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angstymarshmallow · 5 years ago

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part five: “what comes next.” (cal lowell x mc)

[a little note: I am over the moon with all the positive feedback I’ve received so far over this series. And I want to keep expanding it because I do have a goal in mind. But I’ve been flighty in the past with series - so let’s see where this adventure takes us! If you read it - than you! If you leave a comment, bless you! ].

[words counted: 8996]

[summary: after their break-up, Cal is in a funk that he can’t seem to get out of. Everyday feels the same - until the unthinkable happens and Cal is forced into making a decision to protect the pack].

[part one, part two, part three, part four]

There’s something unsettling about waking up alone, when you’re accustomed to waking up next to someone else. You keep expecting to hear them murmur something in their sleep, or to reach out and touch you because of whatever’s plagued them the night before, can’t seem to disappear unless they’re reassured by your presence.

None of this happens though.

Maybe it’s because it hasn’t hit him yet. Not really. How can she be gone if her scent is still here? And it is everywhere – on his pillows, on his skin – lingering on even his clothes. He can’t seem to get rid of it nor does he think, he truly wants to.

Unable to stop himself, Cal’s hand stretches across the bed only to find it empty and the utter devastation of a completely cold blanket.

I miss her.

He can admit it in his own solitude, even if he can’t allow himself to say the words out-loud.

It’s been nearly since a week since she left, since the inexplicable truth had whatever they had together asunder. And for the first time in months, he has no urge to get out moving. No urge to even lift a finger. The wolf in him is almost mournfully quiet, as if it’s suffering too.

The door swings open and Cal doesn’t as much as blink at the familiar figure stepping into his room. Although, he is surprised that his brother is dressed this early in the morning. Wasn’t it only ten?

“Shit! It reeks in here.”

Cal rolls across his bed, cocooning himself inside the comfort of his blanket and his eyes flutter shut, feigning sleep. It may be a little childish – but he’s not ready for the rest of the world. At least not yet. They can wait a little bit longer.

Sudden light floods his field of vision. “What the hell, Donny?!” He hisses, flinching at the abrupt intrusion – glancing up at his younger brother. The boy pulls the curtains back and has the audacity to glare at him.

“It’s Saturday Cal. You should have been up ages ago.” There’s a rustle as Donny nearly stumbles over the stacks of beer cans littered across the room.

Cal groans and covers his face with his hands. “I know.”

“Then why the hell are you still in bed?” Donny demands, stopping shortly in front of his nightstand. “This isn’t like you.”

He rubs his face tiredly, not bothering to respond with anything other than a disgruntled sigh.

“Okay,” Donny clears his throat. “You’re gonna really make me say it, huh?”

Cal grunts a second time, lets out an expletive before sitting up in bed. “You don’t have to say it.”

“But I think I really do,” Donny insists, resting the left side of his hip against the windowsill. “You’re miserable without her.”

“Don’t,” Cal says a little sharper than he intended. He stops short, grits his teeth and swings his legs to the side of his bed. He tenses for a moment, fingers gripping the sheets tighter until his knuckles pale in comparison to the colour of his skin. “I don’t wanna talk about it. I don’t wanna talk about her.”

His brother’s response is almost immediate, “neither do I. But you’re kinda forcing me at this point with how lousy you’ve been lately.” He folds his arms, shifting his weight to stare out at the open field of their backyard. “You miss her.”

“Leave it, Donny.” There’s a soft warning in his voice that has Donny stiffening in return. “You really don’t want to open that can.” And he didn’t want to either.

“What’s one more can to add,” Donny gestures to the room incredulously, “to the seven billion already in here?”

Despite the jab, Cal snorts. He stands up, goes through a series of stretches while his brother’s eyes continue to stare daggers at his back.

“You’re really going to be that stubborn, huh?”

Silence.

“Are…you…ignoring me?”

“I’m taking a page out of your book.” Cal quips back, tossing a droll stare over his shoulder.

“It doesn’t look good on you. The angsty teen thing is sort of my smhick.”

He shrugs, “maybe it’s time for something new.” He counters, then adds. “Thanks for interrupting my brooding time, by the way.”

“You’re welcome.” Donny replies without missing a beat. “I needed to anyway – you stink.” He makes a shooing motion with his hands. “Go shower.”

Cal glances over at him sharply. “I was getting to that.” His tone is clipped as he makes an obscene gesture behind his back. “I’ll meet you downstairs.” There’s no room left inside his voice for an argument, he wants him out.

Donny rolls his eyes before muttering a remark. “Fine, just don’t be too long.”

Cal waits until the door of his bedroom closes before heading into the shower. On his way there, he avoids most of Wren’s stuff. It’s still littered pretty much everywhere.

He pulls back the sliding door of the bathroom. It’s even in here too.

It doesn’t matter where he looks – there’s always some kind of a reminder waiting for him. There is still a lot of her around and he can’t bring himself to ignore them completely - even if acknowledging the heavy presence she still has in his life, is ten times worse than pretending she was never here.

He knows he shout get rid of everything. In fact, he keeps telling himself he’ll get to it – but there are only so many hours in the day, and now it’s been a week; everything is almost exactly as it has been when she left.

None of her stuff is a hair out of place.

And he supposes, it won’t ever feel real as long as there’s still pieces of her inside his home. But how can get rid of them – knowing it’s like getting rid of half of his heart?

Gritting his teeth, Cal shoves a fist into through the wall of his shower – hearing a soft crunch, before some of the cement gave way once he releases his fist. He rubs a thumb over the bruised knuckles before dropping the hand loosely to his side. He blinks at the hole.

Wellll, there goes his next paycheck.

He utters a grunt of frustration. Fuck, the last thing he needs is this house falling apart too. He really needed to get his shit together and if not for himself – at least for Donny.

Taking a deep breath, Cal angles himself towards the showerhead; waiting for the hot water to readily pour over the soft sheen of his hair. His eyes flutter close and he braces his forehead against the wall. As the warm water splashes across his skin – he tries to scrub away more than the dirt from his skin, he tries to scrub clean the marks of his past.

Cal takes to the stairs not soon after his shower. He’s dressed for practicality more than comfort for the first time in a week. His dark jeans still fit the right angles; hugging his calves and his tee is slightly tight around the forearms as Cal does a mental check of his hair before heading towards the kitchen.

Last time he checked their fridge, they’ve been out of a couple things.

The smell of food usually wets his appetite, but Cal’s stomach cramps at the thought as an aroma of food suddenly overwhelms his senses. He blanches and sniffs the air. Slightly undercooked meat. Over-charred veggies.

Did Donny forget the stove on again?

He hates overcooked meat, but when your brother makes it for you, you can’t very well say those things out-loud. Thus, Cal pushes past the doors and squints at the sight of Donny in one of his aprons located near the front of the stove. His squinting turns into a forceful smile as he takes a seat and within seconds, Donny presents a plate full of food eagerly in front of him.

There’s a genuine attempt at a burger on his plate. Despite the blackened state of the bottom of the bun – the meat smells fine. But it’s the pitiful sight of overcooked zucchini and lima beans that makes the smile on Cal’s lips, falter. “Thank you.”

Donny beams, then tries to not make a big deal out of it by frowning. “I figured you could use a pick-me-up.”

Cal inclines his head, “something like that. This is great – really,” his tone is less neutral, and much warmer this time. “The beers were all starting to taste the same.”

“You mean dark, broody and sad –” Donny picks up his own burger and takes a large bite, “and kinda like you?”

Cal fights a real smile as he reaches for his. “Okay, I guess I deserved that.”

Donny clucks his tongue, pouring the older Lowell a cup of coffee. “Yeah, well I’ve never seen you down like this, and it’s freaking me out because I don’t know what to do –” he hesitates, nose scrunching up until he swallows. “Or how to make things better.”

For Donny, that’s as close as Cal thinks he’ll get to worry on his behalf. “I don’t know what to do either,” he confesses. “This is just as much weird for you as it is for me,” he reaches for his coffee, and swallows the hot liquid quick enough for his tongue to burn. He sucks in a breath quickly, trying to dull the sudden ache before speaking. “I think…a part of me can’t really believe it yet. That she’s really gone.”

There’s a reason why he hasn’t talked about it.

It’s painful enough without having to live through the memory all over again – in fact, running over the fine details of it certainly won’t help in getting over her. And yet, the moment Donny brings her up -it’s like he’s transported to last week and the floodgates of his emotions momentarily threaten to drown him. Suddenly, instead of sitting at home he’s back at the Wolf’s Den – standing in front of her, feeling tears threaten when he’d ended things. The way she stepped away from him had hurt almost as much as if she’d struck him, and the defeated look in her eyes before she managed to leave the room had made it difficult for him to follow. The worst part is what came after all the talking – driving home in painful silence.

He doesn’t even remember how he found his bed that night. The last thing he’s able to recall was raiding his refrigerator for something to drink, and the next thing he knew – it was suddenly morning, and she was gone.

“I can’t believe it too.” Donny admits. His eyes have shifted to his lap.

