Chapter Text
Caitlyn wakes to the relative ease of total darkness. There’s none of the pain of daylight, but she’s momentarily disoriented by an unfamiliar weight resting at the foot of the bed. She sits up quickly, alert with fear. In fact, she merely has to want to move, and then it’s done.
The realization of what lies in front of her comes slower than that. “… Vi?”
Vi is sitting at the furthest end of the bed. Her muscles ripple as she turns to smile at Caitlyn. She looks so much more at ease than she has all day. The sunlight must be good for her.
This isn’t the first time Vi has waited at the foot of where Caitlyn rests, though it is the first time Caitlyn has been able to witness immediately upon waking what had previously been obscured by her casket’s lid. It’s a lovely view.
“Hey, Princess. Sleep well?”
The truth is Caitlyn was more restless once Vi left her side, but there’s no need to tell her that. Vi looks genuinely happy, and Caitlyn doesn’t want to be the thing that ruins it. “Come here,” she says instead, then thinks to add, “Please.”
Vi laughs, but she doesn’t argue. She leaps onto all fours and nearly tackles Caitlyn into the bed frame with her first lunge. Their mouths collide a little sharply. Teeth crash with the inside of mouths, and both are bleeding—just a little. It almost feels like deliberate teasing. The tendrils of warm fresh blood pull at Caitlyn’s insides, urging her on.
She laughs too, but it’s a throaty sound from deeper inside herself. She bites Vi’s lips again, harder and with intentionality. Her hybrid can heal quickly, so why not take advantage of the welcome opportunity? Vi’s blood no longer tastes like last night’s whiskey. Instead the flavor is so precisely and indescribably Her. Caitlyn’s wolf. Every single gulp is everything that Vi is: powerful, sweet, and salty all in one. There’s a heavy umami with a candied layer on top. She is an entire meal, both the protein and dessert.
It shouldn’t be possible, and it certainly shouldn’t taste so good. But Vi is nothing if not a contradiction. She pulls back, smiling through the trail of blood trickling down her chin and staining these lovely sheets. “You think the alarm’s going off next door?”
Caitlyn’s hand settles in Vi’s hair, scratching over the places where it’s shortest. “I should hope you told them about your test before, reckless as it was.” She tsks, a sharp clicking of her tongue—and she can’t help but notice the way Vi shivers. It seems Caitlyn’s little improvisation last night has had a lingering effect. She’ll have to file that knowledge away for later.
“… I did, yeah.” Vi’s voice is slightly plaintive, as if she wants Caitlyn to relent in her teasing, but Caitlyn strongly doubts that’s true. “But admit it: you didn’t think about it before drawing blood.” She licks her lips, still tasting that very blood that’s only started slowing now. “You just couldn’t resist some more of this…” Her eyebrows waggle up and down. It’s close to the same posturing Vi has used since the beginning, but now there’s a more honest softness she wears in her eyes. It’s as though she can’t bear to hold her real self away from Caitlyn entirely—not even for the sake of equal teasing.
It’s so endearing that Caitlyn has to give her another kiss. It’s sweet and slow, and she drags her tongue over the wound after, urging it to heal faster. It’s slightly effective—enough so that Vi looks only somewhat bedraggled once Caitlyn finally lets go. She at least looks more composed than she did last night after Caitlyn fucked her senseless. She really never thought she’d get to look at Vi this way, so unguarded and at ease. It seemed like an impossible dream. Perhaps everything else Caitlyn has dreamed of can come true as well. It might be worth hoping.
Vi squirms under the gentle pressure of Cailtyn’s gaze, like that alone is enough to turn her on. The thought is pleasing. “They held off eating, so we’d better head out,” she says, her voice audibly strained by the growing feeling. There goes that show of bravado.
Good.
She’s so beautiful like this that Caitlyn can’t help but smile in return. They’re expected at a meal with Mel Medarda, where Caitlyn will do her best to navigate her apologies and work to devise next steps in Mel’s grand plan, but none of that feels especially damning just now. Not with Vi shy and squirming, partially in Caitlyn’s lap. If only they had another hour to themselves, Caitlyn should like to do something about that. For now, she’ll have to prolong the wait, but she can make it a sweeter agony.
By bending her right leg, she shifts her shin into place between Vi’s thighs. Vi may be fully dressed, but she can still feel the friction through her jeans. If anything, the seam must tease her further when Cailtyn presses deliberately upward—not content to stop until her wolf lets out a surprised gasp of pleasure. Her eyes grow wide, holding very still for a moment before she responds by grinding down into the contact. She doesn’t even need to be told her next cue.
Of course, Vi isn’t the only one getting wet. Cailtyn feels a flare of want twisting in her gut, so sharp and clear that the only reasonable response can be to pull her leg away. She needs to maintain control in this situation—not just of her wolf, but over her own impulses flaring up inside her aching cunt.
Vi whines plaintively at the loss of contact, but her thrusting stops. Her eyes shut tight, and her hands clench. “… shit,” she grunts.
The point has clearly been made that this denial isn’t merely a result of their schedule, but something Caitlyn has chosen for Vi to endure. That may not have been her plan from the start, but Caitlyn can work to convince the both of them. By inserting herself between both their wants, she reclaims a fraction of agency. Amidst the endless pull of outside forces, it’s a relief to have something else press her weight into, so to speak. Her phone still rests on the nightstand, lit up with waiting messages. But just now, Caitlyn only needs to consider Vi trembling above her.
For a few beautiful moments, as her wolf evens out her breathing, all that matters is this—them.
It’s lovely while it lasts, which isn’t long.
The moment passes, and Caitlyn hurries getting dressed.
She checks her phone as they head for the door. It’s Elise again, this time with questions which clearly originate with Leblanc. She wants to know about Caitlyn’s efforts in tracking down Medarda. Lest has questions about the fight’s after party in Salem, which they’ll hold in one of the oldest mansions in the city.
Lastly, there’s confirmation that a team is in place in Worcester to confirm proof of Salo’s location. Caitlyn must be staring at her phone with too many emotions plain on her face, because Vi cuts in with a gentle, “Cait—you okay?”
It’s a kindness she doesn’t deserve. Caitlyn has chosen to keep Salo’s potential discovery a secret from Vi, as if she knows what’s best. Does that really make her any different from the various other masters who might deem Vi a thing in need of their direction and care?
Perhaps the only difference is that she intends real care at all, beyond only food and shelter. She really, truly cares for Vi.
But perhaps that’s not enough.
Even the guilt doesn’t change her course. Caitlyn is unworthy of Vi’s concern, but that’s not something she can outwardly protest—not without giving it all away. “It’s just work,” she says, and it’s only half a lie. Her employees are the one trailing Salo, after all, and what if it isn’t him? She would be upsetting Vi for nothing.
Though perhaps her real concern all along has been that chasing Salo would eventually cause Vi to leave her side. Once he’s confirmed to be still close and in the state, just halfway between their current position and Cambridge, surely Vi will wish to pursue. The thought of this escape together being cut short is unpleasant—deeply so.
Caitlyn is a horribly selfish creature, and always has been.
But for now, at least, she can justify the impulse as something more. She slips the phone into her pocket, and Vi doesn’t press with further questions.
Why would she? Foolishly, she trusts Caitlyn.
*
When the house was built, a hallway was installed that runs nearly the full length of it from east to west. It was intended to connect the dining room with the bedroom and study of the master of the house. No other rooms can access it and the doors leading in are obscured by architectural features intended to replicate wainscoting.
For the man who designed the house, it was a means of avoiding both the servants and, it would have been assumed at the time, his wife as well—except when absolutely necessary. At that time, husband and wife would each have different bedrooms, so long as their house was large enough to accommodate. It was entirely possible for the married and moneyed to never see each other at all except for mealtime.
Caitlyn was not the only person of her era to prefer married life this way, though normally such disdain for one’s partner was reserved for men, whose wives were viewed as little more than breeding stock. That the house’s first residents appeared to genuinely be in love would strike contemporary historians as unlikely, based solely on the averages. But given the details left to honor his love, it’s possible the man was simply reclusive and morose, inclined to solitude—outside of the woman who became an exception.
