Julian Blackwood (synapticstatic) wrote in nybynightic, @ 2020-10-03 23:39:00 |
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They had the advantage of not only advance warning of the hunt being called since both the new Ventrue Primogen and the Sheriff had used their pull to make sure a blood hunt was called but because they had the only person who Dorian was going to risk letting get close to him. Whether it was from some lingering after effect of Julian’s servitude all those years that Dorian believed it when the Malkavian reached out and said he’d help him get out of the city or simply because the Ventrue wanted to sink his claws back into him to punish him for avoiding him recently didn’t matter. All that mattered was that Dorian had told Julian where he was when he called.
Julian was counting on Micah’s hold on him being stronger. It was a risk he was taking. Dorian had a hold on him for so long, using domination and blood to keep him on his leash that there was always the possibility that Micah being the stronger Ventrue wouldn’t be enough for his orders that he had placed in Julian’s mind to cancel out Dorian. But of the two, Micah’s domination of the Malkavian was more recent and it was his blood that was sustaining Julian now, not Dorian’s. That had to count for something.
Whatever Dorian’s game was for letting Julian come to him, he wasn’t giving it away yet. From the moment Julian had arrived to now as they pulled up to one of Micah’s many properties he had acted as if nothing had changed. Neither had Julian. Even as he noted the look of sudden suspicion that was starting to form in Dorian’s eyes.
“Should we not just be driving straight out of the city?”
Julian shook his head. “I can feel them all. Crawling all over the city searching for you. There’s blood in the water tonight and the sharks are circling, trying to find the source of it. Rip into. Make it bleed more.” And he wasn’t lying. He could feel them all. “Best to lay low for the night.” His eyes darted over to the Ventrue who had once meant so much to him until he realized just how wrong he had done him. “You know what I’m risking helping you.”
Dorian said nothing to that.
Yet the seed of suspicion, once rooted, was near impossible to get rid of. And from the moment that Julian had taken an unexpected turn, that seed had taken hold firmly, growing with each mile that they were not taking out of the city until it solidified into a lead weight in the dark pits of doubt in time to their car coming to a slow halt at a deserted building.
As far as possible safehouses went, it was a little run down. But even if there were contacts and favours he could yet call upon amongst those in the city, there were still far too many eyes on Dorian for him to risk it for creature comforts. He came round after getting out of the car to stand beside Julian, a million things running through his mind even if none were displayed on the impassive face he wore, looking up at the building.
Finally, turning, he took Julian’s wrist and met blue eyes that he knew so well—no longer, he found. He could no longer tell what Julian was thinking behind them.
Leaving things to chance was not how Dorian Valatieri had survived as long as he had. Not when he had the ability to bend things—and people—to his will. Squeezing Julian’s hand slightly, forcing eye contact, he let the subtle play of his power wash over them both, “Is this where you’ve been hiding from me then, all this time?”
And Julian, sweet Julian, who would get upset perhaps at being dominated again—at the lack of trust—but who could never before lift a finger against him, would learn that this time too was no different.
Somehow Julian managed to not flinch away as Dorian took his hand and squeezed. It felt so odd for Dorian to willingly do it after all this time and yet Julian knew why he did. It was to lure him in. Give him that false sense of security.
And then there it was. Julian knew that sooner or later the test of who’s domination would win out would happen sooner or later but he honestly hadn’t been expecting it so soon. He should have. He probably should actually be surprised that Dorian had not tried it as soon as he saw him.
Julian felt it and waited. While he felt it, it didn’t take root. Couldn’t take hold when his broken mind had already been told by Micah to not let it happen. Not that he was going to let on to that just yet. Instead he’d play along. “No. I’ve been staying with a couple of other Malks.” Which none of that was a lie. He hadn’t been staying here and he did sometimes stay at Connie’s.
The answer didn’t seem to surprise Dorian at all in the slightest.
“But you have been hiding from me.” The thing about Domination was that it didn’t simply make you tell the truth, it compelled you to spill everything that the user wanted to know, allowing you to hide nothing.
Blue eyes darted away for a moment as if trying to resist before they looked back at Dorian again. “Yes. I’ve been avoiding you,” Julian admitted. “And I’ve been suffering for it. Which is why I’ve been staying with the other Malks. Only—” he licked his lips and seemed pained to have to admit “it’s not been working.” It wasn’t hard for Julian to try and look completely lost, like he needed Dorian to help him stay pieced together like he had before.
It was the answer he had been searching for, the same reliance and dependence that he could trust from Julian, even if he was growing so far beyond his reach that nothing else could be trusted—at least in this, it was impossible for Julian to change.
