side. He was beginning to feel caged in this quiet hotel room. Tense. With every second that passed, his throat became dryer and his muscles flexed beneath his clothes, making them feel taut over his body. Uncomfortable. He needed to be by her side. He shouldn't have left her, not in that state. He should've waited until those eyes were open, bright and vibrant, those lips forming furious words that he'd ignored her sensible demands for him to stay away from her when she was bleeding. Was she well? Calm? Her body cool and her nightmares still at bay? He needed to know. He needed to see Susan, the strength of her making her glow, her ferocity something that hypnotised him. He had to know she was well, an unshakable impulsive need.

But he knew it was useless to worry. He'd left her healed, her nightmares soothed, her body as cool as it could as the hellfire slept again, no longer flaring into flames or lashing out savagely in her dark dreams. Arnold would ensure she was rested and well and, if she struggled with her temper, he'd be able to rely on Alistair to settle her.

The thought was meant to be comforting to him, it had been once long ago, but instead that coil of possession tightened in his gut and that heavy ache began to fill his teeth, making him hiss and shift his weight. Lucius didn't understand this instinct, this thought. This hate for anyone but himself cooling her. Only he could touch her, her skin hot and vibrant, her mouth mindlessly dancing over his, her fingers trailing over him greedily. Only him. He couldn't deny this possessive impulse. He never could anymore and had long given up even trying to fight it.

Lucius didn't turn when he heard the door click open and heeled steps moved with muffled clicks. By the scent, he knew it was Dana Stoica.

'Are you okay, Vortigern?' She asked sternly, the tray she had rattled gently.

Coffee coiled in the air strongly. Normally, he'd be soothed by the smell, watching Susan deftly bring it to him, her expression carefully poised as she kept herself quiet, her emotions locked, but instead it just riled him irritably. He didn't want coffee. He wanted nothing but that taste of blended rum and blood.

'Yes.' He replied, dimly aware of the icy disinterest in his voice.

'How're you doing without her blood?' She asked as she organised the small tray with fussed motions.