She can finally understand the feeling.
In the house’s later years, long after its original residents died, Caitlyn’s family invested enough for her to be able to vacation here when she needed to remove herself from public life. Immortal beings cannot be allowed to hold the same name and status in the same location indefinitely, and this house was designed perfectly for anyone who prefers isolation. The pathway itself is an inner hallway, far away from the risk of sunlight. It makes this estate a safer getaway than most options available anywhere else in the Commonwealth.
She tells Vi all of this, and is glad to see the way it sparks her interest once they step inside the study and examine the hidden doorway. Caitlyn hoped this would please her wolf, and it does. She doesn’t spare any of the details, not even the unpleasant ones, though she might have previously held back in discussing her own morose days and months spent here in hiding all alone—or even the temptation that nearby sunlight can provide, when a vampire grows tired of the relentlessness of time.
Vi’s smile lessens somewhat, but doesn’t completely disappear. She’s trying not to discourage Caitlyn’s new impulse toward disclosure. It’s kind, even if the effort is obviously strained. Surely it’s the thought that counts.
“There’s another hallway, actually,” Caitlyn adds, urged on by the impulse to make Vi smile again. “It wasn’t discovered until long after his death.” She pauses; it’s a strange reminder that for nearly all of Caitlyn’s contemporaries, death is an end. Life is meant to have punctuation. It’s so like Caitlyn to turn an attempt at good humour into something melancholy, even if entirely by accident.
But just this once, she isn’t alone in her own head. Vi takes her by the hand, as if she can sense the direction of Caitlyn’s thoughts. “Tell me,” she urges softly.
“It joins their two bedrooms directly,” Caitlyn begins, some of her enthusiasm returning at the idea of sharing something so unusual and fascinating with a person equally interested in historic architecture—if not more so. “Which you may know was not so unusual for the time.” Her voice is even gaining momentum, the words rubbing against each other in ever growing excitement. “However, what was unusual is that their bedrooms were also directly next to one another.”
“So, no need for an extra hallway.”
“Precisely.” Caitlyn gives Vi’s hand a sharp squeeze. “Unless, of course, you were spending more time together than would be considered prudent or generally acceptable.”
What would it be like to love someone so much you cannot stand to be apart? What is it like to want to sleep with someone in your arms every night? The very thought of it is illicit and exciting in its way, although at the time the second hallway was discovered Caitlyn could not imagine such a desire for herself. Now she understands something of the thrill of sneaking around with someone she isn’t meant to want at all, let alone as desperately as she does. Just last night, she fell asleep well before sunrise, simply because the warmth of Vi at her side was so comforting. A vampire like Caitlyn, so efficient with her time, has seldom chosen to squander it for her own pleasure.
Until now.
Caitlyn laughs at the thought, and Vi looks intrigued but doesn’t press. She is always so considerate. “I was just thinking,” Caitlyn offers, without needing to be asked. “We could ask to change rooms.”
Vi rolls her eyes, but she smiles too. “Fuck, you’re like a horny teenager all of a sudden.”
That’s not a no.
“I’ll have you know, teenagers in my day were quite different.” She pulls on Vi’s hands once more, until the warmth of her body is flush and close. Caitlyn wants to remain composed, but she shivers—and Vi grins. “I’ve never had those silly teenage moments you’re referring to.”
The shiver and its obvious implications have apparently given Vi a renewed cockiness. She brushes her hips forward, almost nudging into Caitlyn with a single light thrust. It takes effort for Caitlyn not to bite her lip in return. “Yeah, well. Me neither really.” Vi shifts onto the balls of her feet and Caitlyn drops her shoulders to meet her halfway. They kiss, and Vi caresses her cheek. “New rooms would mean backup isn’t as close.”
That’s true. Jayce was there in an instant last night. It was ultimately unnecessary, but what if it hadn’t been? Is such a flight of fancy even worth the risk?
“You trust yourself that much, Cait?”
Vi’s palm flattens out, worn and calloused skin causing friction on Caitlyn’s lips when she turns her head to kiss the trailing fingertips. She wants to delay answering something that feels so impossible. After all, she doesn’t deserve the reprieve it would give, but it’s also clear to her which answer Vi most wants to hear. Caitlyn hates to deny her something so simple.
In theory, at least, a promise like this should be simple. She should be able to say she trusts herself with the life of someone she loves.
Because she does.
She loves Vi.
Caitlyn only needs to think that much, clearly, and she nods. “We’ll ask them.” Her teeth press red marks into Vi’s palm, but don’t break through the skin. “After dinner. Mm?” She licks across the ridges of those strong hands, and can exactly picture Vi running through the exercises Caitlyn has set before her.
Weight lifting, sit-ups, and planks.
That body is a finely honed weapon, but even more than that it is the receptacle which holds the immeasurable value of Vi’s heart. Even now, clearly aroused, Vi’s face holds so much curiosity and interest too. Her eyes roam over Caitlyn’s face, trying to comprehend the emotions at war within her. The effort is ultimately futile, of course, when even Caitlyn can barely comprehend her own mind.
But it’s sweet for Vi to try.
She kisses the heartbeat inside Vi’s hand one more time and twines their fingers together. “Come on, before they send a search party.”
*
Most of dinner progresses with idle small talk, putting aside the important conversations still to come. It only seems polite given that their hosts have put off their own meal by several hours just for Caitlyn’s sake. Best not to take advantage of that generosity by pushing them to talk through further plans on empty stomachs.
The meal itself is exquisite, at least judging by Vi’s expression as she eats. Caitlyn has graciously been provided a roast chicken, basted in peri peri sauce to give it enough flavor for her to taste it, and a decanter of blood to refill her glass as she goes. She nibbles the meat persistently, but so much of her attention is taken up by Vi.
The main course is lobster pasta with garlic butter and basil. The smell of the herbs are strong enough that Caitlyn can appreciate them without a taste, but the true prize is Vi’s smile. Some of the creamy sauce gets on her chin, and she wipes it quickly—first with her palm and then against the provided napkin. She’s eating everything rapidly, her own glass of wine largely ignored.
She needs more blood, Caitlyn realizes. Though Vi can still enjoy human food in a way that Caitlyn never will again, blood is still necessary to fuel the additional strain caused by her hybrid strength and speed. “Can I trouble you for another glass?”
She directs the request to the other side of the table in general, but of course Jayce moves first. “So you think you’ll be staying?” It’s just as unsurprising that he’s the one to pivot to business. He prefers getting it out of the way, to lift the weight from his shoulders. He and Vi are alike in that way.
“Well, that will depend on circumstances.” Caitlyn waits for him to return with the empty vessel, filling it with blood as she continues. “But first, I would like to offer my apologies—to you especially, Mel. You have done everything asked of you and more, while I’ve made so many last minute adjustments to our plans. And now I impose on your doorstep. You could have tossed us out or refused entrance, and it would have been well within your rights.”
“I appreciate the sentiment, Caitlyn; but you know I would have done no such thing.”
Caitlyn slides the wine glass, now filled to the top with blood, in front of Vi and watches expectantly. When her wolf takes the hint and begins to drink, her eyes slide back to Mel. “I do know, which is precisely why it was unkind of me to take advantage.”
Mel and Jayce share a knowing smile that feels like a joke at Caitlyn’s expense, and she can’t help but scowl deeper. It might have been a mistake introducing the two of them, particularly if they intend to gang up on her for the rest of their lives. The time might be comparatively limited, but that knowledge isn’t comforting either.
It’s Jayce who finally speaks, saying, “If you’re done lashing yourself, I think we can move on to problem solving.”
“But—”
“Caitlyn, I insisted that Jayce join me in hiding, didn’t I?” Mel smiles. Her hair is in braids, twisted up and off her neck. She is dressed down and casual, in a simple blouse and long skirt. There’s a casual intimacy in the way she and Jayce move with each other—his hand squeezing hers during her next intake of air. “He’s an employee of your company, documented on the public records, and the two of you have been seen together often enough. It was always going to be a risk, but one I was willing to take.” Another squeeze, like communication shared between the pulsing heartbeats that they each must feel in the other’s palm. “I certainly understand what it is to alter decades of planning—but it’s more than a whim, isn’t it?”