Cal on the other hand, drops the other half of his burger left to rub his temples. “Who was I kidding anyway?” He murmurs more to himself than to his younger brother, “things would have never worked out.” They rarely do. It was only a matter of time for his happiness to run out, like a ticking time-bob – something was always going to ruin them. “We’re too different,” he continues; thinking of how they met. “It wouldn’t have mattered.” It’s so clear to him now. They were fighting the inevitable, and yet – why does his heart feel like this? As though it’s breaking in two at the thought his own words being something other than a fabrication to rationalize his own reasoning.

Donny grabs a spoonful of cereal, “sounds like you took the easy way out.”

Cal’s mug pauses by his mouth. A pang of hurt makes it harder for him to swallow. He waits a beat, then swallows down the taste of charred lima beans. “Maybe,” he concedes, stabbing a piece of his zucchini with a sigh. But what good is talking about it anyway?

Donny’s expression falters, as though he’s heartbroken by the knowledge instead of him. He chews on a piece of lima bean, glancing across the table while Cal fumbles and fails miserably to think of another subject.

“I should get out, maybe stop by the store – we’re missing a few things.”

“I’m not gonna say no to getting out of here.” Donny shrugs, “the sun is up. The clouds are looking good –no rain tonight, let’s do it.”

“Good,” Cal throw his napkin on the table and gets up. He should eat more, but his appetite is the last thing on his mind. He needs to get moving again, pry some sense of his old routine without feeling stuck. “Let’s get going.”

The ride back inside Cal’s car is nowhere silent.

For the most part, they talk and Cal is relieved. He can tell that his brother’s sudden burst of appeal with his role and responsibilities changing and the pack, don’t stem from simple interest. They stem from wanting to keep him distracted and he appreciates the sentiment, even if it sometimes fall a little flat when he’d suddenly glance away and mumble something about the groceries in the back seat.

The second they turn into the driveway, the wolf inside of Cal stands at alert and the tiny hairs across the nape of his neck stand at attention. He turns of the ignition slowly, but makes no move to exit the car. Neither does Donny – who freezes beside him as his nostrils flare up in suspicion.

“Someone’s been here.”

“You don’t think –” Donny bites his lip. “You don’t think it’s the other pack, do you?”

It is exactly what Cal thinks, but he doesn’t want to scare him. He should have thought of it sooner and curses inwardly for not checking for the most obvious places. If someone’s been following them, or watching them up until this point – he won’t make the same mistake twice. “Stay in the car.” Cal says quietly, deftly snatching his keys from the ignition. “I’ll be right back.” He promises.

If Donny wants to protest, he does a good job of remaining petulant and silent, as Cal shoots him a look then gets out of the car. He closes the door quietly behind him, then trudges towards the front door – feeling ill at ease from the idea of someone breaking into their home. Even worse, the wolf inside of him snarls and demands for complete control. He grits his teeth, fighting to keep his calm when his gaze shifts to the entrance.

The lock is broken.

Cal freezes, staring at the door that’s been left slightly ajar. This was done on purpose. There’s no doubt about it. Straightening his shoulders, he forces one feet forward and then another until he’s able to shuffle past the entrance.

The first part of the home he checks is the living room – but it doesn’t matter because the whole place is a mess.

Every piece of furniture he owns has been rolled onto its side, or tossed onto the floor – there’s even a broken vase he’d gotten from a co-worker last year, and shattered pieces of glass belonging to his coffee table. As his eyes and feet travel to one room and then another – it becomes very apparent to him that whoever’s been here, had been looking for something.

Cal takes the stairs one step at a time. While he hasn’t heard any other noises or sounds of footsteps to allude that someone is still here; he wants to be on-guard just in case. His ears listen keenly as he reaches the top of the stairs. Nothing.

His hands clench into fight fists. The fucking assholes.

With renewed sense of purpose, Cal checks every room single room – leaving nothing to chance. But they’re all in a familiar disarray to downstairs – pushed aside bed spring, his clothes, her clothes scattered across the floor and his tool kit rifled through before being recklessly abandoned. Shit, they’ve gone through everything.

Luckily, his important stash of documents are miraculously find in his safe – they haven’t seemed to figure out a way inside of it. He double-checks it though, swiftly entering his code and uttering a sigh of relief that none of its contents have gone missing.

Still, the thought of someone rifling through his home bothers the shit out of him. It does more than that – it makes him pissed as hell that it happened under his watch. How is supposed to take care of Donny when he can barely call their home a safe haven?

He makes a mental note to change the locks in house the second he gets the chance before heading back downstairs. Un-fucking-believable.

A sudden creak from the front door, causes Cal to hurry towards the sound – fists raised high and with the heavy implication of shifting until his eyes land on a sheepish Donny standing across the threshold of the front door.

“Donny,” Cal hisses his name, “what part of wait in the car did you not understand?”

“Probably the waiting part.” He replies, stepping past him. Eyes widening in shock, Donny takes in the sight of the upturned chairs, and tables from their living room – the broken glass, all of it. “Someone was really looking for something here, huh?” Despite lackadaisical words, his voice shakes a little until he clears his throat.

“Not just someone.” Although Cal can’t quite make out their exact scent, there’s no denying his hunch that it has to do with the wolves they met over a week ago. “A wolf,” he sniffs the air – the slight scent of pine cones from the woods, the distinct smell of an ashtray. It has to be them.

“Yeah, I think I recognize the scent.” Donny visibly takes a long whiff, then wrinkles his nose. “I think it’s one of the wolves we met at the Howlers.”

“But what’s he doing here?” Cal wades over to the door, his eyes narrowing at the thought of him getting away. “He must have been following us.” His voice turns low, and he rakes his fingers angrily through his hair. “that fucker’s lucky I didn’t catch him.”

“But you know what this means right –” his eyes drift back to him. “They’re definitely up to something.”

“We don’t know that.” Cal’s protest sounds doubtful even to his own ears.

His brother folds his arms, “then why the hell would they be here Cal? They were obviously looking for us, or maybe…maybe they were just looking for you.” His eyes skim the mess as he paces across the other side of the living room. “Or information on you.”

Cal feels more than inclined to agree, but without hard evidence – it doesn’t matter. All Donny’s speculation is pointless unless there’s something leading back to them. All they have is a hunch and a scent to go by – and that isn’t anything substantial in the court of law.

“We should follow the scent, see where it leads.” Donny adds, breaking Cal’s train of thought.

Cal shakes his head. “No, it’s too dangerous.” He says the words a-matter-of-factly, so there’s no room for an argument. He would never put his brother at risk like that.

“Too dangerous?!” Donny throws his hands up. “They’ve pretty much started a war by coming into our territory to start trouble.”

His lips thin into a slight frown. “I know, but we can’t retaliate without being sure.” Although, the wolf in him is practically jumping at an opportunity to beat the shit out of someone. He won’t act unless he’s sure, anything less won’t help. It’ll make things worse.

“Maybe the neighbours saw something.” Donny mumbles, his voice hopeful.

“We’re almost a mile apart from each other.” Cal sighs, “if anything they might have seen a car leave – if they took a car and didn’t just shift out in the open like this.”

“What about the scent? Can we track it?”

“I certainly can try,” he pauses to consider the idea. “It’s still sort of fresh which means they had to have been watching when we left the house.” He pauses, “that’s probably when they were in here.”

“Did they take anything?”

“No,…it doesn’t look like they’ve found what they’re searching for,” Cal frowns, his mind doing another mental check. Nothing valuable went missing at least. Were they really only looking for him?

“Then what do we do?”

“First, let me talk to Jayde.” Cal says, dragging his fingers through his hair. Out of everyone she’s one of the people he trusted the most. He picks up his phone, and his fingers hover across Wren’s number – she’d have been the first person he called over a week ago.

Something in his heart painfully twists at the thought, before he snaps out of it. His fingers fluidly fine Jayde’s number. He doesn’t want to involve Wren any more than she’s already been involved. Besides…this is pack business. “Maybe Jayde’s heard something.” He mutters to Donny, then hooks the phone to his ears as he gingerly starts picking up his furniture.

It rings twice before Jayde’s smooth voice fills his ear. “Cal,” she doesn’t sound surprise to hear him. “I was about to call you –”

“Did something happen?” His ears perk up in alarm.

“Sort of.” A pause. “Not really. Just someone left a threatening note for Nick, Theo and Saline. I’m over by them now, trying to calm them down.”

“Shit.” Cal lets out a harsh breath, then another expletive.

“Yeah. Well, thankfully no one’s hurt – just a lot of panic.” She sighs, “I can still catch their scent and you won’t like it, but –”

“You think it’s the wolves from the pub.” Cal finishes for her, “yeah I had…an unpleasant visit from them too.”

“Those assholes.” She curses viciously, “are you hurt? Is Donny hurt?’

“No, we’re okay.” He mutters reassuringly, “it’s just my pride that’s been dealt a blow. I didn’t think they had the balls to do something like this. Breaking the law draws unnecessary and unwanted attention. I still have to call this in – but I’m not sure I want to since….” He trails off, letting out another expletive.

