Control WHO Diana von Klimburg OT Brent Lawson WHAT Brent pays his favorite asset a visit WHERE Durant Manor WHEN Tuesday, May 2, 2017; 10 AM
TW: Assault / Implied consideration of sexual assault / Implied vampire feeding
Diana knew he had arrived long before he had stepped into her library, wearing the smug, self-assured smirk she couldn't wait to tear from his face. Even if she hadn't been able to smell him from down the hall, there were half a dozen cameras from the street to the foyer, as well as a household full of loyal staff to inform her of his presence. She had given them strict instructions when she'd first settled: he was to be greeted politely and allowed the illusion of free reign of her home. Centuries of experience had taught her the best way to bring down men like him was to let them believe body and soul that they were in absolute control.
Diana was very good at letting them believe that. It was the only way she had managed to leave the Order's clutches with her life, even if she still remained tethered to their interests. They knew about the stones, although she had hardly been truthful about the full scale of their numbers or properties. Just enough to make it worthwhile to let her out of her cage, the memory of which still made her seethe with rage. Eighteen centuries, and she gets caught by the dumb luck of a hunter barely older than a child.
Closing her eyes, she exhaled slowly, regaining her poise and control. After all, she was here, a fine porcelain cup and saucer held delicately in her lap as she gazed out at the gardens just beyond the library window. With the sunnier weather had come a change in outfits; pencil skirts replacing the fitted slacks of winter, the plush velvet of the bench she sat on caressing her bare calves as she waited for him, one leg crossed over the other.
She didn't bother to look away from the gardens when he came in, knowing he liked to think he had surprised her with his unannounced visit. Instead, she simply sipped her tea, putting on the appearance of being entranced by a particular rose bush as his reflection appeared in the coated glass before her. When he cleared his throat, she turned to face him, her waist unwinding like a coiled spring. She wore a look of surprise, tempered by a mix of annoyance and intimidation, all designed to make him feel as though he truly held power over her.
"Mister Lawson," she purred, setting her cup and saucer down on the window sill. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?"
Brent had rarely been prouder than the day they had stumbled upon the vampire who called herself Diana von Klimburg and managed to bring her in. At first, they simply thought they'd caught another abomination posing as a wealthy heiress. When her record matched one from some 250 years earlier - Anna Renaud, widow of a merchant in Havenwood, NY - it had piqued his curiosity. His ancestors had been close to catching her, but were stymied by the treaty that kept the supernatural residents of the town protected; by the time they realized she had moved away, she was gone.
But fate had dropped her into his lap when one of his hunters had accidentally plowed his truck into her car on an upstate highway. Both drivers had died instantly, but the other hunters had survived and stumbled to the demolished Tesla with blacked out windows to check for survivors. When the woman in the backseat hadn't had a pulse, they'd assumed she was dead; when she regained consciousness a few seconds later, they knew what they had on their hands.
He was glad one of them had enough foresight to bring her in, rather than simply put her down on the spot. Vampires of her status usually had networks, and if he could dismantle hers, it would be a major win. When he threw her old life in Havenwood at her, she had opened up about her impending return to the town, which lead to his current situation: living in a safehouse to make sure his new pet behaved herself. He hated it at first; he had never liked Havenwood, or small towns in general. But when he caught a glimpse of his estranged wife, he decided it wasn't all that bad after all.
There was a bounce in his step as he made his way up to the front door of Durant Manor, inspired by the plan he was formulating to get Emma back. He didn't bother to look at the butler who had opened the front door for him with a short bow; instead, he just strolled inside and down the hall, peeking into rooms until he found Diana sitting the library. Even at home, she was dressed for the boardroom; vampire or not, he had to admit the sight of her in a sheer silk blouse, skirt, and stilettos wasn't terrible. Of course, he much preferred the sight of her in chains, begging for her life on her knees. But he'd take this look for now.
He cleared his throat, forcing her to turn around and acknowledge him. She tried to sound pleasant, but he could hear the frustration just beneath the surface; try though she might to hide it, he knew she hated that she had been bested. Vampires usually did, with their superiority complexes.