Vi gulps down a mouthful of blood. Caitlyn doesn’t have to look to feel it. She doesn’t even have to reach for Vi’s hand to feel the pulsing rhythm of the blood inside the wolf rippling throughout Caitlyn.
“I suppose so,” Caitlyn says, feeling oddly like a sullen teenager. She’d older than the ages of everyone at this table combined—much more so. But just now, she feels foolish and out of her depth. It seems that Vi was right, even if she chose the wrong adjective.
Is this what it is to be willingly vulnerable? Perhaps she was right to avoid it for so long.
“I don’t know about you,” Vi cuts in, quickly licking the blood from her lips. “But I hate being talked about like I’m not right here.” Her fangs are out, drawn by the taste of blood. They glisten wetly when she smirks. “Or are you more of the deliberately ornamental type, Pretty Boy?”
Antagonizing one of their hosts isn’t helpful, particularly when Caitlyn intends to ask Jayce for another favor—on Vi’s behalf, no less. Even so, the amusement and enthusiasm on Vi’s face is a relief. The blood is already having its effect, which can include a change in temperament, especially in a vampire—or hybrid—still as new as Vi. It took Caitlyn decades to overcome most of her worst impulses. Some might argue that she still hasn’t managed it completely.
Thankfully, Jayce doesn’t seem offended. His smile is even tempered, the way he sometimes looks at Cailtyn when he insists she’s been wallowing too much in her own self-loathing. How strange to see it directed at anyone else. “Our apologies. Obviously you deserve to be included in the conversation, Vi.” His eyes whip to Caitlyn, and she realizes she was too quick in thinking the pity was all for Vi. He has enough of it to go around. “Is there something you want to tell her, Caitlyn?”
“Tell—”
“To tell Vi, yeah.” Jayce twirls the remaining noodles on his plate with his fork. There’s barely enough there to be worth the effort—he’s just drawing this out. “Maybe some of the things you told me about her.”
If looks could kill, Jayce’s skin would be stripped from his bones in an instant. “… what’s your point?”
“Does she know how much you like her?”
“Obviously,” Caitlyn says, too quickly. Yes, a sullen and peevish teenager is exactly what she feels like. This is her first real encounter with any of these especially vulnerable feelings, and all her past experiences with intense emotion have involved smothering them outright. It’s difficult to land somewhere in the middle. “We talked.” She looks at her glass, avoiding all their eyes as she drinks. “Last night.”
Vi chokes on her blood and covers her mouth with her hand.
Jayce and Mel share another look.
If looks could kill, Caitlyn would stare into a mirror until the ground swallowed her whole and there was no more need to talk. “Well. It wasn’t a protracted conversation.”
“You know, shit, I take it back.” Vi finishes off her glass and pushes it to the side. “Leave me out of this again.”
Caitlyn intended for this conversation to remain professional, but it’s difficult for the lines not to get blurred once Jayce is involved. He’s managed to do this since the first day they met. His father was a valuable resource to the company, of course, which is why Caitlyn came in person to offer her condolences. But that was just data on a spreadsheet. She had spent years making sure that’s all humans were to her. But the anger in Jayce’s eyes, the way he had hated her at first, was entirely personal. It broke right through the pretense. He has always despised the business mask she wears for her own protection, and with obviously good reason.
“The point is,” she pushes on. “I wanted to apologize to you, Mel. For asking so much of you, and for taking Jayce away from you at times.”
Mel waits as Jayce pours her next glass of wine. Once he finishes, she says, “I appreciate your sincerity, Caitlyn. But everything is still well within parameters.”
Caitlyn can’t help but chuckle. She has been planning for thirty years. That should be impossible in Mel’s case, given her age, but she’s clearly prepared herself for a wider range of changes than Caitlyn did—in far less time. “If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure.”
Jayce doesn’t look up from pouring Vi another glass of blood. “But?”
“… but?”
He sets the vessel down, blinking slowly and strangely calm when they lock eyes again. “I know you, Squirt. The only thing you hate more than your guilt is asking for help.” Those eyes, which had hated her once, are so soft now. He had been so much more correct in his first impression. Somehow, she’s fooled him. Somehow, she’s fooled them all. “So out with it.”
“I hoped you could take Powder to Ekko.” At her elbow, Vi sits up straighter, so tense in her surprise and confusion. “They both want to see each other—that’s obvious. If she’s to help us moving forward, we have to make some concessions.”
“Cait,” Vi says, and nothing else.
She seems at a loss for words, so Caitlyn provides some. “I made you and your sister promises, which I intend to keep. Mi—” She stops, with the impulse to use the title still fresh and heavy inside her mouth. It’s instinct, ground into her through centuries.
She wants to find the seam of the scars, well below the skin, and peel it all away—bit by bit.
“Leblanc doesn’t change that,” she says at last, watching the wave of emotions rolling through Vi’s eyes.
Her wolf is beautiful like a sunset—and perhaps twice as dangerous. Caitlyn does not care if she is burned in trying to stand close.
Even if she should care enough for everyone else here at the table to stop herself from making more mistakes. But aren’t they telling her they would understand?
Aren’t they offering permission to chase happiness—if only for a time?
“If you can do that for us, I’ll stay here to make certain Mel is safe.”
“We both will,” Vi says, mouth full of blood. And then, as if an after thought, “I mean, if you’re cool with that.”
Mel smiles. “Yes, it’s quite alright.” Her hand is joined with Jayce’s, both squeezing in unison. “Jayce assures me your sister’s help will be well worth it.”
There’s a wariness that springs into Vi’s expression—and rightly so. In a way, they are using her sister, just as Powder is trying to use them. So much of life is transactional. So many things are an exchange of goods, power, or even shame.
But not all things. Caitlyn has to believe as much—even now, somehow. She has really started to believe (again) that some things are about more than what can be taken. For a moment, at least, she will pursue happiness.
“With that much settled,” she says, smiling in a way that would normally ache—but not just now. “I wanted to discuss sleeping arrangements.”
*
It’s colder tonight than Caitlyn expected.
She needs more blood to withstand winter once it really starts. With every step, she’s aware of her muscles and joints. They shift and ache. The blood feels sluggish inside her.
This isn’t the worst she’s endured, of course. The winters felt far worse when they first came here, though she had her dogs to keep her warm then. They were trained to keep close, using their bodies for warmth. There was a comfort and ease, not unlike with Vi—who drifts closer to her now, without having to be asked.
Vi’s hand slips beneath Caitlyn’s shirt, warm against her spine. She shifts, and the shirt moves too.
Caitlyn almost stumbles on her next step. Instead, she slows.
They’re walking through the hillside. This was meant to be another aspect of training—preparing Vi for the cold. It seems she is perfectly at home here, but Caitlyn feels a mess.
This is nothing like those obedient dogs. They were loyal and clever too, but Vi is something else. She is a fire that burns so bright, her flesh should give way under the force of her.
Instead, she is strong and resolved. She is everything Caitlyn ever dreamed of finding in a partner, and more than that—she is real.
“Shit, are you shivering?”
“No,” Caitlyn lies. It isn’t the cold that makes her tremble. She’s so unbelievably turned on that it nearly hurts. “Don’t tease, Violet. You need to focus.” It’s meant to be chiding, but she knows the laugh that she lets creep in means that Vi won’t take it seriously.
She’s too pleased with herself for that. “So what, do I just strip here?”
Absolutely far too pleased.
They discussed ideas for training to prepare for the fight in Salem woods, and running in similar woodlands in wolf form seemed like a reasonable start. It’s off season, so there shouldn’t be anyone to see Vi’s change. No vampires will bother stalking through the city when most of the prey is out of town.
They’re still on the estate property, not far from the gardens with their intricate fountains secured away to prevent damage in the winter cold. The delicate stonework must be preserved, kept out of sight in darkness. Caitlyn had stared too long, feeling far too much kinship with an inanimate depiction of a greek goddess of some kind. Athena, perhaps?