He looked at Julian, his expression not devoid of sympathy. This was one he had kept by his side the longest, someone he had no small part in nurturing and shaping—to his own desires. It would have been perfect, had he not been embraced by Malkavian instead of himself eventually. But there were ways to tie someone without the bond of siring. And Dorian had done nothing short of that.
“Of course it hasn’t.” A smile, finally. The confidence of so many years of accumulated habit was not something trivial at all. Dorian let his hand drop, walking forward, entering the building finally, now fully persuaded that Julian had returned to him willingly—as he always had before. “But we can fix that now.”
But stepping into the building was the last foolish thing that Dorian would do.
Ten steps into the wide, empty space of an abandoned lobby, the ground thick with dust and grime collected over years of neglect, the shutters came down in a deafening roar.
The metal clanged shut around them, plunging them into a momentary blackness that compounded the thick feeling of dread.
“I wouldn’t say that, if I were you.”
The sound of that voice turned Dorian to ice. The deep baritone was impossible to mistake. His mind spun in a thousand different directions and chief at the fore: how could he find us?
A single flickering lamp came on overhead. And out of the shadows walked Micah Lucciano, the new Ventrue primogen of New York.
“Terrible manners for you to leave without saying goodbye, Dorian.” Micah’s grin was wide. Shark-like.
It was a bad choice that Dorian had made walking in ahead of Julian. It now put him between the two of them without an escape—not that he realized just yet the danger that lurked behind him. No, he was too focused on the danger in front of him, too convinced of Julian coming to heel.
If there had been any lingering doubts—there hadn’t been—Dorian being so willing to accept Julian crawling back to him with ideas of being put on the leash would have fixed all of that. Dorian was too willing to. No, the only way to ever be free was to destroy the leash and the one who held it.
“You underestimate people too easily, Dorian. You always have,” Julian pointed out as he moved in closer behind the Ventrue. His voice dropped down to an almost purr. “I would have hated for you to leave without visiting the new Primogen.” Julian’s blue eyes lifted up and met Micah’s over Dorian’s shoulder.
“Besides, it’s us or them. The Sheriff and his Hounds will make sure that you do not make it out of this city alive. I wasn’t lying when I said I could hear them. You didn’t make friends here very well. Tsk, tsk. Unlike some of us.”
This was what Micah had been referring to when he left his parting words that day at Dorian’s place. Julian. It had always been Julian.
The Malkavians had a sickness, deep-rooted. And Rusty more so than any of them. It had been the one thing that had driven a wedge between him and Julian—and now, widened into an irrevocable chasm that was to be his end.
Rage. White hot and overwhelming. Dorian snarled, hands around Julian’s neck in an instant, fingernails digging deep with sheer force of his hatred into the vulnerable flesh of the recently fed—not his blood, he realised, too late. “You’re a rat, just like your maker.” As if Rusty was the sole source of Julian and the way he’d become.
It was the one miscalculation that Micah made: the relative distance between the three of them. Micah and Dorian, as compared to Dorian and Julian. Or perhaps that was fooling himself too. Because no one could deny the pain of betrayal and the consequent overwhelming need to obliterate the very offender. And in choosing the best option at his disposal, he had willfully disregarded this very fact.
It was a sign of that deep-rooted sickness and just how broken Julian really was that even as Dorian’s fingers sunk into his flesh, his shoulders started to shake. It wasn’t from fear that they were shaking but from laughter that was finding it hard to escape as Dorian worked so very hard to crush his throat. There was just something about those words that caused Julian to start laughing.
“Are you calling yourself a rat,” he managed to rasp out. After all, Rusty may have sired him, but it was Dorian who had worked so very hard to groom him into what he was hadn’t he. Something he was forgetting as the Malkavian reached up and grabbed a hold of Dorian’s hands before pushing himself into Dorian’s mind, ripping it wide open to him.
”You remember what happened to Rusty don’t you”, he whispered into that mind before assaulting it with memories of what happened to Julian’s sire. “Did you think we needed a blood hunt called just to kill you?”
—pale flesh. the shock of blond hair. blood. blood. blood everywhere. Caught, pinned, back against the granite and pearl white fangs sinking into—
Knowing what happened to Rusty wasn’t quite the same as knowing, as seeing the images brought up in front of him, the sweet ghoul he’d raised turned into the uncontrollable, deranged animal that he was now. To Dorian, it was disgust that surfaced first, along with hatred and anger.
But to Micah, it was the very distraction that he was looking for. That split-second’s inattention stemming from his revulsion—transformed into a knife through the very arm that was holding Julian in a vice-grip.
Dorian groaned, but did not let go.
And when he looked at them both, it was clear from the look on his face that he had either forgotten about Micah’s presence in the light of Julian’s betrayal or fully expected Micah to not lift a finger now that his goal was accomplished.