"I was in the neighborhood, thought I'd drop in," he told her with a shrug, taking a few more steps closer until he was practically on top of her. He let his gaze hang out the window as he took in the view she'd been absorbed in a few moments earlier.
"Helluva garden you've got out there," he noted. "Too bad you can't actually walk around in it. Kinda makes you wonder, what's the point of having roses if you can't get out and smell them?"
Diana bit back the urge to tear him to shreds as he purposefully placed himself well within the bounds of her personal space. His attempts to dominate her weren't nearly as subtle as she was sure he thought they were, but she played along. She stiffened her posture and edged away from him by a couple of inches, to illustrate her discomfort. In truth, she didn't really care; she had been feigning intimacy with men she despised since her first lifetime. She barely noticed now.
But Brent Lawson didn't know how old she truly was. As far as he knew, Havenwood had been her first life, or near enough to it. When he had come into her cell to crow about knowing her past identity, she had let him believe his own story. All of her displayed anxieties and discomforts had been purely show to support it; even after 250 years, not every vampire was comfortable in their own skin. She'd seen it enough times to mimic it with ease.
"The roses aren't for me," she answered, picking up her teacup again. It was one of a handful of truths she'd hinted at with him. "They're for people like you, the ones who can go out and enjoy them."
In truth, she had cultivated white roses in every home she had lived in for several centuries, in memory of her long-dead children. But he would never know that.
"A good hostess always ensures her visitors enjoy themselves." She nodded toward the doorway, where one of the maids had stepped in. "A fresh pot of tea, Madeline, if you please. And a cup of coffee, black, two sugars for Mister Lawson."
She looked up at Brent politely. "I presume that's how you still prefer your coffee?"
"You always were the perceptive one, weren't you?" Brent asked, shaking his head in amusement as he settled himself into the overstuffed - and likely antique - armchair nestled into the corner. "See what people like and don't like, use it to your advantage."
He chuckled, aimlessly plucking a book from the nearby shelf. For a moment, he pretended to ignore her by flipping through pages before setting it back haphazardly on the shelf. He had learned with Diana that any semblance of his disregard for the carefully ordered world she'd built was enough to put her on edge; do it enough times, and he'd have her right where he wanted her. It's how he'd broken her in custody, and it's how he planned to keep control over here while she was out on her short leash.
After a few minutes, the maid returned with the teapot and a cup of coffee for him carefully balanced on a silver tray. She dutifully handed the delicate china cup to Brent before setting the tray down beside Diana and excusing herself. Brent watched her go with a leer in his eye; if he hadn't found out Emmy was in town, he would have sat the girl down in his lap for a while and convinced her to invite him somewhere more private. He still had half a mind to do it, just to spite the traitorous bitch.
But for the time being, he he was happy sitting in silence, waiting to see how long it took his new pet to become uncomfortable.
Diana carefully prepared herself a fresh cup of tea, mindful to throw a furtive glance back at Brent every few seconds. Each time she did, she was pleased to see his eyes focused steadily on her, watching her every move. If she didn't know better, she might have thought he was appraising her for his next conquest. But she did. She knew exactly what he had come prepared with to put her down, temporarily or otherwise, in case she did something to displease him. Years of hunting had made him a creature of habit; a clever, deadly creature, but a largely predictable one nonetheless.
Humans are such simple creatures, she thought as she raised the cup to her lips and returned her attention in full back to her imposed guest. Ordinarily, she would have sat there in silence as long as she had needed, but she knew he was trying to use the tactic against her. She heaved a sigh, making a show of her supposed discomfort, though it was really to cover for her annoyance in having to deal with him at all.
"Was there something you wanted from me, Mr. Lawson?" she asked petulantly, knowing he would read it as an attempt at defiance. "Or did you simply come to ogle my roses?"
Already she knew his response: a self-important sneer, a dismissive chuckle as he set aside his coffee cup. Some blather about checking in on her before he segued into some inane task he had for her. Likely a threat, thinly veiled in some kind of innuendo.
Oh, how she relished the thoughts of what she was going to do to him when the time came.