“Cait?” Vi repeats, worry growing evident on her face.
She isn’t smug anymore, and Caitlyn instantly regrets her own part in that. She takes Vi’s hands and the smile easily returns. “I’ll turn away, if you’d like.”
Vi laughs and her nose crinkles. “You think I give a shit?” She pulls her t-shirt off in one smooth movement, ruffling her own hair with her palm as if to fix the mess. In the rush of movement, her scent drifts closer on the wind. Caitlyn imagines she can still smell sun on Vi’s skin. She bites her lip, wondering if fresh sunlight would change the taste of Vi’s sweat and blood. Perhaps that’s another thing worth tracking. There’s so little documentation on these matters, and Caitlyn certainly cares about advancing research.
She catches Vi’s shirt before it lands on the grass and the dirt, and then swallows as the jeans come next. She suspects that Vi is deliberately making a meal of it—taking her time, as Caitlyn had instructed her to last night.
If this is bratty revenge, it’s a delicious torment to them both.
Or maybe it’s only Caitlyn who really suffers. She didn’t get off last night, after all—a fact that her body is all too eager to remind her of with a sharp throb in her groin.
Vi apparently remembers too. There’s no other explanation for that shy little smile, or the way she looks up at Caitlyn through her hair. The height difference isn’t normally this pronounced, but Vi dips her head even lower as she peels off the next layer. She’s deliberately making herself appear smaller, bite-sized and devourable, because she’s aware of what it does to Caitlyn.
Maybe Vi can even smell her desire.
The rest of Vi’s posture gives the game away. No woman who holds herself like that, with her hips thrust forward and arms akimbo concealing absolutely nothing, is nearly as demure as Vi’s coy expression would currently suggest. This is the inverse of the cocky facade she puts on for others, and that realization cuts straight through the haze of Caitlyn’s arousal. It’s unfortunately sobering.
Caitlyn doesn’t want to be treated to a mirrored reflection of Vi’s usual act, pulled from the same bag of tricks she’s used with other women in the past. Caitlyn can and will make herself an exception. “Violet,” she says, clicking her tongue—just as she had last night.
It has at least some of the desired effect. The pretense of a teasing smile slips right off Vi’s face, replaced by something starker. That’s genuine arousal, and a clear attempt to hide it.
Good.
Cailtyn points at the boy shorts and bra still in place. “You forget something.” She steps closer, just one slow step at a time. A branch snaps under her boot. “Or do you need help with that?”
Vi’s cheeks flush and her heart speeds up. This is what shy really looks like on her. It’s less put on and pleasing, and much more like some kind of small animal caught in a snare. Her eyes are wide, and no matter how much she licks her lips it doesn’t stop the dryness gathering in her mouth.
The difference between Vi and a prey animal is the fire in her eyes. It burns so much brighter when she allows herself to exist inside the feelings, instead of putting on the performance she imagines is most appealing. It’s beautiful, just like she is, even in the gentlest moments of surrender. “… guess so,” she whispers.
It’s not the eager consent she gave last night, but this is a far different setting. Caitlyn considers this, and thinks she ought to pull back. There is meant to be a line between business and pleasure, even if she keeps forgetting it. “You can, you know,” she says, suddenly talking stupidly fast. It’s probably not reassuring the way she would want it to be. “You can always say no to me, Vi.” She swallows. “Violet.”
“Caitlyn.”
Caitlyn looks up, from where her eyes had become glued to the ink curling up across Vi’s shoulder—where the patterns of the leaves remind her so much of the veins beneath. “… yes?”
“Just undress me, would you?” Vi snorts. All those sharp edges of arousal have softened into something tender instead. She grabs Caitlyn’s elbow and pulls her closer—her warm body against Caitlyn’s cold one. “Fight’s in just three days.” From this close, Vi’s words tickle her ear. “So you gotta focus on something other than the thought of fucking my mouth, okay?”
Right, well that was obviously deliberate. Caitlyn hates to be played this easily—even if the results are such a pleasant and vivid fantasy. Certainly, they came close enough once before that it’s easy to imagine how Vi’s mouth would feel on Caitlyn’s cunt, held firmly in her place by hands in her hair. Or perhaps kept down there on a leash.
Would Vi enjoy that? Increasingly, Caitlyn imagines she would.
She certainly likes to pull on the metaphorical lead, to see how far she can go before being tugged back. Caitlyn’s fangs slip into Vi’s neck with the same slow thrusting movement of her knee pressing back between the juncture of Vi’s thighs.
She’s satisfied to find Vi wet, soaking through the underwear.
As she should be, she thinks—and then imagines how Vi’s eyes would roll back in her head if Caitlyn were to say it out loud. The moan of pleasure that would slip from Vi’s pretty red lips at being told the things she’s too afraid to admit in her own head.
She should be wet. She should be aroused.
She is beautiful when she lets herself enjoy the things her body provides for herself—not only what she can provide for others. Caitlyn wants Vi to hear all this, but it’s true that the fight is close.
And despite the dampness between her thighs and how rigid her nipples are once Caitlyn pulls the bra away, Vi is not nearly close enough to finishing that this detour can happen now. Caitlyn’s own wants are hardly pressing enough to set aside training. They will simply have to enjoy themselves later. “Very good,” she breathes into Vi’s ear. She lingers this close only long enough to make certain that Vi can support her own weight once she quickly pulls away again.
Vi sways, but holds her balance. She’s breathing quickly, all her senses alight. Despite the slightly dazed expression on her face, she is honing in—her focus singular.
Her heavy breaths whistle through elongated fangs.
Her shoulders shift, and the muscle starts to stretch. The beast is right there, close to the surface, but inside Vi’s eyes there is only the woman—pleading and pliant. She is so precious.
It makes Caitlyn think of leaves fallen too soon, fragile underfoot but still green. Still alive, somehow. “You’re not a dog at all, are you?” She watches the wave of emotion that surges over Vi. Her eyes flutter with another deep breath inward, but she doesn’t object—not yet, at least. “Just a puppy, really.” Caitlyn twists the bra in her fingers, worrying over the fabric. It’s better than having nothing to hold onto. “Someone should have taken better care of you, long ago.”
Vi huffs. She starts to smile, but her lips hover open. She licks them slowly, flush with a growing desire. It heats the tips of her ears and the blush of her cheeks. “… why?”
It’s not a fully formed question, so Caitlyn waits. Vi will ask more directly, once she’s ready.
And so she does, taking a slow step closer—completely naked now. Caitlyn’s eyes drift down to the movement out of habit, but jerk back quickly out of respect. Vi has a question; she deserves the dignity of Caitlyn’s gaze. “Why’s it feel different when you call me shit like that?” Vi’s mouth twists. Her hands ball up, then release. “I should hate it. I always do, but…”
“But it is different.” Caitlyn says it like the relief that it is, like letting go of something too hot and too sharp to be kept held secret inside her own hands. She has known this for some time, at least subconsciously.
Vi reacts differently when Caitlyn speaks to her, no matter how degrading the titles or the words, as if she can easily detect the sincere feelings underneath them—even those which Caitlyn would try to deny herself.
“Why?” Vi asks again. She doesn’t normally like to ask for answers so directly—not from Caitlyn. Not unless they’re about Caitlyn’s own muddy past, still too much in shadow. This is vulnerability at its most raw and sincere, and it doesn’t help that Vi is naked.
Not that Caitlyn is complaining about the view. Still, she has to do her best to ground them both. She rubs her palm quickly against her jean pocket in an effort to produce some warmth, before she presses her hand to Vi’s face. But it wasn’t enough—her wolf still flinches briefly at the shock of cold.
But then Vi presses closer anyway.
Their bodies are nearly flush together.
“Because the way I feel is different,” Caitlyn says, and the words come easily, as if it’s all so obvious. “Because I—”
I love you, Caitlyn thinks, but those words will not come.
“—I care for you. Very much.”
