It was nearly midnight by the time Cynthia reached her meeting spot and a payphone, along the side of a gas station she picked up some coffee from to prepare for her call. Jeans and a turtleneck under her leather jacket, she leaned against the wall and heard the ringing in her ear until her husband answered, “this better be you, Cynthia.”
“I told you I’d be out late tonight, Hank” the woman hummed softly, smiling down at the invitation down in her hands. Thick stationary, a flowing handwriting in a reddish purple liquid that had obviously not been pure ink by the irony tinge to its smell, carefully outlined in a gold leaf design of vines and flowers.
Lilacs, their flowers.
“You told me you were going on a hunt, when I do those I tend to come back when they’re done,” the man muttered with unhidden implication, like he didn’t have his fey bitch, “Martin’s school’s making us do that meeting tomorrow morning, we’re supposed to be there together.”
“I’ll be there, you know I never miss anything.”
“His reward ceremony?”
“I was in the hospital,” Cynthia hissed in disgust at going that low, “because someone thought it was just women’s issues when I was throwing up from my appendix.”
The man on the other end made a series of noises obviously feigning some annoyance, and with a final burst of energy argued, “I can’t believe you’re still bringing that up. That was like three years ago, you need to dig that far back for a fucking issue?”
Cynthia pursed her lips, ready to continue the argument when a white Rolls Royce pulled in front of the station, a tall man stepping out to open one of the back doors before starting to top off the fuel. Her cue which she took as she declared, “I’m hanging up now, see you tomorrow.”
“Oh yeah stay out until dawn, you know Martin went out without telling me and-”
“He’s your child, what you always said right?” Cynthia snapped, slamming the phone back down and storming off to the car.
No one stopped her and the driver barely offered a nod, the woman climbing into the back seat and slamming the door behind her like she owned it. Her fellow passenger letting out a thick croaking laugh as his clawed nails scraped across leather seats and rested on her thigh. The ice cold touch a welcome sensation as she leaned her head against the window and smiled wearily over to him.
Ancient by vampire standards, the man was starting to no longer resemble humanity in most aspects. Skin so pale it might have been paper, teeth and nails always sharp and on display, eyes glowing a scarlet red in the night, ears with a dulled point to them. His bushy mustache grown an unnatural white to match the long chest-length hair, the modern blue suit he wore looking out of place on his thin body.
Still, not bad for a vampire, even if the Max Schreck look had taken a time to appreciate.
“The husband, he gives you trouble, darling — no?” Christopher asked with a low chuckle, running the back of one nail up before the tip dug into her chin to tilt her to meet his eyes, “speak?”
The woman chuckled, sliding across the seats to lean against the man and wrap her arms around his freezing body. A nice reason to wear her sweater, the stab vest aside, as she muttered, “apparently Martin ran out, and I’m supposed to do something about it? He’s fifteen, Hank has to realize just because I never got any fucking time with the kid doesn’t mean he’s not gonna rebel or do his own thing.”
Christopher hummed, his clawed hand moving to brush the side of her neck as he offered, “I can make him my next bouquet to you. I’ve seen his flesh, he could survive upon a stake for a time if I pushed it through right — I know how wet those Purist whimpers made you last month.”
She giggled, half-covering her mouth as she looked away from him, “not until Martin’s in college.”
“I may kill him?”
“If he gets bitchy about a divorce; tell Martin he ran off,” the woman declared matter of factly, “you turning me into a vampire might need some more explanation, but I think we could hold off telling him for a couple years — especially if we get him into college.”
“I’m friends with some of the bigger admission boards in the country, yes,” Christopher said with a thoughtful smile, “I’ve gotten more than one of them a lot of money introducing them to an investor I know. He’s truly mastered the art of turning investments into profit, you know this?”
“Anyone you can introduce me to? I keep telling Hank we should invest some of our savings,” Cynthia hummed softly.
“Not less you have ways to invest it outside your own name,” Christopher tsked, “tell not the others of the triumvirate — they need to think me the financial genius among us — but Bernie, he’s performing lies.”
She nodded, smiling as she reached under the seat and was greeted with a heavy double barrel shotgun and a bandolier of shells. A nice weapon, with gold emboss in a leaf pattern and her name engraved on the handle, each shell marked with a tiny little s on the side.
“Werewolves tonight, huh?” Cynthia whistled, fingers running along every inch as she made sure it was loaded and ready, “no…you have dragon’s breath in the chambers, why silver on the spares?”
