Initiation's Over

⠀⠀⠀⠀elijah regarded mason for a long moment without speaking; his expression revealed nothing, yet the rapid rhythm of mason's heartbeat echoed clearly in his ears: quick and restless. fear had a sound, and mason lockwood was making rather a lot of it.

⠀⠀⠀⠀"curious. if you truly have nothing to hide, mr. lockwood, one wonders why your body appears determined to contradict you." his gaze lingered only another moment before drifting elsewhere.

⠀⠀⠀⠀toward the room; toward an object resting nearby; toward absolutely anything other than the man standing before him. as though mason had suddenly become the least interesting thing present. he did it to rattle him, wanting to figure out how he's going to react.

⠀⠀⠀⠀"i have always found the body far more honest than the tongue." his fingers brushed lightly against the surface of a nearby table. "a racing heart. elevated breathing. muscle tension." a small shrug followed. "all rather difficult things to lie about."

⠀⠀⠀⠀his attention remained elsewhere. "of course, perhaps i am mistaken. perhaps your discomfort has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that you descend from one of the oldest werewolf bloodlines in virginia." another pause. "or with the fact that you happen to be a werewolf yourself."

⠀⠀⠀⠀he delivered his words neutrally, as a matter-of-fact. as though discussing the weather. had mason already assumed that elijah would know?

⠀⠀⠀⠀"perhaps it is equally unrelated to the moonstone that has remained within your family's possession for several decades." his hand adjusted the cuff of his suit jacket. "which, now that i think of it..." a thoughtful tilt of his head. "you would not happen to know where it is presently located, would you?" the question was delivered almost lazily and carelessly.

⠀⠀⠀⠀"and then there are the other rumors." his gaze remained fixed elsewhere. "i have heard mention of a certain acquaintance of yours. a rather attractive brunette." the faintest hint of amusement touched his voice. "katherine pierce, i believe."

⠀⠀⠀⠀only then did elijah finally look at him again as brown eyes settled fully upon mason.

The wolf inside Mason howled with panic. Elijah knew everything. Every single secret he'd sworn to protect now lay exposed between them like entrails on a butcher's table. His palms grew slick with sweat.

❝ I don't… ❞ Mason's voice cracked. He swallowed hard, his throat suddenly desert-dry. ❝ I'm not sure what you want me to say. ❞

Mason's mind raced, calculating survival odds. He could feel his wolf pacing beneath his skin, desperate for release. The full moon was still weeks away, but fear alone was enough to make his control slip.

❝ Katherine approached me, ❞ Mason admitted, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. ❝ She wanted information about the Moonstone. About the Lockwood curse. ❞

Mason squared his shoulders. ❝ I didn’t tell her anything. I didn’t trust her enough for that. ❞

❝ Do I trust you ? No. ❞ The honesty surprised him. ❝ But I think you already know everything anyway. ❞

Mason felt the weight of centuries pressing down on him. This vampire had been alive longer than Mystic Falls had existed. Had seen things Mason couldn't begin to imagine. The realization made his defiance seem almost childish.

❝ I have no idea where that thing is. Seems like it’s nothing but trouble. ❞ Mason spoke again, his voice steadier than he felt.

❝ Why is this thing so important you to both anyway ? ❞ Then he gave another pause. ❝ And what does Katherine have to do with any of this ? ❞ Mason questioned, his wolf growled deep within, a sound of primal frustration that only he could hear.

⠀⠀⠀⠀elijah listened patiently, allowing her frustration to run its course without interruption. when she finished, his expression remained composed even though he did not agree with her perspective.

⠀⠀⠀⠀"hayley, a prisoner is someone who is not permitted to leave. you are." a slight gesture followed toward the entrance. "you may come and go as you please. no door within this estate is locked against you. the guards are not here to keep you inside. they are here to discourage others from entering." a distinction he suspected she would not particularly appreciate.