Vi’s eyes are like calming pools of water, but this time their grey makes Caitlyn think of the catacombs—if only for a moment. She could be an eternity of undoing. Just her slowly spreading smile is powerful enough to knock Caitlyn Kiramman off course completely. Vi only has to smile at her, and all the plans and schedules feel pointless.
Let’s practice in the woods together, or perhaps we’ll only run. Let’s live our lives together, however short they are.
Vi smiles at her like she understands the secrets Caitlyn’s heart refuses to say. “Oh, well I care for you too, Cait.” She laughs, a warm and bubbling sound that bursts from the lips she presses to Caitlyn’s throat. “Very much.”
Caitlyn doesn’t have a pulse, but the blood still beats inside her at times like this. When she’s hungry.
When she’s horny.
Vi nips lightly, no blood drawn. She takes several slow steps back, and her gait drops out of sync.
She needs room for what comes next.
She ripples.
Like sunlight through tree leaves, like sound waves over a distance—Vi grows filtered and distorted, compressed and spread wide at the same time. She is fang, sinew, bone, and beauty.
Her hair, still in need of a trim, grows longer still. It scatters over freckles like rapid strokes of paint. Vi’s mouth twists, but the smile only fades when the bone gives way to jagged teeth. They pierce through flesh before the rest of jaw has set in place, too quick and crowded.
Vi heaves and stumbles, choking on her own twisting throat, but she doesn’t drop from her unsteady feet. Not yet. Caitlyn has only watched this whole process in Vi once before, but it’s slower than before. Despite the obvious pain, there’s control now too.
She stays upright on hind legs until the distribution of weight becomes too much. Massive limbs and the bulge of muscle at her shoulders sets her off balance and dropping onto all fours. Her legs twist back into place quickly, ready to catch her when she lands.
Werewolves are beautiful creatures. They are an evolutionary marvel, wonderful to behold. The transformation itself should be treated as the sacred act of trust it really is, but nearly all vampires take it for granted. Caitlyn has played a prominent role in such a slow degradation, both through development of the fight pits in their earliest formations and the following years of passivity. She is not blameless.
But still, Caitlyn told Vi the truth, even before that impulse became something so close to compulsion: her wolf really is beautiful.
She is beautiful in every way, and only more so now, with such human intelligence still glistening in her eyes. Caitlyn can’t know how conscious Vi is in the moment, just as she will never know another’s mind. This is no exception. This is nothing special.
Not true.
“Beautiful,” she says aloud, and the wolf lifts her big tawny head.
Her ears prick up. Vi is shorter than Caitlyn on two legs, but the beast appears so large in how she carries herself. She strides closer on massive paws that more resemble humanoid claws. Wolf or dog is the easiest descriptor for a werewolf transformed, but they are much more than that. Larger than any living species of canine, they are nearly prehistoric in their size, but with distinctly human qualities too. The spine and pelvis is especially distinct. While it’s easier and faster to remain on all fours, werewolves can move on two legs as needed. While their claws are not well equipped to make use of thumbs, they can spread their grip wider than the limitations of a wolf. This is all normal. Even so, there’s something especially human in the shape of Vi’s hands just now.
Caitlyn considers. “I hate to critique another woman’s work.” She points at the hands and wolf Vi shakes her head several times. Caitlyn could almost swear that she’s scowling. “Not quite finished, I think.”
The wolf snarls. It appears to be an attempt at intimidation, at least judging by the way she bares her teeth.
“I know criticism is unpleasant,” Caitlyn says, as patient as she knows how to be. “But you know I’m on your side, Vi.” She blinks slowly, considering the creature’s face. “How much of you is Vi just now?”
Hard to know for sure without invading the wolf’s mind, which feels too much like overstepping. If the wolf is in control, it will only cause alarm. And if it’s Vi’s own thoughts that Caitlyn crawls inside of unasked, won’t that make her no better than Leblanc?
A thought occurs to Caitlyn instead, who begins rolling up her sleeve. “Here.” She holds out her arm, wrist up, and allows the wolf to inspect it with her nose. The texture is cool and slightly damp—the only part of the wolf that isn’t warm to the touch. It contrasts with the bristly hairs of the muzzle and the heavy warm body underneath.
“Go on,” Caitlyn urges further and presses her arm directly against the wolf’s jaw.
The ears pin back, reflexively recoiling, but then she settles. Her mouth opens slowly to reveal sharp and jagged teeth. It’s a mouth made for tearing more than puncturing.
“I trust you.”
Caitlyn doesn’t say more than that. She doesn’t have to when the wolf’s large head shifts closer, circling her arm in a big crushing maw. But the teeth press lightly, not hard enough to break the skin.
Vi is still in there after all. Caitlyn smiles at her and she could almost swear that her wolf is smiling back.
*
In the 1700s, real wolves were still a common concern in the Massachusetts frontier. They were animals defending territory against an encroaching force. Caitlyn was just a girl, little more than thirteen perhaps, the first time she saw the pelt of one. They’re larger than one might imagine just from pictures in modern books.
She was already tall for her young age, but the two hides spread out for display seemed to dwarf her. Father had brought them home to England after a journey to the colonies. They were mates, he told her, killed together.
It had seemed a terrible thought to Caitlyn, though not so bad as dying alone.
When she saw her first werewolf, she was considerably older, though her body no longer looked its real age. They were still living in the mountainous village in the Duchy of Savoy; and despite the consistency of their presence, the villagers had only grown more restless. There was, they insisted, a creature stalking the mountains that would upon occasion kill their livestock.
The sound of wolf howls at night proved this theory true, though the men were certain it was something worse. With muskets in hand, they began patrolling the dark—and the three vampires went without blood.
First it was weeks, and then quickly months.
One night, nearly three months in, the tavern’s door jolted open with the force of several eager hands. The men were laughing and shouting rapid words in a language Caitlyn still couldn’t easily understand.
But “loup” she knew.
The men struggle under the weight of the thing, even with three of them to share the burden. Eventually the man at the end of the procession drops what appear to be legs in order to tend to the door—still slamming in the rush of wind.
Gore trailed across the floor where the body dragged. The bartender scolded the men for their mess, but his eyes gleamed with excitement. Caitlyn could sense Leblanc seated across the table and watching her with anticipation.
This is humanity, her eyes seemed to say. This is what they’re like.
They hefted the thing onto a table for display, its entrails still steaming. The body was neither wolf nor human, but some mixture of the two. Filthy fur stretched in patches over freckled skin. The elongated snout was far too large for the small protrusions of flat humanoid teeth dotting the gums.
The most recognizably human feature was its belly. Apart from the organs which had been pulled out and gored with a knife as a means of confirming death, it was otherwise fleshy and pink.
Blood collected in the folds of human skin, but it was not the pleasant sight it normally is. Caitlyn felt cold. Her limbs had gone too long without blood. She was hungry and had been for some time, but her stomach revolted at the thought of eating now.
At her side, she could feel Elise’s focus drawing sharp. She was like a knife ready to strike. None of the men noticed—not even the ones who passed by their table as they stalked closer to the show.
A particularly loud man near the front, the ring leader perhaps, pointed to the thatch of thick curls at the juncture between the wolf’s legs and said something Caitlyn could understand well enough just from the sneering laughter of his fellows.
She looked over at Elise. They would feed again tonight, when the men all least expected it. When they were drunk on their celebrations and savoring their sins, the sisters would gorge themselves—and they did.
The leader was the first to die. Caitlyn’s stomach had settled just from hearing him scream. It was enough to make her mouth water, but she swallowed back her venom. She would not give him any satisfaction or relief.
It was only days later that Leblanc explained what they had seen. Lycanthropes, or so they were often called at the time, were real and more likely to be seen by humans than vampires. They have no control over their transformation, even less so than a vampire can control her hunger. Caitlyn couldn’t help but pity this monster girl, who died even more alone than Caitlyn herself had ever been.
They did not remain in the village long after that. If the girl had been someone the villagers knew before they defiled her, Caitlyn would never know. Perhaps it is best to remain ignorant on some things.