“Meeting between the East Coast Triumvirate, the Moor and the Roman’s Whore will arrive already, so too a few other factions — preparations for next year's assembly. If fight, nothing not dead after the first shots will give time to reload except the wolves. I’ll deal with them,” Christopher answered with a low hum, and Cynthia realized the game he was playing with a dull smile.
Hank didn’t particularly work with the Triumvirate, but he worked well with multiple other groups in the region. Chances were that if she made an appearance here as Christopher’s bodyguard, every supernatural in the city would be talking about it. Hank wouldn’t be able to speak to anyone for months without them knowing his wife was with one the Triumvirate.
She liked that idea.
A long car ride later to a state park and the car finally pulled off into a clearing where a small group of cars already waited, and Cynthia stepped out wiping a small trail of blood from her neck with a handkerchief. The bandolier of shells over her chest and the shotgun held in place as Christopher led her to the meeting. About ten other supernaturals standing about, and the triumvirate each having a mortal behind them.
Of those present, Cynthia recognized the Triumvirate and the fey twins, though the remaining five (the werewolves?) were strangers.
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Of the Triumvirate left, the Styrian was a tall and cold woman almost as pale as Christopher, though mostly with her human features left, wearing a pure black suit. two young girls who looked barely out of high school, if that, carrying rifles behind her. The Moor a black man with a shaved head, wearing a gray suit, pulled tight with his human close to him as they whispered back and forth in some deep discussion.
The werewolves a large mix, all filthy, disgusting, with matted hair and a stink Cynthia could smell from where she stood and clothes that were closer to rags. None recognizable to her, and none she actually wanted to meet.
Finally the twins, looking close alike despite their difference in sex, with coppery tan skin and long hair of a void-like black wearing thin silver armor. Both standing far apart and exchanging regular glares as they paced the forest clearing in anticipation.
Cynthia couldn’t blame them.
“The Odrysian of New York, appearance is made,” Christopher announced, his body contouring into a twisted bow that nearly pushed his face into the ground, “may we introduce?”
“May we introduce,” The Styrian mumbled with a low sigh, every word sounding like she was struggling to remember its pronunciation, “yes, the…Styrian of Richmond makes her appearance.”
“The Moor of Jacksonville arrives,” The Moor announced, joining the Styrian in refusing to bow, “Triumvirate has arrived, rest make your names known.”
“Queen Procya, leader of the Seelie,” the bitch sleeping with Cynthia’s husband announced, giving the woman a knowing smirk, “charmed to finally meet some of you.”
“King Procyo, leader of the unseelie,” her brother announced, leaving it at that.
The werewolves came next, and Cynthia couldn’t be bothered to listen to their prattling names even as Christopher chuckled at one and The Styrian’s lips became a thin line. The man glancing back as he muttered, “she was The Roman Whore’s girl.”
“She dated a werewolf woman?” Cynthia asked with raised brows, not sure why that was a surprise.
“If you would consider her one,” Christopher spat back, and the conversation was left there as the group began their arguments.
Chaos Cynthia couldn’t hope to keep up with, everyone present argued like people who had known one another too long to have a normal conversation. One moment speaking in present terms and seeming to get somewhere about the negotiations, the next a small group switching to some old language to fight, and then back to English referencing something that had no context to it.
A twisted back and forth until people began to peel off, first the Procya and then shortly after her brother, the Moor deciding his piece was said, and finally the Styrian. Leaving Christopher to finish his arguments with the Purists, discussing something to do with deciding the number of ambassadors. Back and forth, the Purists seemed to never decide on one to speak first, and Cynthia grew impatient as she shifted in place.
Not moving until the words turned to screams, the shotgun barely moved to her shoulder when the first Purist lunged forward.
Too slow for a vampire, Christopher barely looked like he moved; instead one moment stood arms at his side the next holding the still-transforming werewolf to the ground. A growl escaping his throat that struck Cynthia’s core and made her smile as she raised the gun and took two shots at the first werewolf to catch her eyes. Two columns of fire engulfing the screaming beast even as she worked to load up the next shots and the remaining three ran for the woods.
“No survivors,” Christopher ordered, a squelch and a pop filling the forest as he popped the werewolves head off, holding it above his own to catch a few dripping streaks of crimson on his tongue, “I save one for the stake.”
The woman nodded, following the vampire close behind as he started a walk into the woods, Purist territory, and they kept their pace steady. Christopher was unlikely to die, and the Purists stupid if they picked a fight with a vampire so powerful, Cynthia was the weak point for them to target in this. Something that was actually at risk here, maybe could be used for negotiation, and something that made the hunt just a little more exciting.