“It’s your call.” Her response is almost immediate. “I’m with you no matter what you decide.”

He smiles to himself; reassured by her loyalty. He can always count on his Beta to have his back. “I’m going to hold off for now – at least until I get a better sense of who did this. I have a funny feeling it’s Derek so I need eyes and ears to check if he’s still in town.”

“You’ve got it. Pete and a bunch of us can go around town checking. If he’s still in NOLA, there’s nowhere he can go where we won’t find him.” She promises.

He mutters a thank you, then clears his throat. “There’s still Kavinsky to deal with. I’ve finally gotten a chance to meet with him – but he’s all the way in New York. He wants to meet - tomorrow.”

“You want me to babysit Donny?” Her tone is dry and a little curt if not amused by the idea.

Cal winces guilty at the implication. “Not…babysit,” he hinges, shifting uncomfortably on his feet – aware that his brother isn’t far away and probably listening to every word. “Just...check in on him every once in a while, especially after this. I need to know he’s safe.” He takes a deep breath, “I know it’s a lot to ask for – especially after asking you to look out for those other kids –”

“Don’t worry about it, I can get Pete to help out.” She intercedes, “You’re family and you never turn your back on family.”

“Thanks, Jayde. I knew I could count on you.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just don’t make a habit of this.” She warns, but he notes the subtle hint of tenderness in her tone. “What time’s your flight?”

“It’s in a couple of hours, I was okay with leaving Donny on his own before but…” He hesitates.

“Say no more, I’ll be over soon. You’ve always been a terrible packer.”

“Hey!” His protest is adamant, “all I need are the clothes on my back and a pair of boxers.”

“Yup, good call on reaching out to me. If you really think that’s all you need, you’d be in shit if your clothes got ripped clean apart. I’m pretty sure the airlines have a zero tolerance for nudity.”

Cal laughs, taking her jab in stride. “You have a point.”

“See you soon.”

“Oh, and Jayde?”

“What?”

“Watch your back.”

It’s evening by the time Cal’s hears the sound of Jayde’s familiar truck parking outside of his driveway.

Cal and Donny spent the better half of the day fixing up the place as much as they can, but without an extra pair of hands – the process has been slow and only downstairs has been mostly put-together.

At the sound of Jayde’s car though, Donny takes this as his opportunity to stop – and quickly rushes to the door before Cal can stop him.

He opens the door with enthusiasm – meeting Jayde’s concern stare as her eyes looked him over. “Hey! You’re here.”

“Yeah,” she holds up a large brown paper bag. “And I brought dinner.”

“Thanks,” Cal appears in the hall seconds later, greeting Jayde with a slight nod and smile as she closes the door behind her.

“I figured you guys were too busy to actually think about food so.” Her eyes do a double-take at the state of their place, “shit – they really did a number on you guys, huh?”

“They’re lucky they left before we got back.” Cal grunts, taking the bag from her. “Otherwise, their luck would have ran out.”

“I would have paid to see that.”

Laughing, Cal brings the bag to the kitchen with a very hungry Donny behind him – his hands keep reaching for the bag, and Cal has to out-maneuver himself out of his brother’s greedy grasp. “Wait. Let’s get Jayde a drink or something.”

Donny manages a slight whine as his shoulders drop.

Jayde chuckles, “I’m good. I ate on my way over.” She gestures to them, leaning against the counter as Cal starts unpacking its content. “Go ahead. I got chinese food; it was on the way.”

“Thanks, seriously we owe you one.”

“You owe me more than one Lowell.” She makes a point of rolling her eyes. “But this – this is free.”

Donny mutters a word of thanks as he grabs plates from the cupboard.

“So, how’s putting the house back together going?” She starts, folding her arms as she does another glance around the kitchen.

“It’s going…you’ve actually caught us in a good spot. If you saw this place a couple hours go,” Cal sighs. “It’s going to take me forever to replace some of this shit.” Just the thought of it, makes him want to toss his wallet in the trash.

“The pack can help,” Jayde offers. “You know we can.”

“I wouldn’t ask that of anyone – we’ll manage. We always do.” He ruffles the top of Donny’s head as he passes him.

Donny throws him a dirty glare; his mouth – half stuffed with chow mein.

“The offer still stands,” she says stubbornly, dropping her hands to grip the counter. “At least it does for me.” She glances away, “I can’t just sit by and do nothing.”

“You’re doing more than enough.” He reassures her with a soft smile. “Honestly, sometimes I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

Donny slurps in apparent agreement, his noodles making a soft wet noise as they disappear into his mouth.

They both laugh, and it’s the most normal Cal has felt since Wren left. It’s a weird feeling, laughing again – he’d forgotten what it feels like. He sobers up at the thought, digging into his own food now that he’s found a bowl big enough for his appetite. He inhales its aroma, letting out a sigh of pleasure at the scent of all the flavors – all mingled together into one delicious bowl. “Ugh, this smells so good.”

“When was the last time he ate?” Jayde asks, passing a look onto Donny. “Because if this smells good to him –”

“Days ago,” Donny replies without missing a beat, meeting her stare for a moment and then dropping it back to his food. “Unless you count beer as a food group.”

“Hey! A lot of beers are actually made with wheat.” But Cal is surprised by how much concern is in Donny’s voice – had he been worried about him this entire time.

“You miss her.” A tender look crosses Jayde’s often no-nonsense expression.

“Not you too.” Cal groans, dropping a hand to cover his face. “I don’t need this from you.”

“I’m just saying – it’s obvious to anyone that knows you. You’re miserable without her.”

Cal moves his hand away quick enough to notice the shared look across Donny and his Beta’s face. “See? I told you!” Donny points a finger at him. “You’re actually a pain in the ass to be around right now.”

“Yeah well, -” Cal fumbles with a witty remark and ends up letting out a foul curse instead. “You get your heartbroken and tell me if you’d do any better.” That probably isn’t the best response either.

“I wouldn’t have to get my heartbroken,” Donny snorts, rolling his eyes. “Because whoever I end up with, I wouldn’t be dumb enough to let them go!” He fires back.

Cal response is to chuck some of his noodles at his brother.

Donny ducks at the last second, sticking out his tongue in triumph

“Maybe Wren is right – you are a little shit.”

“Alright, that’s enough.” Jayde’s voice shifts their attention onto her. Although her eyes are sparking with amusement, she remains tight-lipped. She makes a point of staring at Cal, “you should finish eating, so I can help you pack.”

“That won’t be necessary –”

“Cal.” She says his name with so much emphasis that he halts inside his tracks – pausing with his fork mere inches away from his mouth. “You are not leaving this house with nothing except the clothes on your back. That’s ridiculous.”

Cal shrugs, meekly dropping his gaze back to his bowl. “Who cares?” It’s not like he had anyone he wanted to impress; without Wren – everything he does feels less important somehow, especially his clothes. Who cares if he only intends to leave with the shirt on his back and these pair of jeans?

“Your hygiene will thank you later.”

“Maybe.” He says glumly, stabbing food on his fork. Another look passes between Donny and Jayde and he barely catches the end of it before the wolf in him goes tense; irritated by their secret communication. “What?”

“Nothing.” They both say almost simultaneously.

“No, it’s obviously something.” He insists.

“I don’t…I don’t think you’re ready to hear it.” Jayde mutters.

Sure enough, Cal doesn’t like the note of pity in her voice. Instead of answering, he swiftly finishes the rest of his meal and gets to his feet. “You’re right, I don’t.” His tone is terse, “I’m going to get packing. Wash up Donny.”

Without as much of a backward glance, he heads to his bedroom.

Hours later, Cal Lowell stands in front of the airport with a duffel bag across his shoulders and a dejected-looking Donny and Jayde standing behind him. He takes one long look at his brother and drops his bag, embracing the younger Lowell without a second thought.

He brushes his hands through his brother’s hair; the way he used to when he was small. It brings him some comfort, knowing he’s leaving him with his pack. They have his back, and even though he’ll miss him like terrible – he knows he has to do this. He has to keep everyone safe.

“I’ll be back.” Cal promises.

Donny’s hands slide to clutch his back, his fingers digging into his shirt as his entire body seems to shake. A soft sob escapes his throat.

The sound makes Cal hug his brother even tighter.

“You better.” Donny says fiercely, pulling away. He rubs his eyes, and “If you don’t come back Cal, I’m going to spend the rest of my life pissing on your grave.”

Despite the seriousness in his voice, Cal laughs and pats him affectionately on the shoulder. Then he steps back, gesturing to himself with a timid smile. “I’ll be back before you even know it.”

Then he shifts his gaze to Jayde, his expression turning somber.

She’s only an inch shorter but she’s never looked as small as she does now. Her eyes are fixed ahead and her jaw is clenched as if the very effort would stop her from crying.

But Cal senses the change in her mood.