Probably the latter.
Micah twisted the knife in Dorian’s arm. “Let him go.” It wasn’t the knife that would convince Dorian of that, not even the possibility of Micah sticking another into his heart, at this proximity, which could conceivably end him for good. It was the tone of Micah’s voice, the absolute force and power behind his words—the full weight of everything that Micah had as a Ventrue.
They had never gone against one another like this before; face to face, physically, as if they were nothing but two wrestlers, pitting something as trivial as physical strength. It had always been political manoeuvring behind the scenes, lobbying for supporters, backstabbing and even sending the occasional spy. But this was Micah Lucciano, angered, putting an end to things personally.
They were, the both of them, powerful Ventrue in their own right. Dorian the elder between the two of them, not by much, but significant enough that it should have mattered.
It didn’t.
Dorian felt it. It wasn’t the systematic invasion of a Makavian mind, pervasive and impossible to ignore. It was the sudden, abrupt collapse of his walls and the world as he knew it. Micah pushed, and much as many others Dorian had personally broken through with his own powers before, Dorian obeyed.
His fingers lost the strength in them, relaxing without any conscious input from him. All he saw was Micah’s ice blue eyes.
There was something extremely satisfying about watching Dorian fall under Micah’s domination. How many times had Julian fallen under Dorian’s own because he decided it was the best way to deal with whatever issue his Malkavian mind was presenting at the time. Those were just the times that he knew about. After what he had done to Maya, Julian had started to wonder how many times Dorian might have done the same to him.
How long would he have lasted before Dorian might have ended up breaking him completely the way he had the Malkavian Primogen because she had been a useful tool. A tool just like he thought of Julian.
Julian rubbed his neck as Dorian did as he was told and let go of him. He healed it as soon as he did. No longer would he wear any mark put on him by Dorian.
“It’s a real bitch isn’t, Dorian? Being forced to obey.” He stepped in closer to him once more. “All you ever had to do was ask.” The knife in Dorian’s arm helped. It would make him hard to grab again. It was also causing him to continue to bleed which meant less blood in the body for Julian to have to deal with.
The Malkavian grabbed the Ventrue’s chin and forced him to look away from Micah’s blue eyes to his own once more. His smile was all fangs and the truth of what Julian was about to do to him registered in Dorian’s eyes. It was Dorian’s turn to laugh at Julian. “You’ve done all this for him thinking I was the one who made you who you are and yet you have no clue. He never told you did he? You’ve been blaming the wrong Ventrue. He’s the one who made you what you are more than I ever could have. Such a little fool as always, Julian.”
It was enough to make Julian hesitate for a second and glance at Micah, trying to figure out just what Dorian meant. It’s what Dorian wanted though. To plant doubt and right now Julian wasn’t about to let go. Not while he had a hold of Dorian and was able to sink his fangs right into him. Right now it didn’t matter what he didn’t know, only what he knew, and it wouldn’t change Dorian’s fate either way. The vise grip that Julian kept on him said that the youngest Kindred in the room had no plans to stop. Not until the end anyway. And it wasn’t just his blood that Julian was ending up with. No, with it came a flood of memories. Ones that for the moment were overloading the Malkavian’s mind but still he wasn’t about to let go.
Not until there was nothing left to take.
It was impossible for Micah not to know what had transpired in the last few seconds of Dorian’s existence. There was only one thing that Dorian could have held against Julian—and Micah, for that matter—and true to form, Dorian wasn’t going to go quietly.
Micah waited.
He gave Julian the closure he knew the younger kindred desired. And when Dorian was well and gone with not a single drop left propping that body up, yet Julian showed no signs of letting go, Micah pried Julian’s fingers off Dorian’s cold, dead body. One at a time. “He’s gone, Julian. Let go.”
As Micah pried him loose, Julian turned and curled his fingers into Micah’s shirt and clung to him. He didn’t even notice what happened to Dorian’s body. He was too busy trying to hold himself together as the power he pulled from the other Ventrue’s body surged through his own. It was a bit easier this time to hold on to a sense of self since he knew what to expect and wasn’t coming out of a frenzy but oh it was still very hard to do so.
The world screamed at him and pressed in around him. And for the first time while around Micah the whispers were about to push in around him. They could now tell him the things that he had missed before. Things that later if he took the time to pick through the flood of memories he had gotten from Dorian would confirm not only the Ventrue’s words but the whispers as well.
It was very hard to hang on to what passed in his mind as sanity when his world was breaking apart in more ways than one. As the truth hit Julian those last words of Dorian’s made sense. Suddenly he was letting go of Micah and shoving his hands through his hair. He flinched and moved completely away from the Ventrue, a look of betrayal and hurt shining in his eyes.