⠀⠀⠀⠀"the only precaution i would ask of you is discretion." his eyes briefly lowered respectfully toward her stomach before returning to her face. "there are individuals who would take a considerable interest in your current circumstances, and very few of them would have your well-being at heart."

⠀⠀⠀⠀then, his hands folded neatly before him. "my family has owned this estate for over one hundred and forty years. despite its appearance, the surrounding grounds are quite beautiful. woodlands, trails, open fields. if you enjoy nature, i suspect you may find portions of it rather pleasant."

⠀⠀⠀⠀his gaze flickered briefly toward her duffel bag. "and should your room prove unsuitable, you are welcome to alter it however you wish. if you prefer something brighter, simpler, or less..." he glanced around the lavish interior, "...dramatic, arrangements can certainly be made."

⠀⠀⠀⠀then came the inevitable subject. niklaus. a nearly imperceptible sigh escaped him. "as for my brother, i would advise patience. the existence of this child requires him to reevaluate beliefs he has carried for a thousand years. that is not a process he navigates gracefully."

⠀⠀⠀⠀understatement.

⠀⠀⠀⠀"however, unless i am gravely mistaken, there must have been some moment of mutual affection between the two of you." his brow lifted faintly. "regardless of its duration. i believe he will eventually come to terms with the situation."

Hayley didn't respond immediately. She studied Elijah's face -- the careful lines around his eyes, the practiced composure of a man who had perfected diplomacy over centuries. Everything about him was calculated, deliberate. Even the slight incline of his head when he spoke seemed rehearsed.

❝ Mutual affection, ❞ She repeated, tasting the words. ❝ Is that what we're calling it ? ❞

A laugh escaped her -- short, bitter. She turned away from him, fingers trailing along the edge of an antique desk. Dust didn't exist here. Nothing was out of place. The Mikaelsons' entire existence seemed as curated as this room.

❝ We had a night, Elijah. One. I don't even remember most of it. ❞ She pressed her palm flat against the cool surface of the desk. ❝ And now I'm carrying his kid, and he looks at me like I'm something stuck to the bottom of his shoe. ❞

The baby shifted, a flutter low in her belly that had become more insistent in recent weeks. She resisted the urge to press her hand there, to acknowledge the thing growing inside her that had turned her life upside down.

❝ I didn't ask for this, ❞ She said quietly. ❝ Any of it. ❞

The weight of his gaze on her back was almost physical. She could feel him weighing his next words, measuring them.

Hayley turned back to face him. ❝ Why are you being so nice to me ? What's your angle ? ❞ The truth was, she was too exhausted to fight with everyone in this house. And Elijah, at least, wasn't looking at her like she was a science experiment.

She nodded toward the window. ❝ You said there were trails ? ❞ She couldn't keep the skepticism from her voice. ❝ And I can just... go anytime I want ? ❞ He spoke of threats as if she hadn't been dodging them her entire life. Still, the thought of open air, of something that wasn't velvet and gold and suffocating…

❝ Fine, ❞ She said, bending to retrieve her duffel. ❝ Show me my room. ❞

this time he means it. not that he didn't the other ones either. that he can't keep doing this. can't keep pushing forward when his entire soul feels like it wants to drag him back. he tells himself that's just the old him talking. the one that existed before dean was torn to shreds in front of him cause he bargained himself for his life by yielding his soul to hell. the one that existed before the blood he aches for down to the pit of his stomach--unending, always there.. gnawing with jagged teeth for his devotion open your mouth, it demands. open your mouth and swallow.

the old him is the one that can't keep doing this, right? palms press into his eyes as he digs and digs, listening to her mill around behind him no doubt frustrated and angry as he walks the ledge of caving. yet again. breaking away meant shattering. right? he's so fucking close he can feel his bones starting to crack. the bed budges and gives as she joins him on it. his body tenses. the hunter wonders what she sees when she looks at him. always has. does she see someone she wants? someone she loves? or does she see a means to an end because that's what he fucking is...

..to everyone.

right?