In the years to follow, Caitlyn would learn all she could from her fellow vampires about a variety of topics, and werewolves were prime among them. Their two cultures existed in entirely separate circles at this time. Unlike real wolves, who were often seen in packs, werewolves were often solitary creatures. The process of their change wasn’t always as deliberate as it is with vampires. These creatures were more like accidents born into families that did not want them.
Because of this, they lacked the communal knowledge that even Caitlyn had received. As far as the elders who had more experience with the beasts knew, werewolves didn’t even have extended life cycles. They had more in common with the humans that hunted them for sport than with vampires—or so the thinking went.
It’s impossible to believe it if you spend any time in their company, unless you view them only as objects for abuse. So many of Caitlyn’s kind clearly think that way. It’s far easier if you do. The fact that werewolves cannot be compelled in the same way that humans can goes largely ignored or unremarked on. The violence that results is treated as a given.
Even before Vi became a hybrid, such violence was unnecessary. To Caitlyn’s great shame, the compulsion was too. Kindness is a greater deterrent than anything else—even Leblanc knew this much. Her occasional praise did more to bind Caitlyn to her than any amount of fear or violence. It is why she has always been so selfish with Caitlyn’s attentions.
Caitlyn wishes such thoughts didn’t still haunt her—even here.
Vi is a streak of rusty red flashing in the moonlight. She clambers up a rocky outcrop and waits at the top to make certain that Caitlyn follows. It’s not quite as easy in jeans and a sweater, especially with the limitations of her nearly human limbs, so her progress is slow but steady. Her fingers bleed, but she pays no mind. She will heal quickly.
Her wolf sniffs the air and nudges Caitlyn’s palm with her snout once they are on level footing. “I’m fine,” Caitlyn laughs, fondness laced through the two simple words. But Vi persists in licking the wound clean—perhaps partially for her own satisfaction. Certainly, she’s thorough. “Greedy,” Caitlyn chides, and smears the final remnants across Vi’s jaw as she scratches vigorously.
They carry on like this for a full three hours. It’s relatively peaceful, apart from the occasional vibration of Caitlyn’s phone in her pocket. She resolutely ignores it, determined to give Vi her full attention in this round of training.
It’s obviously not the same as a fight, but the height is extremely effective in preparing Vi for the cold of late November. She’s used to the controlled temperatures and solid surfaces of arena fighting. The dirt of the woods is more unwieldy. It easily shifts and churns under her claws. Caitlyn points out uneven paths and trails for Vi to examine closely. She gives them a long sniff and digs with teeth and claw.
Three hours hardly feel sufficient to make up for Vi’s lack of experience existing outdoors in this form, but at least it’s a start. They start the journey home, allowing for enough time to make it in before dawn.
Partway there, Vi returns to human form, and pulls on another change of clothes. Her hair is sweaty from the recent exertion, which comes as a surprise. Her already warm body must be running hotter than usual, even with the chill of the air. Caitlyn imagines how it would feel to touch her like this, with the kind of casual and careless intimacy the moment longs for.
But then Vi looks up from lacing her boots, and her eyes hold Caitlyn firmly in place. She’s magnetic in that way—overpoweringly so. Her eyes crinkle in a disarming smile, and Caitlyn feels her own chest tighten. “So.” Her laces snap sharply. “I heard fights in Salem happened before this?”
It’s a somewhat surprising question, but not entirely so. Vi is perceptive and always thinking; Caitlyn has said as much herself. Of course this line of questioning would occur to her eventually—even if Caitlyn has dreaded it. “It was a while ago.” She sits down on a half-decaying log that’s even more uncomfortable than it appears. “This was not the first instance of wolf fights in this country or any other, mind you. There are rumors of such things dating back hundreds of years. But this was in 1973. Photography was still largely ineffective at night time, but tabloid journalism was an increasing risk for all of us.”
Vi nods slowly. She plucks at the laces on the next boot to provide the slack needed to then pull it tighter. “You vamps aren’t usually that sloppy.” Her hands jerk as she pulls the laces.
Caitlyn fights to keep her tone neutral, sure that any hint of her real disdain might be misread. “This wasn’t us. It was disorganized and attention seeking.” Vi’s jaw tightens, and Caitlyn hastens to add, “Humans, we think. They took none of the usual precautions against human detection that I’m sure the wolves would have, and of course they were seen. It did appear in several tabloids. At least one human died.”
She pauses. Everything that comes next is especially egregious. There are aspects that Caitlyn remains proud of to this day, but not everything. Another point on her ever growing list of shame.
She had previously hoped to avoid telling Vi any of this—another selfish impulse.
“A family local to Salem took it upon themselves to eliminate most of those who were confirmed to be involved.” Caitlyn sighs. “By the time I could question anyone left from that night, it was impossible to trace the blame. No one still alive took credit for it, even under compulsion.”
“Which family was it?”
“You wouldn’t know them.”
“Listen, Princess. I’ve studied your flow charts pretty well.”
“Sorry.” Caitlyn shifts, and the bark beneath her crumbles further. “You wouldn’t know the name because they no longer exist as a vampire family.”
Vi digs her heel into the dirt and grunts. There’s a question in her eyes, but she doesn’t give voice to it.
She doesn’t need to. Caitlyn will give her the answer unprompted. “I handled them. Whether human or werewolves were responsible, such public fights put us all at risk. It was a matter concerning the entire region, and so under my jurisdiction to seek the truth. What it was not was an opportunity for an upstart family to try to increase their influence.” She doesn’t even try to hide her sneer. “The Putnams must have thought their storied history in the Commonwealth would save them, but the rules apply equally to all under my rule.”
The Putnam name holds especial sway in Salem, where their moneyed descendants still remain. They were one of the most prominent households of the accusers during the witch trials, and remain patrons of the local Peabody Essex Museum—providing enough to have an entire wing named after them. They must hope to have such good deeds associated with the family name, rather than the reminders of their old shame and sin.
Not everyone views the past as a weighted chain tying them to their old selves. Or perhaps that’s a pretty lie humans tell one another. It’s no matter really. The human Putnams still remain. Caitlyn did not punish them for the crimes of their extended and very ancient family. Given the human side of the family’s desire for a new and better image, if they were aware at all of their bloodthirsty kinfolk, they probably appreciated Caitlyn’s intervention.
It was a necessary step within her leadership to make it clear that all crimes pertaining to the safety of the entire Commonwealth land under her jurisdiction alone. No one rises above her. No one should presume to take on the role of judge and jury without her leave. Slaughter a single unruly family and all of the surrounding clans and Houses fall back into line. Caitlyn would prefer not to have to do it again—though she must admit, the family’s particular history added an additional layer of satisfaction in correcting their behavior. She’s certain that her grim smile must look perverse, given the topic, but Vi doesn’t look put off.
Instead, she nods again. “They killed wolves too? Those Putnams.”
Her hands twist against each other, keeping busy in her own lap.
Caitlyn nods. It was more than that, of course. They viewed the wolves as even less than the humans—both betrayers and risks. Unruly pets at best. But Vi doesn’t need to hear more of that.
“It was a tumultuous time for my kind. You must remember vampires who had existed for hundreds of years were having to adjust to modern technologies. Humans always talk about how quickly it all advances, but to a vampire who exists across centuries these changes happen even faster. Some Elders went from feasting every night to extremely restrictive diets. They were frightened of the well lit streets and the flow of cars. There were so many more opportunities to be seen.”
Vi’s knuckles cracked. “So they blamed us.”
“Werewolves have less control over their own fate. Without the funds to build proper defenses, it’s incredibly hard to stay hidden.” Caitlyn grips the log and leans in closer. She really wants Vi to listen when she says: “It’s not your fault, though. None of it.”
“Doesn’t really matter, if we pay for it anyway.”
“… I suppose.”
Vi nods. “Go on.” Her knuckles crack again and she tilts her head. “So how’d the fights come back?”
Caitlyn swallows. She’s dreaded saying more, but she has promised Vi honesty. “The Houses had been reminded to come to me with their concerns, but those remained frequent. Fear of their own mortality did nothing to quell their complaints about the rest of—well, the rest of your kind, I suppose.”