“It was you,” he started out as a whisper. “It was you who sent Rusty to sire me.” That was bad enough but it’s what Julian said next a little louder that hurt the most. “You knew. You knew and you didn’t say anything. You knew who I was and that I had no clue who you and you fucked me anyway. Then kept fucking me while using me to plan against Dorian.” By the end the words were being screamed at Micah. And all that blood he had just consumed made it easy for tears to roll down the face of a Kindred as young as Julian.
He really was a fool wasn’t he?
Micah stared, impassive. He stood still as a statue as Julian raged, white hot and furious around him. A stark contrast to the unshakeable calm of Micah’s many centuries of years ahead of him.
This was undoubtedly what Dorian had been hoping to achieve; the splintering of Julian’s mind, the fracturing of whatever hold Micah had kept on him. From the start, there had never been a concrete plan where Julian was concerned. Just like the fact that he hadn’t been expecting it when Julian dropped in on his club that night, walking up to him and taking a seat beside him in the booth, acting with a confidence that—pretend or otherwise, nevertheless got him Micah’s attention. Just like the fact that Micah had kept him around, even after knowing that Dorian was planning something, after knowing that Dorian was in New York.
“It was.” Micah had no intention of hiding it. He wouldn’t have either, right from the beginning, had Julian somehow made the connection. And it was clear from his tone that he made no apologies for it either.
“And he’s gone now.” Dorian. Deader than a doornail, the body sprawled on the ground where Julian had finally dropped him. “You’re free.” From Dorian. From Rusty. From any sort of metaphysical bond imposed by the blood of their own kind. But it remained to be seen if Julian could see himself freed from the mental backlash that those two had started and that he still carried with him.
Julian’s fingers tightened in his hair, pulled at it, while he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to sort through the pieces of his mind that were threatening to shatter all over the floor again if he wasn’t careful. Free. He was free. Freed by the one who had set him on this path to start with. Julian wasn’t going to fool himself into thinking he was anything but a means to an end. Micah keeping his word about getting rid of Dorian and his leash had simply worked out that way.
Still, as much as Dorian had tired shifting the blame, Dorian had still been the one who chose to not destroy Julian when he could have. Had made that choice to shape him into what he did. Micah didn’t make those choices. Dorian had. Micah had just presented the opportunity in forcing Dorian’s hand. The memories he was trying to sort through made that easier to see.
Knowing didn’t make the hurt any easier though. Didn’t make Julian feel any less betrayed. Especially as he stood there at a complete loss for the moment on what to say or do as he tried to figure it all out. There were things he wanted to ask but dare not because the answers likely would send the rest of his mind shattering apart. Right now all he could do open his eyes back up and look at Micah.
“You stopped him from killing me. Why?” It was the only thing that seemed safe to ask in the moment. He had gotten Micah to where he wanted. He had gotten him Dorian and he could have easily finished him off himself.
There was a touch of surprise with that. And it flickered, for the briefest moment, across Micah’s face, disappearing as quickly as it had shown. As fragile as Julian’s mind already was and as much impact as Dorian’s revelation had, Micah had not expected to focus on this particular detail.
“Because.” And there was just as much reason that he wasn’t vocalising as the one he was. Because he could. Because he wanted to. Because Micah never did a single thing in his new undead life that he didn’t want to.
“Do I have a reason to kill you?” Put forward, the question had its own meaning too. Testing the shaky ground with which Julian stood now, trapped by the confines of the old life he knew and the new one within his taking.
Julian would have to make his own choices, now.
That because almost had Julian starting to laugh hysterically like a madman or lunatic that the members of his clan were so often referred to. It was not a reply he expected out of Micah. Because. Somehow though Julian managed to keep from the laughter. Instead he focused on trying to ground himself. To rely on himself to stop his madness instead of others holding the pieces for him all the time. He found it in the memory of a hand kneading the back of his neck. Of that same hand caressing down his back.
Did Micah have reason to kill him? After what he had done to Rusty and Dorian, it almost seemed a natural progression didn’t it? Eating the ones who had wronged him. But Julian just shook his head. “No.”
It had been all about choices since coming to New York hadn’t it? It may have started with choosing to break away from Dorian, but while he raged and yelled at Micah for what had happened at the club, Julian may not have known but he had known better to be drawn to the Ventrue and yet he had made that choice as well hadn’t he?
Choices were hard to make though right now as all that blood from such a power Ventrue continued to work it’s way through him and it seemed like the world continued to rip at his mind. It felt like the world but Julian knew that it was actually his own mind. He knew what was coming. That it was going shut down on him as it tried sort itself out.
“Micah,” was all he could get out, a soft plea, before he collapsed.
Except that this time, when he fell, Micah was there to hold him.