They don’t need words when they look at each other, not when he can tell how terrified she is for him. He steps forward, extending his arms out and she crumples in his arms. He listens to the sound of breathing, uneven as it is while she hugs him back. When they pull apart again, she’s much more herself – steel and resolute, with barely anything more than a subtle hint of vulnerability.

“Don’t die.” She says curtly.

They’re both well aware that there’s no guarantee he’ll make it back, thus instead of answering Cal nods – shifting to shake her hand before grabbing his duffel bag again and throwing it across his broad shoulders. “I’ll see you guys on Monday.” He promises with what he hopes, is a reassuring smile.

It’s a short trip he has to make and if all goes well, he’ll be able to make it back before it impacts the flow of his own life. “Watch out for the pack while I’m gone.”

Donny remains silent, but Jayde wraps an arm around the younger Lowell’s shoulders and gives Cal a reassuring smile in return.

Waving, Cal faces the airport’s entrance head-on. He swallows back the nerves that have built up at the idea of leaving, but he can’t back down now. He knows he has to do this. Not just for Donny, or his pack but for Wren too. He has to keep everyone safe.

The wait doesn’t take long. He thinks it’s because he’s gotten here at the right time – a mere two hours before his flight. Still, Cal is nervous. There’s something unsettling about being this high in the air. Wolves don’t belong in the sky; they belong on the ground – with their paws digging into soil and the quiet company of nature.

He gnaws lightly at the corner of his mouth as pre-boarding commences.

Still, Cal has too much time to think. And too much time to think leads him to a dangerous place; particularly one that’s a little under six feet with wide hips and a killer smile.

Ugh, he should really stop thinking about her.

But what’s one day compared to the countless amount of times he’s nearly picked up his phone with the intent of calling her. When everything is slow and there are no distractions to keep the desire well – he struggles as he does now, waiting in line to hand the airlines his boarding ticket.

He checks his phone and his fingers hover over the series of drafts he’s left for in his inbox. He’s still too afraid to press send, knowing there’s a good chance she won’t respond back. And that – that would hurt. Too much.

His hands begin to shake as he fumbles through the unsent messages, deleting them one at a time until there are none left. But closing his phone and placing it back into his back pocket is easier said than done. It doesn’t deter him from wanting to reach out to her.

The seconds tick by and Cal glances impatiently at the front of line. He’s still got an ample amount of people before him.

Barely stifling a sigh, he relents to the little voice inside his head telling him to message her. With trembling fingers, he finally does it; he types a short message right before the line moves.

Hey, if you’re looking for some time to take your stuff out – I won’t be home until Monday.

Cal nearly adds, I miss you to his message but then, vehemently decides against it at the last second. Don’t make things more complicated than they already are. That should be his new motto, because everything he touches seems to fuck up his life even more.

Another shuffle brings him closer at the front of the line. He drops his phone smoothly back inside his jacket and gives the attendant a winsome smile after fishing for his boarding pass.

The woman returns the smile and hands him his passport back seconds before his phone vibrates loud enough for him to stumble and miss a step.

His heart leaps to his throat.

I shouldn’t check it. I shouldn’t. He’s about to be millions of miles away, and whatever she says – won’t change that. But he really wants to – even though it isn’t face-to-face, it’s still her words – her thoughts; pieces of why he’s in love with her.

He bides his time, despite feeling suddenly giddy at the prospect of checking his phone. As he takes his seat, Cal breathes deeply, rolling his shoulders with the motion before checking his phone.

His heart sinks.

Okay.

It’s her only response.

A fucking one-worded answer.

Cal blinks, hoping his eyes are deceiving him. How else can he explain this? Maybe he needs to wait a little longer for something more – there’s no way that’s the only thing she’s wanted to say all this time.

But when nothing else comes, her one-word answer settles in. It seeps through the armor he’s cultivated around his heart, proving the chinks that are still there and buries itself down to his soul.

Shit, it hurts.

Although, the longer he stares at the message – the stint of it disappears, and the more furious it makes him feel. To think, he’d have done anything for her – if she’d responded telling him not to go, he would have struggled with the idea of leaving. He would have hopped off the plane to get to her.

Uttering a soft curse, Cal doesn’t just put his phone away – he shuts off the stupid thing without a second glance and nearly tosses out of the window. Barely squelching the urge, he pockets it and changes the angle of his seat in order to lean back and peer at his ceiling. Closing his eyes, he breathes in deeply – fighting to remain calm while the plane finishes its last-minute preparations before take-off.

This isn’t Cal’s first trip to New York.

He’s been here a few times, mostly on pack business – especially when Kristoff needed him to pick up special packages that only Kavinsky has. Still, it’s his first time on his own and there’s a sense of thrill and awe when he glances up to admire the tallest buildings in Times Square.

Unlike NOLA, there is no time for taking a few minutes to simply enjoy the sun. There doesn’t seem to be time to simply watch and stroll across the city. NYC is practically packed to the brim with people. There could be no time for that even if he tried. Instead, city natives constantly move, running into each other and too wrapped up within their own little world to even apologize when they’ve stepped on his feet. They are more than content with keeping their attention hooked to their phones and crossing the street before the light changes.

The atmosphere is far different too. It makes Cal yearn to be home again, because unlike NYC, people aren’t in such a crazy rush to run him over. Another hard shove into his shoulder convinces Cal that it won’t get any better. He has to bite back the snarl that’s lodged in his throat as the stranger ignores him and continues to push his way past the crowd.

It’s ridiculous.

The wolf in him concurs with statement.

After taking a few calming breaths, Cal switches gears and focuses all his train of thoughts from the tall billboards’ advertisements, to double-checking the address on his phone for the place where they’re supposed to meet. At the last second, Kavinsky changed their dinner plans from a restaurant into an invitation to view his own personal and modern collection.

The sudden change of plans had struck Cal as something uneasy, but he knows it’s not his place to decline a host – especially a host of such caliber. If anything, he’s heard about Kavinsky is true, he’s definitely someone you want to have in your pocket.

And yet, the very nature of his visit would make it hard to earn Kavinsky trust. Cal is starting to think if he’s going to have any hope of getting Kavinsky’s guard down, he has to run the risk of minding what he says and his own body language.

Stuffing his hands inside his pockets, Cal hails a cab and reads the address.

The place is huge. It’s one of the biggest buildings he’s ever seen, at little later in evening – and Cal has seen his fair share over the years. But standing in front of the entrance, staring up at it with awe – there seems to be no end to how long and impassive the gray building stretches. He’s almost tempted run laps around the acres of land.

Thankfully, his better senses quell the urge – but just barely. He boards the steps of the large French doors and is almost taken aback by the man waiting for him.

He’s almost the same height, familiar in build as he stretches out a beefy arm to introduce himself. His balding scalp seems to glint underneath the fluorescent lights just above their heads. “Mr. Lowell, I’m Mr. Klempf.” He extends his hand, “Mr. Kavinsky is expecting you.”

Cal shakes his hand in stride, smiling earnestly despite not being able to see past the man’s shades. He’s better with faces than he is at actual names.

“If you’ll please follow me.” The guard steps in front of him, pushing the metal doors of the entrance open and holding it until Cal steps through.

The place is even more breathtaking inside than its outside, not that Cal has the most avid interest in history – but there’s a variety of collections encased surrounding him after taking the second flight of stairs. His eyes stop to marvel at the sight of several tablets; they’re all written in hieroglyphics and a series of images of undead and marks of something he can only describe as dark energy with an accompanying of two unfamiliar and very large claw marks. He whistles. “This place is beautiful.”

Mr. Kelmpf seems to concur with a nod. “Mr. Kavinsky desires and deserves only the best.”

Before Cal is able to respond– the man of the hour emerges and interrupts the flow of their conversation with a loud clap from the third floor of the building. The first thing that catches Cal attention is how finely tailored his suit is and the well-polished appearance of his shoes; this is a man that radiates wealth and likes to show it. He tips his fedora back in a formal greeting and the sideburns of his grey hair peeks from underneath from the motion, before he settles it smoothly back and grins widely at him. “Cal Lowell,” he drawls. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Mr. Kavinsky,” Cal starts, stepping forward until Mr. Klempf by the same motion – maintains distance between them.

“Please. Call me Langdon.” His smile grows wider. “All my friends do.”

“Well, Langdon.” Cal inclines his head, “I was hoping to have a chance to see your collection.” He gestures broadly, “after hearing about it from another alpha.” He says the words coolly, straightening his shoulders as the slightly taller man ignores the bodyguard to step around him.

He grips his hand into a firm handshake. “I’ve done work for a lot of packs Cal, you have to be more specific than that.” His grey eyes are carefully blank but Cal detects a hint of suspicion in his voice.

“Kristoff.” He says without a second thought, “you remember him, don’t you?”

“Ah of course.” Kavinsky nods sagely, “I heard he kicked it. My thoughts are with you and your pack on losing such a good alpha.” He makes a point of clapping him on his shoulder. “But how much suffering are you really doing – when you’ve won your challenge of becoming alpha.”