A smirk crossed Brent's lips as he gave a soft chuckle, setting his coffee aside on a nearby bookshelf. His hands settled over the chair's armrests, giving him a feeling of command, as though he were on the bridge of a ship dispensing orders. He'd come prepared to make Diana obey his commands if she objected; a syringe of highly concentrated vervain rested safely in the inner pocket of his jacket, ready at a moment's notice to be deployed.
One of his hunters had learned the hard way that she had built up a tolerance to the stuff when they first brought her in. It was only thanks to the quick deployment of UV lamps that they were able to prevent her from massacring anyone in her path of escape. After that, he'd ordered the nerds in the lab to develop an even more powerful tincture, capable of incapacitating a vampire of her resistance without killing her - at least in small dosages.
Control was necessary in such circumstances; he could be sloppy and plunge the syringe's entire contents into her, but then he'd be left with a writhing dead-again corpse and no one to do his dirty work. No, just the smallest dose would be enough to inspire her cooperation, should she resist. Hell, he even considered doing it just for the fun of watching her squirm.
"I wanted to see how you've been settling in," he drawled, casting his gaze around the room before settling it back on her. "Clearly, I didn't have to worry. Should've known you'd find a way to make yourself... comfortable."
He pushed himself out of the chair, hands clasped behind his back as he paced slowly around the room. "Of course, that's not the only reason I came. As it happens, I have a job for you."
"Isn't that the whole reason you let me come to this godforsaken little town?" she sniffed, setting her cup and saucer primly aside. She knew what was coming and didn't care to spill her tea over the antique bench she was sitting on. She'd be hard pressed to get the stain out of the velvet without reupholstering the whole thing.
She heaved a sigh, making sure her bosoms showed her dismay. The sheerness of her blouse allowed him a perfect view of their rise and fall, gently lit by the window she sat against. Were she not trapped under his clumsy thumb, she would have rolled her eyes and sneered at how easy it was to capture his attention. Men like him were so small-minded.
Instead, she feigned ignorance to just how much of her body was on display and let her eyes widen in anticipation as she watched him leave his chair and saunter over. He positioned himself against the window frame, towering over her. It was certainly a move meant to intimidate, although she couldn't help but think of all the great towers of man that had toppled over the ages.
He stood over her, framed in the window, appreciating the view it gave him. If she weren't the abomination she was, he'd have half a mind to even think of her as beautiful, something to be desired. Her dark hair and fair skin reminded him of Emmy, although unlike his pain in the ass wife, Diana seemed to know her place. Mostly.
"I let you come here because you have something I want," he told her. "But now it's come to my attention that there is something here that I need."
He pulled a black and white photograph from inside his jacket and dropped it into Diana's lap. It was old, a little worn around the edges, and showed a younger, smiling Brent with his arm wrapped around a pretty young thing whose smile looked considerably more forced.
"What do you know about her?" he asked, careful to keep his voice neutral even if the photo betrayed his intentions.
Diana gingerly picked the photo up to examine it. "My, weren't you quite the handsome young thing," she remarked, clucking her tongue at the sight. "And look, you actually can smile."
She took her time raising her eyes back up to him, not in the least surprised to see that his frown had deepened. It was clear whoever the woman in the photograph was, she had been a good influence on him, at least as much as he could absorb. It was also clear from the poor woman's expression that it was not a reciprocal relationship; whatever value he received came at her expense. Again, Diana was hardly surprised by that fact. Men like Brent Lawson took what they thought they deserved, which happened to be everything, with no regard for those who suffered for it.
Men like Brent Lawson were Diana's favorites to tear down, literally and figuratively. She'd only kept her sanity while in the Order's captivity by meticulously planning out each step of her escape and subsequent revenge on Brent. She'd dreamed a thousand times of all the different ways she would finally rip him to shreds. She even had half a mind to do it now, but the thought of having to redo the library again was tiresome.
"She's pretty, but I'm afraid I've never seen her before," she sighed, standing up to hand the photo back to him.
She was, of course, lying. She knew the woman as a police detective, pretty but unkempt and harried, otherwise unremarkable. But if the Commander of the Order was interested in her...