"i barely know myself in the mirror and i don't know if i like it or hate it.. or just don't care.."

the bottle swings into view and his stomach finishes bottoming out. a gravitational pull that might as well have drug every last ounce of willpower he had in him straight out through his chest and buried it six feet deep. brows pinch together and he knows ruby can see the ache fill his eyes. not for a life he can't go back to. not for a brother that haunts him from every reflection in a window or mirror or behind closed eyes. the ache in hazel hues facing her? soul deep. as his mouth runs dry and his hands tense, balling up into fists that bend at the wrists. delicate skin underneath is rubbed against the horrible blanket..

..his gaze drops. to every letter upon that bottle. then he snaps it back up to her dark gaze and holds it. a bow of his head in a slow nod. is he agreeing with what she said? or giving in? takes all his lpower to lift one hand up from the mattress and reach for her offering. he holds it out for her to uncap.. this is what foreplay for an addict must look like, huh?

Ruby uncapped it without ceremony. The click of the cap coming free was louder than anything else in that room, louder than the hum of the AC unit rattling in the wall, louder than Sam's breathing, which had gone shallow and thin, the way breath went when someone was trying not to breathe.

She didn’t hand it back to him just yet, instead she moved across the bed and straddled his lap. She cupped his face on both side so that he would look her in the eyes -- the bottle so close to his face now he could smell its contents. This is something she has seen a hundred times by now, and it still did something to her, that moment. ❝ You know what you are, Sam ? ❞ Ruby whispered, tilting her chin slightly upward as she held his gaze. The bottle remained between them like a sacrament, its contents dark and potent. ❝ You're the most powerful thing walking this earth right now. And you've been running from that. ❞

This right here is the only choice they have. It’s not like she can go back with Sam if that’s what he decided in the end. Dean would stick a knife in her the first chance he got, and no one could tell her any different. If they wanted to be together, really be together, this… was the only way.

His hands shook, not much, but just enough for her to notice, and she noticed everything about Sam Winchester when he was like this, catalogued it the way she catalogued every weakness, every fracture, every opening she could slide into and make herself at home. She handed the bottle to him open. No glass, no cup. Just the neck of it, the rim still damp from the last time, and the smell of it -- copper and iron and something underneath that was almost sweet, almost rotten -- crawled up between them.

❝ You drink it because it’s what you want. ❞ Her fingers brushing through the side of his hair as she speaks. ❝ Only you can make these choices Sam. I know you’re hurting because of Dean. He looks at you now and see’s a monster. I’ve never treated you like that, not before the blood and not now. ❞ There was no lie that statement. The words had rolled from Dean’s own lips. Sure at first her motives hadn’t been for the right reasons, but things were different now.

She remained on his lap but sat up straight now and just watched him. Didn't say another word. Words were what Sam used to talk himself out of things, and she'd learned by now that the best thing she could do was let him do it to himself without her help. She could hear the blood moving in his own veins, that hungry little whisper of it that was louder than any heartbeat. His jaw was locked. Every line of him said no, and every line of him said yes… she just sat motionless and let the war happen without interfering.

she despised the way that he read her weakness, as though she were an open book. she had attempted so hard to disguise it as something else. yet each time, he saw through it. her chin lifted ever so slightly, though it could not be mistaken as defiance this time. “i understand. i understand the weight of our legacy, i worry that you never allow me to forget.”

there was so more fight in her tone, it had gone almost flat. conviction was becoming dangerous, so it was what her words lacked. she thought of her mother, how she must have felt at cersei’s age with the weight of duty bearing down on her. she thought about how gracefully she would have carried that sacrifice, with no complaints. however, cersei was not her mother.

Tywin studied his daughter, noting the subtle shift in her posture, the way her shoulders slumped ever so slightly beneath the weight of his expectations. The silence between them grew heavy, filled with unspoken thoughts and the distant echo of footsteps in the stone corridors beyond. He could smell the dampness of the ancient rock walls, feel the chill seeping through his fine garments.