“You heard about that?” Cal blinks in surprise. He attempts to conceal his shock with a laugh. “And hear I thought I was damned fresh news.”

Kavinsky barks out a laugh before gesturing Cal to follow him up the stairs. “No news is new to me.”

“Your circle of influence must stretch pretty far then.” He observes, keeping a length of a few feet from the man as they enter another hall. The back of hairs stands at attention with Mr. Klempf’s sudden close proximity of remaining only a few inches behind him

“Yeah, it does. But that ain’t why you’re here, I reckon.” Kavinsky changes the subject, stopping short of another set of doors that has Cal wondering why the sudden change in conversation.

“You wanted to see my newest supply of wolfbane right?”

Cal nods, “yeah. We’ve been out for a while. We’re desperate.” It’s the only cover story he concocted with Jayde that makes any reasonable amount of sense. He clears his throat, “and I’ve brought what Kristoff would have paid for in kind –”

“Let me show you first.” He interrupts, raising up a hand. “I can’t do a deal if my customers don’t have a look to see what our supply looks like. It don’t make a lick of sense.” He laughs and his bodyguard joins in shortly after. “We’ll get to that other part soon enough.” Jerking his chin at Mr. Klempf, the beefy guard disappears for a moment before returning with a pair of metallic cuffs.

At the sight of them, Cal’s throat goes dry. The wolf in him stands alert, tensing as he takes a cautionary step back. “I don’t –”

“This old thing?” Kavinsky interrupts with a smile. Although the smile doesn’t reach his eyes, his body language remains utterly calm that has Cal feeling a little less unsure. “It’s just a precaution, you see. You’re a werewolf Cal. An alpha nonetheless, and I’m a meek little human.” He gestures to himself. “We just met – and I can’t have you walking around all willy-nilly with all my collections just primed for the taking.”

Cal’s nostrils flare in anger. “I wouldn’t –”

“Steal anything?” He finishes for him, shaking his head. “I’ve heard it all before, but we’ve still had some larceny in the past. We’ve just met Cal. You don’t know me – and I sure as hell, don’t know you.”

“If Kristoff was here, he’d be able to vouch for me.”

“But he’s not here, is he?” His eyes narrow a fraction. “He died to a bloodwraith that you brought down unto the pack – if memory serves me right.” He throws his hands up in a gesture as if to dare Cal to prove him wrong.

But Cal knows he’s right and he flinches at the memory. He’d long ago thought he parted with the guilt that came at acknowledging in part that some of why Kristoff died was his fault. When he brought Wren in, he didn’t think the thing could have torn his alpha apart, he was supposed to be a legend - and damn near untouchable. But he died. And sometimes, the images resurface – the screams, the fighting and all the blood; manages to find a way despite all his attempts at burying it deep within himself.

“Believe me when I say I take no pleasure in doing this, it’s just for safety. You understand, don’t ya?” His gaze turns insistent, although he drops a hand while the other remains where it is as though warding Mr. Klempf from cuffing Cal. “I won’t do anything without your permission, I need it if I’m gonna have my big fellow over here cuff ya.” His voice is eerily steady as he jerks his chin at him.

A few seconds passed in silence as Cal tries to wrack his brain for alternative – anything is preferable than wearing handcuffs. It isn’t just the idea of them, it’s what they represent. Collared, as if he’s some kind of rabid dog. The wolf in him glowers at the implication, but try as he might, he can’t find another option.

The wolfsbane reasoning isn’t completely an excuse; they are in need of some – although, if they aren’t desperate enough for it yet. And if he’s going to form any sort of relationship with this man, he needs to show he can be trusted. Even if it’s only in pretense. Still, the idea of wearing cuffs doesn’t sit well with him. The wolf in him is ready to pounce at the earliest sign of danger – and one whiff of those spells danger.

But how far is he willing to take this? How much can he rationalize for the pack and for his own sake? He fights to stay in control, biting back a snarl that rises in his throat. Slowly, he extends his wrists towards Mr. Klempf with a disgruntled sigh. “Alright, if this is a sign of trust that you need – I can give it.”

Mr. Klempf’s gaze is unreadable as he slides the metallic cuffs around his wrist. They snap with a slight clink and it takes all of Cal’s willpower not to try and tear them off. His heartbeat races a little faster and he has to take several deep breaths before he’s able to feel himself again. “Alright, what next?”

“Next, you follow me.” Kavinsky waits expectantly for his bodyguard to push the doors open Cal’s amazement at the building’s infrastructure turns into bewilderment and disbelief.

“W-what the fuck?” He sputters, now eyeing the room as a an overwhelming sense of danger overrides his shock.

Seemingly boxing him in, all around Cal are giant-looking cylinders indicating another assortment of collection that Kavinsky has. But it isn’t similar to previous ones he’s seen – as he steps closer to one of the tanks – these are most definitely unconscious people and not wondrous artifacts that grabs his attention.

What the actual fuck?

No matter how long he stares, nothing changes. He isn’t simply seeing things from hunger and sleep deprivation. They are all different sorts of supernaturals beings littered across the room in those containers – goblins, ghouls and zombies – even bizarre-looking monsters Cal can’t identify as he stumbles back. “What the hell –” he blinks again, hoping it’s not as bad as it looks, but it is so much worse. “What the hell is this?” He whirls to face them just in time to see Mr. Klempf locking the door behind them with a distinct click.

Kavinsky’s laugh is heinous enough to make Cal’s skin crawl. “This, my newest specimen – is my newest and greatest collection.” His eyes are bright with an eerie light to them as he spreads his arms wide. “What good is it to have a collection of only simple and magical artifacts – when the world presents an opportunity for so much more?” He drops his hands. “I’ve always had a deep fascination…for people like you.”

Cal stares, open-mouthed at him while the wolf stirs inside him with undeniable rage. All those people trapped. “You sick fuck –” The moment he takes a threatening step towards the man, seething with rage – the cuffs around his wrist lets out a hiss.

Little shocks immediately jolt him into standing still. Cal flinches in agony as stinging pain replaces anger. “Ahh!” He cries out, stumbling to keep himself upright. The pain doesn’t just stop there – it turns into a consistent stream of shock that has knees buckling underneath him.

An abrupt and sinister laugh fills the room.

“You ain’t foolish enough to think I’d let such a prize piece out of here? C’mon Cal.” Kavinsky tsks, his lips forming a sneer. “Shaw’s told me about you, but I had to see for myself. He did not disappoint.” Patting his chest with his hat, he grins. “Who am I to let go of such an opportunity pass me? An alpha in his prime?” He whistles, “that would be such a waste”

Cal bares his teeth, taking a more hostile stance. “It’s not too late to let me go, we don’t have to do this.” He says between clenched teeth, but he isn’t looking for a reason to surrender. Truthfully, he’s more than eager to kick his ass.

He lets at a howl, bones crunching as he starts shifting in front of them. But just as quickly as it starts, it’s finished. The cuffs around his wrists sends another jolt, too severe for him to concentrate and his feet buckle before he hits the floor.

Slam.

Everything hurts.

He lets out another howl but it’s an agony as he struggles to get back to his feet. “If you think that’s going to stop me –” The third jolt threatens to pull him under and Cal mashes his teeth together to stop himself from screaming. His entire body thrums with pain as the wolf inside him whelps in pain.

“Oh, I think we really do Mr. Lowell.”

His body convulses when he tries to sit up. Get up, get up. But he can’t, everything hurts too much. “I swear to god, when I get out of here –”

“Get out of here? This is your new home Cal, better get used to it.”

Cal tries to push past the pain, to utter some snide remark but unfortunately, his body isn’t cooperating. He can barely breathe as another layer of pain washes over him; flooding the rest of his system one agonizing moment after another. Somehow, he manages to muster enough willpower to glare up at Kavinsky, his twisted smile the last thing he sees before another spark of pain flares and pulls him under.

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clansayeed · 4 years ago

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Bound by Destiny II, part 1 ― Chapter 7: The Bloodqueen

PAIRING: Kamilah Sayeed x MC (Nadya Al Jamil) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Destiny II, part 1 ⥽

While struggling with nightmares of lives she’s never lived, a shadow from the past looming over her city, and the proposed idea that her life may just be a little bit too weird to handle alone, Nadya makes sure to tell herself that everything is perfect just the way it is. If only. When the self-proclaimed King of Vampires (and Maker of her sometimes-girlfriend and always-boss, can’t forget that little tidbit) Gaius Augustine returns intent on claiming Manhattan as the throne that was promised, she and her friends find themselves forced into the task of saving the world. But with millennia-old vampires and an Order of hunters on their heels as well as allies hiding catastrophic secrets at their backs… it won’t be an easy task. Too bad destiny didn’t exactly ask for her input.

Bound by Destiny II and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the Bloodbound series and spin-off, Nightbound. Find out more [HERE].

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Destiny II tag list!

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

There are things in Kamilah's past she would not share with anyone, least of all Nadya. The problem is that Nadya can't always choose the stories her visions tell. When she learns the truth Kamilah lashes out.