Leaning closer like this, even seated at a distance, Vi’s eyes look so big. She looks so lonely.
Caitlyn wants to look away again, but knows she can’t. Not when Vi so obviously needs her. “Some of the other Houses wanted to kill all werewolves within the region.” She shakes her head, as if offering mere disagreement is anywhere close to doing enough. “Of course, they were not the majority. By that point, we’d learned that the humans had been using the fights for gambling. This was part of the legends as well, so…”
“Most of you bloodsuckers were greedy.”
Caitlyn cringes, even though she knows she has no right to the shame and the small sense of absolution that it grants her. “Exactly. It was easy to temper their blood lust with the idea of increased profits. I assured them this would make it easier to feed again. The more money available, the easier it is to clean up any ensuing mess.”
“… Cait.”
“I know.” She bites her lip, feeling her eyes jerk away. But she doesn’t deserve that reprieve. She doesn’t deserve any relief. “… go on,” Caitlyn says, looking up again. “Say what you want to. I deserve it.”
“I hate how you do that.”
Caitlyn blinks. “Pardon?”
“It’s harder staying pissed at someone already shitting on herself.”
“I—oh.”
Vi sniffs once and rubs her nose with the back of her wrist. It leaves a small smudge of dirt behind, which Caitlyn desperately wants to wipe away—largely as an excuse to touch again.
“So did the other wolf pits get the idea from you?”
Caitlyn swallows. She did tell Vi to say—or in this case ask—whatever she wants to on the topic. There’s no point in evasion now. “We created the structure that others eventually imitated.”
“You made yourself sound a lot less involved than this.” Vi’s jaw flexes and she stands quickly. All the power in her compact frame is apparent even in simple movements. “We should talk and walk,” she says, starting down the trail. “We have to get you inside.” She doesn’t glance back when she adds, “But you did it on purpose, right? Hiding your involvement.”
“… yes.”
“That’s fucked up, Cait.”
There are a million excuses Caitlyn could try to make, and all of them rush through her mind now. She wasn’t lying entirely, since she has never been directly involved in the fighting pits. She never enjoyed the spectacle in the way so many of her fellows do. She just facilitated the construction and oversaw the hierarchies. It felt similar to most projects at her so-called day job. She was upper management—which means she’s excused from knowing the worst of it. She can wash her hands from what she’s never been hands on with.
The path is steep and Caitlyn slows to adjust her footing. “You’re right.”
When her footsteps slow, then stop, Vi turns to look. “So, why?”
“I suppose I wanted you to like me.” Caitlyn snorts. “Or at least, hate me a little less.”
The storm Vi carries in her eyes is clouded with a mixture of emotions that Caitlyn can’t quite read. Largely, she looks tired. “… you’re hard to hate,” she eventually says, and offers her hand to Caitlyn. “Trust me, I really tried.”
Caitlyn takes Vi’s hand and squeezes it in return. She’s fairly steady on her feet at all times, but the gesture is so thoughtful—so genuinely tender—that it makes her feel slightly off center. She’s suddenly grateful for the help. “Well,” she swallows. “… as I was saying, uhm—”
The ground levels off sharply.
Caitlyn isn’t looking where her feet land—not when she can stare stupidly into Vi’s eyes. She takes an extra stutter step and practically collides with her wolf. Who is so unbelievably warm, even in the chill November air. Caitlyn breathes in and she can see Vi’s eyes tracking the movement. She swallows back her venom and braces a hand against Vi’s chest. The proximity feels like a good excuse, even if the topic is an odd juxtaposition.
“You okay?”
“Of course.” Caitlyn clears her throat and takes a step back—but her hand doesn’t move from her wolf’s warmth. Not yet. “After the pits were made, the fights never returned to the woods. Discretion and regulations on treatment were my primary involvement.”
Vi is incredibly still underneath Caitlyn’s touch. Apart from the steady beating of her heart, there’s no movement as she waits and listens. It’s an almost supernatural or vampiric stillness, that she’s seldom seen in any wolf, especially someone as energetic as Vi.
It may be that the touch is unwanted, she realizes. Caitlyn starts to withdraw her hand, but Vi pins it in place with her own grip.
Her eyes don’t even blink.
Caitlyn swallows again. She wants to look away, but forces herself to remain steady. “I seldom came to fight nights myself.”
“Until Sarah.” Vi’s fingers curl around Caitlyn’s. The ridges of her callouses are becoming so familiar. “… what happened to her?” She asks it gently, instead of the accusation Caitlyn expects—or deserves.
Vi is so gentle, even in her disappointments.
Perhaps she is right that Caitlyn’s own self-incriminations are a sort of selfish posturing. In punishing herself, she denies others the pleasure. But this is an impossible story to tell without picking at old wounds. Caitlyn will inevitably punish herself just by recounting it. But there’s no use in delaying further. “My sire killed her,” she says. “As for the details of the night, I can’t remember everything.”
Vi nods, both an acknowledgement and encouragement for Caitlyn to continue. There’s still more blood for her to give.
“Leblanc has always been jealous of our attentions—all of her children. She’s seldom spoke about her own sire, but I suspect he died quite some time ago. For a nearly immortal being to reach his end takes considerable violence. It’s made her paranoid and controlling.” Caitlyn shakes her head. “I don’t say this to excuse her, but only to explain what she’s like. You’ve seen some of the cruelty and her tendency to default to intimidation, but what really consumes her is total control. She can’t abide anything that stands between her and her children.”
Vi’s lip curls. She had looked prepared not to interject, but that comment apparently put her over the line. “Well, fuck her, you know? You’ve already got two parents.” It’s incredibly perceptive, as Vi so often is. What remains unsaid is that is more than Vi has, but even she isn’t likely to want the replacement that Leblanc imagines herself to be.
Caitlyn nods. “She didn’t like that either. I had to drag her all the way to Europe to keep her hands off them.” She pauses. “Do you want to ask about Paris?”
“Let’s stick with Sarah for now.”
Caitlyn nods again. Vi is right. It’s best to focus—as best she can. “Lest has experience pacifying temperamental egos. She offers Leblanc deferential treatment and largely ignores me during her visits. It was enough to satisfy her, particularly in contrast with Sarah.”
“Wolves don’t tend to stroke bloodsucker egos the way they want.”
It’s quite the understatement. And even with all that Sarah was, she was not an exception in this area. A remarkable woman, but such a wolf in her refusal to bend. The qualities that made her an excellent fighter and impressive business woman were exactly what drew Leblanc’s ire. “You can see why I hoped to put you in hiding.” Vi looks ready to say something in response, but Caitlyn holds up her other hand to stop her. “Although I’m not surprised you refused my every effort to keep you safe.”
Vi gives their joined hands a firmer squeeze. “I’m not leaving you alone in the shit, Kiramman.”
It’s the kind of thing Sarah might have said, Caitlyn realizes. She chokes back a swell of feelings. Her eyes feel damp. “She took the effort to kill Sarah directly, but the compulsion was meant to offload the work to me in the future. She does so love to delegate.”
“I’ve got a few things I’d like to offload onto—”
“Vi,” Caitlyn cuts in sharply, still terrified that they might be wrong about the effectiveness of the tea or whatever else has prevented further violence. “Don’t.”
Vi looks chastised, but just barely. “Thought you would’ve learned by now, Cait.” Her lips twist with the start of a smirk, but it’s quickly obscured as she places tender kisses along each of Caitlyn’s knuckles. “I’m unstoppable.”
Caitlyn does so want to believe that, even if it feels impossible.
But Vi is here, still holding her hand after hearing so much more of what Caitlyn has done. She’s seen some of the worst—and it sounds as if she knows at least something about Paris. This is exactly what Caitlyn has feared, but Vi is still at her side.
Her wolf somehow makes the impossible feel real again.
*
They finish most of the descent back into the valley still hand-in-hand. The warmth inside of Vi spreads from the ends of Caitlyn’s fingers all the way to the reddening tips of her ears. This is a happiness she used to think would be impossible for her. It still hardly feels real.