❝ Sacrifice, ❞ He said, the word rolling off his tongue like a bitter wine, ❝ is not merely something you endure. It is something you wield. ❞ He moved closer, the torchlight casting shadows that danced across her face, revealing the tension in her jaw, the faint tremor of her lower lip that she fought to control.

He remembered when she was but a girl, how she would rush to him with scraped knees and bruised pride, seeking comfort that he rarely provided. Now she stood before him, a woman grown, yet still so painfully young in her understanding of the world. The flickering light caught the golden strands of her hair, reminding him so acutely of Joanna that his chest tightened with old grief.

❝ You speak of understanding our legacy, yet you see only the chains it places upon you. ❞ He turned away, unable to bear the resemblance any longer. ❝ Your mother knew that legacy was not merely a burden, but a blade to be wielded. She understood that the Lannister name opens doors that remain locked to others. ❞

The stone beneath his feet felt cold, unyielding. He pressed his palm against the wall, feeling its solidity, its permanence. Like the Rock itself, their family would endure, but only through the sacrifices of each generation.

❝ When the time comes, you will do what must be done, ❞ he continued, his voice dropping lower. ❝ Not because I demand it, but because you recognize that there is no greater power than blood. ❞ He heard her sharp intake of breath behind him, could almost feel the heat of her frustration radiating across the small distance between them. The room seemed to shrink around them, the walls pressing inward as if to witness this confrontation between father and daughter, between tradition and defiance.

❝ I ask nothing of you that I would not do myself, ❞ he added, turning back to face her. ❝ Our house stands because each of us bears the weight of our name. This is not cruelty, Cersei. This is survival. ❞

“i know you better than anyone. though, i am beginning to question if that is a punishment on its own.” a quiet breath of amusement fell through his nose, then he moved. he did not create distance, that would have been a risky move to make in these circumstances. neither of them could lose the fight for control — and he was thoroughly enjoying being the victor so far.

his fingertips slid from her cheek, to the side of her neck. “perhaps you can discard people, yet here you are. we are playing a game of cat and mouse, all because you act as though you can wield your control to anyone.” he allowed the pause to linger, he allowed her to taste his words — perhaps then she would yield. but of course, that was not the cersei he knew. be did not know her to back down to any challenge, let alone against him.

His touch against her pulse point sent an unwelcome shiver through Cersei’s body. The audacity of his words stung, but the worst part was how they rang true -- how he could read her so easily after all these years.

❝ You speak as if you have me figured out, ❞ She hissed, turning her face away from his searching gaze. The cold stone against her back provided little comfort against the heat of his proximity. ❝ As if decades of watching me gives you any real insight. ❞

Her pulse betrayed her, hammering beneath his fingertips like a war drum signaling retreat. She hated how her body responded to him despite everything, despite the years of careful distance she had cultivated. The scent of leather and steel clung to him, mixed with something uniquely Jaime -- a warmth that called to something primal within her.

❝ You think your familiarity grants you special privileges ? ❞ She asked, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. ❝ That you can dissect my motivations like some scholar studying a text ? ❞ The truth was, no one else had ever dared to challenge her this way. Not Robert with his drunken fury, not Tywin with his cold calculations, not even Tyrion with his clever tongue. Only Jaime had the courage -- or foolishness -- to stand this close and name her fears aloud.

Cersei’s hand shot up, gripping his wrist where it rested against her neck. Not to push him away, but to keep him there, to feel the steady thrum of his blood beneath her fingertips.

❝ Perhaps, ❞ She continued, her voice softer now, ❝ you’re the only one who sees me clearly because you’re equally blind. ❞

she took a breath, gaze lingering upon his face. she did not wish to think of robert, or the court — or the expectations that continued to dwell over her. something settled within her, something she hadn’t felt in such a long time. “you are impossible, dear brother.”

no anger, no tension. instead, there was a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. a smile that could almost be considered warm, not partially a sight that was often seen on cersei’s expression. fingers tugged at the edges of his armour, the metal cold against her touch. she wished that he did not have this effect on her, the ability to make her crumble.