[READ IT ON AO3]

“Anything else you’ve need of before I take my leave?”

“No, Gerard. Thank you and enjoy the rest of your evening.”

He tips his hat to them. “Have a pleasant rest of your evening then, Lady Kamilah — Nadya.”

The butler lingers in the doorway; it takes Nadya a moment (too long, and she feels bad about it even if she can’t quite muster up the words to apologize) to realize he’s waiting on her. She looks up and hopes her smile isn’t too strained.

“Good night, Gerard.”

It was; it was definitely too strained. There’s a second where the elderly man looks like he won’t leave until she tells him what’s up. But he doesn’t pry. He’s worked for Kamilah too long to pry.

Though when the door closes behind him and leaves Kamilah and Nadya alone… she kind of wishes he’d stayed. As a buffer.

She pulls herself back into the room to find Kamilah’s expectant eye right on her. “You were saying?”

Crap, what was she saying? Does she know? How could she possibly know?

Fear makes Nadya tighten her hands — that’s when she remembers the notepad in her lap; the conversation they were just getting into when Gerard had said his final goodbyes.

“Right right right,” Nadya clicks her tongue, “we were talking about…”

Kamilah gives her a moment for her tongue to catch up with the rest of her thoughts but when it’s obvious that won’t be a timely thing; “You were telling me about the name the smuggler’s contact provided you?”

Yes, duh. “Right; Kavinsky, Langdon Kavinsky. Big money out in Vegas, I think he owns a casino or something? The last time the Amulet was on any kind of formal paperwork was when Kavinsky bought it a couple years ago from some private collector in England.”

“And he has it still?”

“Ugh, no. He lost it in some poker game.” Nadya flips through her notes maybe a little too enthusiastically; but it’s an excuse not to look Kamilah in the face and she’ll take it. “Lily found a bunch of transcripts of what look like… minutes? Like from a courtroom.”

“It isn’t uncommon for that tier of wealth, especially in an environment where large sums of money change hands quickly and not always in plain sight.”

“Got it — the Amulet isn’t directly named but there’s this pair, here look, they come into the game late. Then the girl, the guy, and Kavinsky keep sporadically mentioning some ‘historical artifact’ and about a week later the Amulet is no longer on Kavinsky’s inventory list.”

The minutes, the inventory; both of which Nadya tries to offer but Kamilah doesn’t take. She’s too focused on the trembling hand that holds them out. It makes her raise an eyebrow in wordless question.

“Too much coffee.” She explains, and nothing about Kamilah’s expression says she buys it, but thankfully this is more important than that.

Kamilah takes the pages and makes it a point of practically holding Nadya’s hand as she does. The effect is an instantly calming one; albeit temporary.

“This couple you mention,” Kamilah looks between the stapled pages with a furrow in her brow, “they aren’t named.”

Nadya nods; she’d noticed the same thing. “Weird, right? So Lil’ said she’d try and dig for some security tapes or something — if not from the actual tournament then from the hotel lobby in case they were guests. Actually getting hold of the guy himself is a last resort, but —”

“The fewer who know what we seek; the better.”

“Exactly.”

Kamilah sighs and sets the papers aside on the glass coffee table. She combs a hand through the curtain of her hair and can Nadya really be blamed for watching with just a teeny tiny bit of absolute adoration? Even like this, exhausted of the pursuit like they all are by now, she’s still timelessly beautiful.

But Nadya hadn’t come all the way across town to the penthouse just to share a name and a bunch of ‘maybes.’ Only she had the whole cab ride to psyche herself up and now… looking at her like this… now she doesn’t know if she can go through with it. Doesn’t know if she can bring herself to hurt Kamilah like she knows she’s going to.

“You deserve the chance to tell her in your own time and in your own way.”

That dumb, terrible part of Nadya that’s always thinking (and never in their favor) didn’t let her understand what she’d fully meant when she said it to Maricruz. Of course she definitely meant it for them — especially after everything that’s happened the last couple of weeks about secrets and lies and things always coming out at the worst possible time. But she hadn’t meant it just for them.

And this… this is something Nadya would rather Kamilah hear from her personally than anyone else. From Gaius, or (god forbid) from the woman finding it out on her own somehow.

Kamilah leans her head against the back of the couch; leaves her eyes open the bare minimum to look at Nadya through long dark lashes. That same uncomfortable surveillance, but now they don’t have shop talk to cover it up with. Nadya’s discomfort hangs over them like a piano on a fraying rope — if she can hear her own heart trying to punch a hole in her chest there’s no question about whether Kamilah can.

“Have you decided?”

Nadya swallows. “Decided what?”

“Whether or not you will tell me what you wish to tell me.”

“I —”

She fumbles when two fingers come crooked under her chin; raising it just the barest bit. Exposing the splotchy flush of her anxieties running down her throat and past the collar of her shirt. It’s that same kind of insistence Kamilah uses on her in the bedroom. A request Nadya has one last chance to deny. But once she doesn’t it’s no longer a request but a command.

That a woman of Kamilah’s caliber requests anything of Nadya is still nothing short of a miracle. She just has to pray it’s not short-lived after tonight.

“Kamilah?”

“Yes, Nadya?”

“There’s something I need to tell you,” — and before the vampiress can find amusement in her awkwardness — “something… something I’ve been keeping from you.”

The hand falls down and away. Kamilah sits up straighter; no longer so at ease.

What more could you possibly keep from me, asks the look in her dark eyes. And it’s not a request.

“Wait here, I need to… to go get it.”

Against every instinct in her bones Nadya stands and goes to grab her overnight bag. Poets have written tragedies about the struggle and heartache that grows with every step. Into the bedroom and where her bag rests on the chair in the far corner; like her subconscious wanted to give her as many obstacles as possible. As if that would somehow deter her. Nadya pulls back the zipper and digs all the way down to the bottom.

Even with walls between them she feels the weight of Kamilah’s stare.

One last breath…

She knew it would be difficult, but letting go of the journal is the hardest thing Nadya’s ever had to do in her entire life.

And at this point she’s lived quite a few lives.

It’s not about admitting that everything up until that moment is real. She’s come to terms with that — violently, almost. She didn’t really have a choice after all. Something about being taken hostage by the father of all vampires and being forced to remember things like the location of a secret Amulet or living through the murder of her best friend.

Truthfully Nadya still thinks Bloodkeeper is kind of a dumb title but she’s made her peace with it.

It’s about admitting things about this awful, cursed ability. Not to herself but to others; to the people she loves most. Things she’s only ever told the pages of this little book (and Valdas but she’s officially not counting him, on account of the fact that he’s a lying deceitful jerkface). Because nightmares and haunting memories aside there are some things Nadya is convinced shouldn’t be shared. Because there’s no amount of truth or resolution in the simple act of knowing these things that can outweigh the awfulness of it. Things that involve Adrian, the Trinity; even Gaius.

Things that involve Kamilah.

But Nadya lets go of it anyway. She has to be strong right now — for them both. Now more than ever. A little too late since she now knows this is the second Bloodkeeper’s account that Kamilah has ever held. This one, though, was given willingly.

She has a sinking feeling that doesn’t make a difference.

If she has a question Kamilah lets it die on the tip of her tongue. She takes the little book with a shadow of recognition. Despite that she opens it anyway.

Kamilah flips through the first few pages without really looking. Nadya’s a little relieved she doesn’t have to describe what exactly it is in detail. A quick thumb brushes along the edges and Kamilah sees the same thing Valdas did — the not-so-slow dissolution of sanity and legibility with every entry.

Back to the front, she smooths back the cover by the crease and lets her open palm rest on the first page.

It’s dated April 14 and in comparison to the rest of the book it’s pretty tame. From back when the memories were solely nightmares that came only in her deepest sleep. Fragments of an identity Nadya still doesn’t know; the tearful account of a young woman betrayed, Turned by the person she thought loved her most. And how at peace she felt when the tip of a white picket fence met her heart.

Nadya’s pretty sure the silence will drive her insane.

“It’s —”

Kamilah cuts her off without looking up. “I know what it is.”

Insanity it is, then. Agony, too. Tension bordering on the tearful until…

“I was given the impression you forgot the exact details of the… memories you experienced, more often than not.”

Nadya knows she deserves every clipped syllable. “I know.”

“I see now that was not the case.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

Slowly the vampire turns the page; then another — and another.

Several times Kamilah attempts to speak — opens and closes her mouth when she accepts words fail her each time. It’s miserable for Nadya to watch and not know what exactly is holding her back. Is it that she doesn’t know what to say, or how to go about saying it?

Nadya might not be able to keep it together if she doesn’t find something else to look at; so she focuses on her hands in her lap, skin stretched white over her knuckles in taut fists. Inevitably her focus draws to the bracelet Kamilah gifted her — what seems like forever and a year ago. It feels heavier; like a shackle.

One she deserves.