Vi smiles bashfully and her nose crinkles. Her gentle eyes look so striking set amongst her handsome features. She ducks her head and ruffles her hair with her free hand. The sweat from their workout has left it matted where it grows the longest.
“I can give you a trim tomorrow,” Caitlyn promises.
Vi says she’ll hold her to it, and Caitlyn thinks there are other ways she’d prefer Vi holding her, but she doesn’t say it. A part of her thinks they both know it anyway, just from a long shared look. They’ve spent most of the night out walking and running in the woods, but when they return to the estate, it still feels too soon. Caitlyn could spend an eternity like this, just walking at Vi’s side. When their hands finally slip loose, the cold rushes in to replace Vi’s comforting touch.
It feels terrible.
Vi goes to take a shower in the washroom near her new bedroom, but insists she’ll be back to lay with Caitlyn before dawn comes. It’s an absurd idea, entirely unnecessary, yet Caitlyn finds herself grinning like an idiot just at the thought. Yes, she would like to meet the sunrise in her wolf’s arms again.
These are the kinds of moments that are so small that most would not consider them something to dream of, but to her it has seemed impossible. Even when Caitlyn was alive, she didn’t imagine the possibility of sleeping in another woman’s arms.
Vi makes anything feel possible.
The phone in Caitlyn’s pocket vibrates once more—a nagging reminder of all she’s put off throughout the evening.
Dawn is close, and she needs to make use of the time left to her.
It seems that Lest spent the night on the careful removal of furniture from the Ropes Mansion, where the post fight feasting will commence. Most old homes turned into museums were not intentionally preserved, and have had to be revised with approximations like set design. In contrast, the Ropes Mansion is filled with furniture that actually belonged to its former residents, who had the foresight to preserve it for future generations.
Preservation is essential, where possible, but no locals should be allowed to question why so much is being removed from an important landmark. Luckily, the building rests in a particularly well off zipcode, and many of the residents occupying the oldest houses in the city spend their October, at the least, somewhere both warmer and further from the crowds. They can hope enough of them have chosen to extend these vacations through November, and won’t be around to see the trucks loaded down with antiques.
It does seem colder than the last few years, so perhaps the warmer climates might have proven irresistible.
It might even snow early.
Caitlyn’s eyes snag on the final and most recent message: the advance party she sent ahead has confirmed that Salo is hiding in Worcester. He’s there alongside several of his remaining clan. The cheap bottle dye job apparently makes it very easy to confirm, and he’s made no effort to disguise himself. His vanity is galling.
Not only did he insert himself in another vampire’s territory, but he had the nerve to try to take something so valuable. Even beyond all these clear and deliberate insults, Caitlyn only needs to consider his constant efforts at degrading Vi to move beyond a casual dislike into outright rage. She wants to carve into his skin. She wants to salt the wounds, leaving him in agony. She wants to cave in his skull, gouging deeply into his cheeks to teach him how it hurts to talk through such degrading restrictions. A muzzle made out of violence and tattered flesh.
She wants so much that she cannot have.
The water stops running in the next room. Vi will be come out clean and warm, only to press herself against something unnaturally cold and sluggish. This is the trap she keeps luring her wolf into, isn’t it?
Caitlyn knows that she must tell Vi about Salo. But what then? They can’t leave Mel undefended, and Jayce is babysitting Powder’s visit with Ekko. If Caitlyn tells Vi, she’ll have to choose between leaving Caitlyn behind or calling Jayce back. In a choice between her sister or Caitlyn, it’s obvious who Vi would and should choose. Caitlyn can’t begrudge Vi the kindness that makes her so attractive in the first place.
“What’s up?” Vi scrubs the towel against her damp strands of hair, scruffing it up and flattening it down again. Otherwise, she’s completely naked. Some of the skin is still damp and glistens in the low light. “Everything okay?” She nods at Caitlyn’s phone.
“… yes,” Caitlyn says. It isn’t quite a lie.
Confirmation of Salo’s location is only a good thing. Everything is, strictly speaking, still okay.
Vi looks unsure, but doesn’t question it—because she trusts and cares for Caitlyn. It prickles at Caitlyn’s conscience, but not enough to say more. Not yet, at least.
She folds back the blanket, slips beneath the covers, and tries to find that place of giddy excitement she existed in not long ago.
But the feeling won’t return.
Vi crawls in next to her, a warm and steady weight that shifts the mattress. Even her breathing takes up space, in a way that Caitlyn simply doesn’t anymore.
She is insubstantial—yet somehow, entirely selfish.
Tomorrow, she’ll tell Vi. Until then, it would only be another worry. There’s no point in taking this moment away. Even Powder deserves another night with someone she apparently cares for. It could almost be selfless, twisted into a new light. Caitlyn’s always been adept in giving herself grace, she thinks. She knows the ways to twist around morality. She learned it from the men at Church. This is no different. This is granting absolution to her own sins.
“Cait?”
Vi’s voice is low and quiet, despite how close she is. Her arms feel massive scooping Caitlyn up, but once their bodies press together it’s clear again how much of Vi compacts into a relatively small space. She carries so much inside a smaller frame. She’s brave, strong, and caring in a way that Caitlyn can hardly conceive of.
“I’m fine,” Caitlyn lies, knowing that this brief escape must end faster than she hoped. It’s for the best. They were always going to have to go home. This would always end in another fight and bloodshed.
The trouble is that she wants to be at Vi’s side when she faces this. She wants to be there to tear that man apart. But this isn’t her revenge to take. What she wants does not—cannot—matter at all.
“Then sleep,” Vi grunts and pulls her closer.
Caitlyn squeaks in rather undignified surprise. “You’re the one tugging and talking,” she grumbles, distracted once more from her own circular self-recriminations.
Vi is very good at that.
“Your spine’s like steel, Princess.” Vi chuckles low. “You need me to loosen you up first?”
If anything, that only makes Caitlyn stiffen more. “No,” she says, so quick it must seem unnatural. It isn’t even the usual shame that halts her now, but a different sense of wrongness. She is keeping something from Vi, and to take pleasure from her now would be the ultimate betrayal. “No, I’m fine,” she says again, more robotic and less convincing, she’s sure.
But Vi never presses harder than Caitlyn can take—at least not deliberately. “If you say so.”
Her mouth is pressed so close to Caitlyn’s neck, just beneath her ear, that it sends pinpricks racing up her back, but even that doesn’t feel intended. It’s not Vi’s fault that every single thing she does is arousing, at least in the right light. Or perhaps in any light. Moonlight and daylight both suit her well.
This line of thinking is not helping Caitlyn sleep. She shuts her eyes and grunts softly. The darkness behind her eyelids is absolute, more so even than the inside of a coffin. The difference is that there’s nothing to look at in a coffin.
With eyes shut, her mind wanders.
For some reason, Caitlyn’s thinking of Darius and of Sarah, and even poor Thérèse. Just a handful of those killed because of her own greed. If her heart still mattered, it might shatter.
But then Vi’s weight shifts against her back. She’s still breathing, slowly and deeply. The movement is like a calming blanket, stretching out across Caitlyn’s other awful thoughts. Vi is still alive. Despite her and Leblanc’s own efforts, her wolf remains alive—and stronger than ever. Caitlyn’s eyes stay shut, and she envisions Vi smiling. It’s the image of her from the photograph—of Vi resting in the sun. But instead of a single captured moment, she’s moving. She’s laughing.
And in Caitlyn’s vision, they’re together, kissing softly on the grass. The wind stirs in her hair, and she squints up into the glow of sunlight overhead. It’s probably the wrong color. She can’t remember how it looks outside of photographs and paintings. She’s sure it hurt more than this to look so directly, but she can’t resist it now.
Inside her head, Vi kisses her again, and the real Caitlyn sighs out loud. It’s a softly sweet and satisfied sound, and the fantasy is briefly interrupted by Vi’s low chuckle at her back, which contradicts the imaginary Vi at her front.
Although, this idea of a Vi ahead and behind is certainly its own kind of fantasy—for another time. Caitlyn smiles. Her mind doesn’t slow down for quite some time, but until she falls asleep her thoughts are entirely of Vi.