Jaime felt the shift in her -- the surrender that tasted sweeter than victory -- and something inside him loosened, a knot he hadn’t realized he’d been clenching. Her fingers in his hair sent a current down his spine, and for a moment the world beyond these walls ceased to exist. The candlelight caught the gold in her eyes, and he saw not the queen but the girl who used to chase him through the gardens of Casterly Rock, the one who’d promised him the moon and kept every word.

❝ Delusions, ❞ he echoed, a breath of laughter escaping him, ❝ are the only truth worth having. ❞

He let his hand slide down from her jaw to the curve of her neck, feeling the steady pulse beneath her skin. It beat in time with his own, a rhythm they’d shared since before either of them were even born. The cold metal of his armor pressed between them like a barrier, and he hated it -- hated every plate and rivet that kept her warmth from seeping into him fully.

❝ Then command me, ❞ he murmured, leaning into her touch, ❝ my queen. ❞

The words came out softer than he’d intended, almost reverent, and he didn’t care. Let the walls hear. Let the whole bloody city hear. If this was the only kingdom they’d ever rule -- this room, this moment, this fragile conspiracy of breath and skin -- then he’d kneel for it gladly.

He pressed his forehead against hers again, closing his eyes so he could feel the space between them without the distraction of sight. The scent of her -- wine and jasmine and something beneath that he could never name, something that had always been home -- filled his lungs.

❝ Tonight, ❞ he whispered against her lips, not quite kissing her, ❝ nothing else exists. ❞ And for once, for a few stolen hours, he allowed himself to believe it. Only then did he capture her lips with his own.

"I wanted to try," she admitted, forsaken. She knew it was a lost cause to try to fight against it, yet she had tried. She'd tried so hard to live a normal life. "I did try."

Certainly Jerry could see reason as to why she had wanted to try so hard for normalcy, to want to stay free of the inky shadows that her life would inevitably fall into.

It's all there would ever be -- darkness.

And Jerry.

Her gaze settled on the man in the corner. Her own hunger mimicked his. She could hardly fight it anymore. The desire to give in had become much too powerful. She could feel the lust of blood rumbling within her. Her insides burn with a need to be squelched with the blood of another.

Instead, Amy forced her gaze back on Jerry. Eyes glittered with hunger, with the unmistakable gluttonous desire for more ... for more of everything and anything.

❝ You did. ❞ He didn’t smile, but something loosened in his face, and he gave her a slow blink, almost affectionate. ❝ Good for you, but that life wasn't meant for you. If it was, you wouldn't be here with me now. You would have ran the moment you first saw me. ❞

He slung one arm along the booth’s cracked vinyl back and drank his coffee neat, letting the steam batt away the chemical donut haze. For a while he was silent, just watching her eyes and the way her hands locked each other into knots on the table.

❝ Pick. ❞ He flicked his gaze at the tired man in the corner, at the kid bent over his phone. ❝ I’ll make it look like nothing at all, and they’ll never remember your face. Tomorrow there’ll be news about a missing person, and you'll feel a tiny bit better about being alive. ❞

He reached for her hand across the table. ❝ You don’t have to love it. Not yet. But you can’t hate what you are forever. That’s not sustainable. ❞

For several long moments he didn’t look at her as he relaxed once more in his seat. This was what he had warned her about, made her tell him she was sure this was the life she had wanted before his fangs pierced her flesh. ❝ This is no longer a request I ask of you, Amy. It’s a command… you will obey. ❞

He hated that it had come to him forcing her as her maker, but he knew once she did, all those lingering human emotions would fade. It was the nature of the beast.

She allowed the innuendo to fall where it may, not delving deeper into her meaning. Aleera had planned to keep the Master properly focused on her.

Anna spoke truth when she asked what was to be between them. There was no answer that the vampire could give that would be deemed sufficient enough in answer. Reality seemed to say that it would return as it always had -- hunter and hunted, predator and prey.

There could only be a ceasefire for only a while before normalcy settled back into place. They would fall back into their well worn places in life as enemies.