“You once told me that I knew things you wouldn’t…” no, no that’s not right, “hold on — lemme try again — you’ve known… dammit,” because if there was ever a time to curse it’s now, “if I had any way to control these—these awful things I…”

Kamilah holds up a single finger. Nadya’s mouth shuts so hard and so fast she actually bites her tongue; stifles the painful little noise and swallows the faint taste of blood that Kamilah doesn’t even react to — not one bit — and that only tightens the knots she’s already in.

But she doesn’t even look up; not once. She just… reads. Devours page after page. Each time she turns a new one Nadya feels her heart skip a beat — finds it a little bit harder to breathe. By the time Kamilah reaches the last entry she might well pass out from lack of oxygen.

It would almost be preferable.

Finally Kamilah reaches the last entry. The most recent one; dated for three days after her return from Gaius’ withered clutches.

Nadya had penned it down because she was naive and planned never to share these awful pages with anyone — especially not these pages, especially not Kamilah. But it was the first vision she could call a memory and that was important for some reason. It seemed like a fitting final entry because it meant that all the ones before it were real; that she wasn’t crazy or dying or both.

If only feeling that way had made her words easier to write.

Nothing in the world could have done that.

It doesn’t matter whether I understand it or not. They felt fear. They were afraid. So I felt fear and I was afraid. The horde was two things at once: just another mobbing of the weak against the strong and a new kind of determined they hadn’t seen from humanity before. Humanity that wasn’t a part of the Order. I still don’t know what “the Order” is but this is the 22-nd time I’ve felt it. It’s probably an organization of some kind but the ones who think of it treat it like a person instead of many people. A persistent enemy.

I’m wearing armor, some kind of chainmail. Every step is heavy but whoever I am, I’m old so I might only be aware of it because I (me) am not used to it. The sword at my side is an old friend. I’m in a ballroom of some kind but there’s no music or dancing. Whoever I am I don’t mind this though. I think I have two left feet. They are coming but I (me) don’t know who they are. At least we aren’t underground. I keep thinking that. At least we aren’t underground. At least we aren’t underground.

Marcel comes running up to me through the crowd of panicking people. All of them: vampires. He’s carrying a sword and shield too big for his small size. They don’t match his fancy frock. I only notice this because frocks don’t do much against pitchforks and scythes. And I tell him as much. I tell him his weapons are not made for battle, and that he should leave. I just want to keep him safe. At least we aren’t underground. He’s so small sometimes I forget he is only a few decades younger than myself. I will not lose sight of you this time Banner, he says.

His Majesty, Our King comes up on the crowd. He summons me to his side because I am his Soldier. But I do so easier when I see Marcel’s face among the masses. I’m on his left and his Queen is on his right.

NOTE: I (me) imagine he gave a rallying speech, but I don’t remember enough to write it down here. I can’t stop thinking about Kamilah. She was wearing the dress from the Ball. I knew it was old but seeing it in these visions, memories, that upsets me. Seeing it covered in blood upsets me. And it’s a lot of blood.

The mob breaks through the barricades at the stroke of midnight. Our King and Queen and myself are on the front line. These are mere humans — workers laborers poor and starving. They aren’t a challenge. I’ve always hated being forced to attend parties and balls but this is my new favorite one. I force a man to swallow my sword with one hand and crush a woman’s throat with the other. I can taste their blood in my teeth. It splatters and drips down my armor. I polished the breastplate that evening. I keep Marcel close at hand just in case. At least we aren’t underground.

The Bloodqueen dances now like she did before the attack. Her dress picks up pooling blood from fallen prey and trails it around the floor. I try to keep Marcel distracted — he will weep like a child for the marble. I prefer it this way. Judging by the way the blood drips from her: mouth, hair, cheeks, dress, daggers, she agrees. I make sure to count my dead. She’s bested me in body count thrice now. I don’t intend to let her do so again.

There was more to it; there always is. Things Nadya can’t quite remember because she’s only human and how can she possibly be expected to remember every detail of something so terrible on top of exhaustion and stress and fear?

Nadya reaches out to take the book back — as though out of sight out of mind could possibly apply to this, them; here — but Kamilah’s nails dig into the leather cover savage like fangs. The sight makes her recoil which is most definitely the wrong thing to do even though she really didn’t mean to do it.

But the damage is done.

Kamilah can’t bear to look at her, she stands and pulls herself away. Seeing someone always so confident and at home in their own skin this way — pacing back and forth uneven and direction-less, mouth twitching with words held back, everything normally kept stable beneath the surface in danger of bursting out all at once — Nadya’s heart keeps breaking over and over and over again.

Knowing that she’s the reason for it all is worse in a way she isn’t sure she can describe.

“Are there more?”

Kamilah practically hisses the words; “Are there more of these… accounts?”

“No.” Nadya answers — only, hers is a short-lived relief.

“But this is not all that you remember.”

Remember; she spits — like its Nadya’s fault or something.

She doesn’t answer fast enough for Kamilah’s liking. The woman rounds on her one breath away from… from…

“That’s not all of it, no.”

“Tell me.”

“Kamilah —”

“Tell. me.”

“Tell you what?!”

“Tell me what else you have seen of my acts. How far back does your mind reach into our memories—my memories? Can you tell them apart; pluck out the ones which interest you? Do you witness each one from another’s eyes or have you suffered to become me, and kept that from me as well? Of what you’ve seen which is the worst of my sins?”

Nadya scrambles to think of one; tries to pull apart the tangled knots of what she did write down and what she didn’t and the difference between actual memories and things she dreamed of equal tragedy because can she really be expected to have all of that in her head all the time and not lose some portion of her own thoughts in the process?

“I — I can’t remember.”

Kamilah brandishes the book like damning evidence and Nadya’s the one on trial. “Obviously that is another of your mostly-truths.”

“That’s not fair —”

“Do you believe any of this to be fair, Nadya? Surely you are no longer so naive.”

What am I supposed to say? When it seems like everything she tells Kamilah is met with some kind of argument; like it isn’t ever going to be good enough.

All of that tied up with the rest of her and somehow Nadya still feels like she’s unraveling at the edges again. It leaves her gaping, noiseless, second-triple-quadruple guessing every word and thought until tears are brimming in her eyes and Kamilah just looks on.

“What do you want me to say?” Nadya begs. Her tears leave scalding trails down her cheeks. “Please, Kamilah please just tell me what you want me to say.” Because nothing I’m saying is right. Because you demand the truth and you demand answers but those aren’t the same thing anymore.

Pain flickers sharp in Kamilah’s eyes. A different kind of pain than what’s already there. Is it wrong for Nadya to hope it has something to do with the fact Kamilah made her cry; that she somehow regrets lashing out like this?

“I want you to tell me why. Why did you show me this, Nadya,” Kamilah drops the journal to their feet, “why would you hurt me in this way?”

But she doesn’t wait for an answer this time around. Nadya’s barely struggled through a wheezing breath and Kamilah is already at the other end of the room, back turned — can’t even stand the sight of her.

“Kamilah…”

Who doesn’t move.

When Nadya finally manages the simple act of standing its on wobbly legs. She may very well fall on her face in the strides it takes to get to Kamilah but she’d fall on her face a hundred times more if it mends this wound gored out of them.

“Just talk to me, Kamilah. Please—I-I don’t like this,” you don’t either — I can tell, “I was trying to—to put everything out in the open. No more secrets, nothing that could hurt…” hurt you — but you just said I hurt you, “Kamilah, please. This isn’t you.”

Nadya reaches out but Kamilah isn’t there. She’s just shy of Nadya’s touch — she may be blind and bleary-eyed but she knows when someone’s pulled away.

“You don’t know me.”

Kamilah has pulled away from her. Left her aimless; floating in some awful void where she doesn’t know what to say — to think — to feel or do to make it right.

“Though,” the woman laughs bitterly, “perhaps you do — and better than I would have ever allowed.”

Allowed? “What — are you saying you wouldn’t have ever told me about your life before this?”

Before me?

“And have you see me in such a way? No, never.”

“But you were the one who said we shouldn’t have any more secrets.”

“The circumstances were different.”

“Because they were mine.” It’s not a question. Nadya isn’t asking anything; just saying the things Kamilah would rather skirt around, apparently. “I can’t hide things from you but you can hide things from me no problem. That’s not how this works.”

Kamilah turns enough for Nadya to catch her in profile. To catch the slight quirk of her eyebrow at “this.” This—them—whatever they are or… or were. Because if this is the way Kamilah wants things then Nadya might have spent the last year making the biggest mistake of her life.

Kamilah shakes her head with a sigh. “No, you foolish girl. The secrets you kept from me — the severity of your struggle, the things collected in that damned book — they hurt you.”

“They —”

“Do not lie to me again.” Not like this, her unspoken plea — but Kamilah doesn’t do things like that, not now.

And Nadya promised she wouldn’t. So she doesn’t. And she really doesn’t know how to feel about how surprised Kamilah looks for it.

“My secrets, however,” she continues, “only hurt you if you know them. Things are better this way — or rather they were.”