The Purists were stupid, it was their nature, and it wasn’t long before even Cynthia heard the rushing of wolf steps.
Christopher moved first, two wolves pouncing at him from the woods, and Cynthia couldn’t raise her gun before needing to dive out of the way of a heavy claw. Wood shattering, a tree cracking as it began to heavily lean, and two yellow eyes bearing down into her in the dark from a werewolf in their battle form.
Nine feet tall, all muscle, a twisted abomination that deserved to be wiped away from history.
Dangerous though, something Cynthia wasn’t going to forget.
Too fast and agile to be outrun, too fierce to be fought head on, one needed to rely on intelligence fighting one. Her gun raised just enough to fire a shot that made it stay on guard while she stumbled back and glanced over her shoulder long enough to get her path chosen.
A steep incline she could throw herself down, safety clicked on just as her body crashed into mud in stone and she began to tumble ass over teakettle in a mess of limbs and bruised flesh. Teeth clenched tight enough they felt like they’d crack, tongue held to the roof of her mouth to stop biting it, the werewolf not far behind.
Too heavy to go downhill too fast without tumbling itself, and too far behind to take the same risk as her without catching a bullet, it took a diagonal path away from her into the brush. Out of sight, out of aim, and leaving Cynthia on guard as she tried forcing herself to her feet before realizing her leg wasn’t moving with a dull pain.
A quick glance down, and she was glad the adrenaline was doing its job as she saw her calf poking through her left jean leg.
Her angle limited, Cynthia kept her back to the hill as best she could, ears open, the eerie silence of the night an unwelcome sight. Worries of Christopher kept to the back of her brain as she tried to remind herself that he wasn’t the one to lose against two fucking animals. The thought still gnawing in her head until a lumbering force started out of the woods and-
BANG.
The wolf stumbled and fell as Cynthia swung her head towards the sound, a figure in the distance rushing through the trees. Not more than a second later a headless body crashing through the trees and landing nearby, and Christopher dropped next to it with a bloodied and battered man, neck half-ripped out, held tight by scruffy black hair.
“Done?” the man asked, seeing the werewolf try to crouch for a pounce and stopping it with claws digging into the still-open wound on his prey’s neck, “I kill.”
The werewolf stopped a moment, seeming to consider it before realizing its predicament and slowly turning back to human. In the end a woman left standing there, a twisted woman of scars and mud with auburn hair cut like a man’s. Anger in her remaining eye with the other a bloody and twisted hole in her face that she seemed surprisingly unconcerned about.
Cynthia wanted to have fun, make a show of it, but her savior remained unknown and she barely turned to see who it was when her heart entered her stomach. A familiar acne riddled face under heavy winter clothes and a black peach fuzz, a revolver held tight in his hand he hastily pointed between Christopher and the woman.
“The letter said you’d be here, I wanted to help,” Martin muttered breathlessly, terror in his eyes even as he ran to his mother and was pulled into a tight embrace. Bone feeling like it’d crush under her grasp as he tried to push her away to keep his aim steady, “why are you working with that fucking blood sucker?!”
“Look there’s…things are complicated,” Cynthia started, gears turning as she knew she’d need a lie to explain it and soon, “look, let’s get you home, I’ll explain everything on the way okay? How did you get here?”
Martin took a moment to answer, arm shaking as he admitted, “stole dad’s truck, he was too drunk to notice.”
“I’ll drive you back,” the woman comforted, her hand brushing up to rest on her son’s cheek, as the pain became impossible to ignore in her leg, “Chris-... Ordysian, would you please excuse me? I need to make sure my family’s safe, and don’t want bloodshed, but this leg…”
Christopher tossed the man he held aside, walking to her and pushing Martin aside like an angry toy dog. His body crouching low despite Martin’s efforts and cutting his palm on a fingernail to drop a few bits of blood on her tongue. Nearly instantly a flash of familiar pleasure shooting through her, her leg snapping and twisting as it pulled itself back into place.
“Not enough to turn her, too much blood in body. You are good shot as condolence, let it be known child,” Christopher comforted with a look to her son before turning his attention to the Purists, “insult paid, you leave. You stay, you die.”
A slow process, Cynthia was helped to her feet and hung on her son’s shoulder as she realized he’d still need to drive them back likely. Her leg healed but stiff, the muscles around her recently fixed leg begging to learn how to move again. Their walk through the woods slow and painful as she gave a final glance back hoping to see her vampire: only greeted by the one eyed werewolf and her cold glare.