"Did she steal something from you?" Diana asked innocently. Whatever his reasons for looking for that woman, she was better off knowing them to stay ten steps ahead.
"That's none of your business," Brent snapped, delicately snatching the photo away and slipping it back into his pocket.
He closed the gap between them again, having traded the photo for his syringe of vervain. During Diana's time of captivity at headquarters, he had found small dosages to be an effective way of bending her to his will and ensuring her compliance. Of course, now she wasn't bound or chained or strapped to a table for him to play with.
His free arm wrapped quickly around her waist, his hand grabbing a handful of her ass as he kept her close and swiftly jabbed the syringe into her neck. As she went momentarily still in shock and surprise, he carefully depressed the plunger just a few millimeters; it wasn't a large dosage, but at that concentration, it would certainly weaken her and make her rethink fighting him.
"Now listen very carefully," he murmured into Diana's ear, as she began to seize and writhe in pain. "You're going to use your contacts to find out everything you can about that woman. Then you're going to tell me. And if you don't, I'm going to make you wish I killed you."
He added just a drop more into her system to emphasize his point before he slipped the syringe back into his pocket. Then he unceremoniously let her drop to the floor, her legs weakened by the poison. For a moment he stared at her on her knees, wavering between leaving her there or forcing one more favor out of her; once again, he was both repulsed by what she was and beguiled by her beauty.
The ring of his cellphone brought him back to his senses, although he chose to ignore the fact that his hand had already started to undo his belt. Clearing his throat, he turned on his heel and left the mansion at a brisk pace, answering his phone only once he was out of the vampire's estate. Order business was not to be discussed in front of abominations.
Diana waited until she was certain Brent had left the estate before she got back up on her feet, reaching for her tea. She was relieved he'd decided not to try and have his way with her; as much as she had planned out a very long game, such a situation would have certainly accelerated her time table and left him one appendage short.
She smirked at the thought, but even more amusing was how easily he had been fooled into thinking such a low dosage of vervain was actually effective as a torture aid. It was annoying, certainly, like a mild allergic reaction, but nowhere near the level of pain she had become so practiced at feigning. It had started during her capture, when she realized that the hunters who had stumbled upon her had no idea who she actually was; when it became clear that her torturers still had no idea but favored the poison for its effect on vampires, she simply played into their fantasy.
So predictable, she thought with a frown. What a mercy it will be to put him out of his sad little life.
Finished with her tea, she set the cup aside and called for her assistant, who she knew would be standing dutifully just outside the door. A moment later, the handsome young man had stepped in, looking just concerned enough to show he cared about his employer, but not so much as to imply that he believed she was every actually in harm's way.
"Lucas, find someone to go around the town taking pictures of pale, pretty women with dark hair," she instructed, smoothing out the wrinkles in her skirt with a disappointed sigh. "Be sure they get a photo of Detective Emma Swinton - but not obviously, and she shouldn't be the first one. Somewhere in the middle, yes?"
Lucas nodded. "I take it this is to satisfy Commander Lawson?"
She smiled, genuinely this time, letting her palm come to rest on his chest for a moment. "Clever boy. I can't wait to turn you."
He blushed at the touch. "I eagerly await the day that I am worthy of such an honor, mistress. I'll clean up in here, and assign someone to handle Commander Lawson's request right away."
Diana gave him another grateful smile and a final pat before she left the library, her stilettos echoing across the hardwood as she made her way upstairs to the attic she'd had partially converted into storage. As much as everything with Brent was going according to plan, his visit still had her worked up, which wouldn't do if she was to make sure that things continued to progress under according to her schedule. She needed an outlet, and this was the place for it.
Keying in the code, she unlocked the door and stepped inside, her heels clacking on the pristine white tile. The room was pleasantly warm and lit to match; bright enough that there were no shadows to hide in, but not so bright as to feel sterile. Her instructions had been to make the space easy to clean, but well equipped and comfortable to be in.
After all, waking up in a strange room was stressful enough, and she hated for her meals to be flooded with cortisol. It simply ruined the blood.