Strangely Nadya feels like she’s had some version of this conversation before. Not with Kamilah but someone she dated, probably back home. How is it they’re arguing about Nadya’s dreamlike memories of every vampire ever including bad stuff Kamilah did and it’s still ringing out like a totally normal couple fighting?

Why does that make Nadya feel both better and worse about the whole thing?

“You make it sound like I did this on purpose.” She couldn’t quite shake what exactly was bothering her about Kamilah’s tone but that’s it — isn’t it? One of those rare times her lack of filter is a good thing. Mostly because Nadya isn’t really sure she’d have the guts to say it if she did have one.

Kamilah snorts; derisive and judgmental — and doesn’t even have the guts to look her in the eyes when she does it.

“You admitted to keeping it from me.”

“What, the—the journal? I’m not talking about the journal. I’m talking about the memories.”

I’ll take that silence as a yes then, huh. “Is that what you think? Is that why you’re mad at me right now? You think I wanted to see that side of you?” Question after question but Nadya barely even breaks to breathe let alone let Kamilah get an answer in. “Every single word in that freakin’ book that’s about you — those were the hardest words I’ve ever had to write!”

“Then why did you write them at all?”

“Because they’re important! Because they have to mean something!”

“Something like what, exactly,” sneers Kamilah, “beyond showing you swaths of carnage I once carved out of the world, or the blood that still seeps from my very fingertips?”

“Or maybe — wild guess here — they aren’t random memories I’m being forced to see? Maybe they mean something? Or… or…”

Now is definitely not the time to lose what little momentum she’s got — not that Nadya can really do anything about it. So Kamilah takes advantage of even the slightest falter.

“‘Or’ what, Nadya?” Calm, composed, effortlessly cool Kamilah — even now.

“Or maybe writing everything down made it easier for me to cope because I knew that the woman on those pages and the woman who held me safe in my sleep weren’t the same; not at all.”

The vampire recoils sudden; violent. Nadya can practically see the chains and walls and vast fields of thorns building up in strength and numbers behind her eyes.

“If you truly believe that… then you have learned nothing.”

“I’ve learned a lot, actually.”

“Not enough to spare you. They are one in the same — these women of whom you speak; one raised up to the heavens and the other damned to despair. They are both me.”

“Maybe once, but —”

“No,” she insists — and shakes her head in disappointment, “there are no exceptions. You do not—cannot—understand. For all the extraordinary things that you are, you are still mortal. And that blinds you; limits you.”

Limits us, is what she means. Nadya can’t tell which one of them she’s sparing by not saying it.

Her dignity flew out this particular door a long time ago but Nadya still tries to compose herself; wipes her tears with the back of her hand hastily. She hiccoughs with a squeak.

“Kamilah — I want to understand. I want to—to try at the very least. So why don’t you?”

Nadya doesn’t mean it as an accusation. Or maybe (on the inside) she does.

“Because I have seen this before. And I know how it ends.”

“That’s an excuse.”

“There is only one way this can end!” And suddenly their world of subtle metaphors isn’t subtle at all; its hundreds of miles away.

This. Nadya’s useless attempts at trying to help Kamilah open up?

This. Kamilah; who knows what she wants and takes it, and Nadya; who never seems to know her own head?

This. A two thousand year old vampire and the twenty-something mortal who is starting to see forever written with the letters of the immortal’s name?

“The things in that book —” Kamilah can’t even bear to look at it now, “— the version of myself you have seen, god forbid if you’ve lived through her eyes… I have not shunned her. I wear her every day, and I will until the end of my days. Yet while I have spent decades forcing her into my shadow there are those who would see her and call her Bloodqueen; who would bow to her feet and cower beneath her in equal measure.

“The very idea that you of all people have seen what I am capable of causes me pain, Nadya. I don’t know which thought is worse; that you might have committed my darkest acts with your own hands or that you still could. If I had known about this I could have found a way to spare you from it. But right now…

“Right now there is nothing on this earth I would like more than to open up your head and rip every single memory of who I was from your mind with my bare hands.”

Rancid fear — totally valid fear but try telling her that right now — rises like bile in the back of her throat. Nadya steps back, trips over her own feet actually, and feels the cool glass of the table hit the back of her legs. And oh god that was definitely the wrong thing to do because Kamilah’s eyes are flaring red and suddenly she can’t close the gap between them fast enough.

She pins Nadya in place. Hands hovering just shy of her upper arms. Kamilah is restraining herself from grabbing Nadya but only barely. No matter how badly she wants to close her eyes and turn away, though, she doesn’t.

She can’t.

“Are you afraid of me, mortal?”

Yes. “No.”

“What did I say about lying?”

“I’m not afraid of you.” I’m afraid of who you think you are.

“I don’t believe you,” any closer and Kamilah will have to step inside her skin, “not for all of the depravities you have seen—felt—lived through my eyes and others. Tell me Nadya,” the backs of her fingers are soft against Nadya’s cheek; it should be a crime to say such awful words in such a velvet voice, “which of them did you fancy best?

“Was it the slaughter at Damascus, and the bacchanalia we reveled in among the corpses? Or perhaps the culling of Versailles — were you witness to my machinations there? Did you see the part I played, the heartstrings I pulled and twisted until ma petit Marie trusted me with her life right up to the moment when I led the mob to her gilded door?

“Do you know to this day, four centuries later, I still cannot gaze out from a balcony without hearing the screams of a dozen chapel sisters and their charges while we hunted them down one. by. one.”

A familiar weakness knocks at Nadya’s knees. No, not this, please not again — she would give anything, everything, not to succumb to the rush of memories that crash into her in Kamilah’s voice. It might take more willpower than she has left to stop them. But she tries; god she tries.

“Stop — Kamilah please just stop.”

The vampire sneers back at her. “Why should I?”

“I know what you’re trying to do,” —I won’t let you push me away with fear— “I don’t…”

“You wanted to know, didn’t you; to understand?”

They both sound so broken.

“I don’t want —”

“What? What don’t you want?”

“I don’t want to be protected!”

Nadya braces her hands against Kamilah’s chest and shoves with all her might. Where did that come from? And some small part of her asks do you want to know, do you care right now? Maybe she doesn’t. Maybe she’s so angry at Kamilah right now she might actually burst with it.

Kamilah is too graceful of a creature to stumble in anything. But she does step back — a wildness still in her eyes but Nadya feels that too and takes it into her own frustration, sadness; torment.

“I am tired of you people trying to—to protect me from everything! You think you know what’s best for me but why don’t I get to decide that for myself? It involves me, doesn’t it? I deserve the right to choose, Kamilah! Stop taking it from me!”

She gets why people yell when they argue now — it feels freakin’ amazing. “Over and over and over again — I’m already losing my mind; my sense of self. I can’t lose my right to choose too.” I can’t lose you, too. “You think you know what’s best for me — why, because you’ve lived sooo many freakin’ lifetimes that automatically gives you permission over my mind, my body; my actions? Well newsflash; that’s not how relationships work!

“I kept things from you, I admit that. And I’m sorry. I literally can’t apologize any more than I already have. But you don’t get to act like this when you were the one who wanted honesty. You don’t get to throw a tantrum because you did bad things!”

She doesn’t mean some of it; but most of it is just raw and unfiltered Nadya. There was a time when Kamilah liked that about her. But none of this is to make Kamilah happy. Frankly she’s tired of trying to do that and finding walls at every turn.

Nadya sucks at mazes.

“There is far more than —”

“I’m sorry — did I say I was done?” And that’s another addition to her list of regrets when she is done — but she’s not.

She jabs a finger at Kamilah’s chest. “You keep telling me I don’t understand—I can’t understand. But if you stopped acting like I’m just another pathetic human you might realize literally nobody in the entire world can understand better than me. Not Adrian, not Gaius; me. And even if you took all this supernatural bullcrap out of it it’s not your decision whether or not I’m capable of getting you.

“You don’t get to pull me close and push me away any time you feel like it. You can’t spend one night telling me how you were afraid of me getting hurt and then shove yourself up in my face all ‘are you afraid mortal’ the next! That’s just not how it works. That’s not how this is going to work. I deserve better than that.”

Nadya grabs Kamilah’s hand the instant before she starts to pull away. Words are so important, you know? And they couldn’t be more opposite; Kamilah who chooses hers with the utmost caution and Nadya who just kind of spouts them off until the right ones come out in the right order. It’s because of those differences between them that she holds on tight even though she’s very well aware that Kamilah could break free with little thought.

Nadya says ‘I deserve better than that.’ But what Kamilah hears is ‘I deserve better than you.’

“Please,” she begs; though it would be helpful if someone told her what it was she was begging for, “Kamilah… please.”

The twitch of Kamilah’s fingers brush against the inside of her wrist. A bodily impulse to hold Nadya’s hand.

They hold each other captive with a gaze.

#bloodbound #kamilah x mc #kamilah sayeed #bloodbound fanfiction #playchoices fanfiction #fic: oblivion bound #oblv: bound by destiny ii #oblv: new chapter #bloodbound mc #mc: nadya al jamil #; my fics

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