Aleera can't answer that question. As such, she allowed it to fade into the ether. Her will grew weary. There was no desire to fight on this night. Perhaps another would bring about their glorious battle, but not tonight.

"For as long as we have battled each other," her words calmly offered, a weakness exposed as she held her hand up between them to signal between the both of them, "Have you known me to ask or do I simply take what it is deemed mine?"

Aleera had asked. She had waited. She had placed the gesture in the Princess' hand.

Anna felt it keenly -- the danger, the absurdity, the tiniest sliver of hope curling up beside it like a feral, mangy cat denied warmth too many times.

She stretched the thin fabric between her fingers, helpless needles and knotted thread limp and useless for what lay ahead. Aleera’s presence now eclipsed the lamp: the room’s sole gravity point, dark and cosmic. Anna tried to imagine what “taste” meant. Was it one mouthful ? A swallow ? Just the teeth pressing in, a crimson thread, a release of pressure and then retreat ? She pictured a needle, a splinter, a wasp-strike, even as the wound at her neck pulsed with phantom hurt.

The air was hard to breathe now. Not because of fear -- or not only because of it -- but because none of the words she’d been given as a child prepared her for this: the enemy at her hearth, hungry but careful; not asking, but requesting. Anna found the request infinitely more unnerving than any threat.

She looked at her hands. Pink and ridiculous, peasant hands -- hands that had wrung the necks of chickens, woven baskets, mended shirts, held dying lambs and once, years ago, a father’s bloodied face as the monster’s shadow sucked the strength from his bones. A hand for holding. A hand for being held. What else were hands for, in the stories that weren’t written by men ?

❝ Fine. ❞ Anna tried to bite the word until it bled, but it came out small. ❝ But if you go too far, I’ll put a stake through you. And don’t think I won’t. ❞

She gave pause as she stood in from of the vampire still trying to talk herself out of what she was about to do. Anna watched the window instead, the way snow crept up the black boots by the door, the ghost of her own reflection hovering alongside that of her enemy. Then finally she held out her arm presenting her wrist to Aleera.

The playfulness she exhibits makes it seem like losing the solid ground below her feet turned her soul into a lighter version of itself. If Cain enjoyed Mary's company before, that definitely increases right now; ironic, considering he's not the most playful individual himself. Was, though, but in a wicked way he and the world don't at all miss. Water drops fling over the surface and some splash into his face, causing him to blink the odd droplet from his lashes. And still she keeps him infected with glee he's not allowed himself to bask in for a long time. He begins to swim a languid circle around her. "Well, for one, we could see who gets to the opposite shore first", suggests the demon, humming thoughtfully, after Mary didn't take the bait of offering suggestions of her own. Cain shrugs.

"Should be doable", then glances toward said shore— fortunately, this pond is relatively small. A fit mortal won't strain themselves much, according to his subjective estimation. And the challenge wouldn't be an unfair one. After all, he didn't swim in what must amount to decades by now, so in spite of his powers and durability, Cain might be a little bit rusty in that department. "Or which one of us stays underwater the longest." And the more ideas he tries to propose, the less he actually wants to indulge in such competitive games. His mien sobers when, once again, their gazes meet to not avert from each other for the span of felt minutes.

The water is cool and yet feels increasingly warm by the second ; figuratively tossing the huntress into this peace of mind only brought realization of how deep his fondness for her truly strikes. It's almost dizzying, burning at the fingertips. "Anything to distract me from doing something", his attention unwittingly drops to Mary's lips. Swiftly back up as he catches his gaze slipped just the way his mouth did now by speaking his mind. "I might regret."

She noted the way he didn’t propose any stipulations, and she also notices the way his eyes trail to her mouth when she smiled, how in the water he moved nearer, like the tolerance for space between them had gotten much shorter. Maybe vulnerability worked in a sort of chain reaction. She watched as his hands cut smooth arcs through the surface. He used to be a killer so perfect the angels gave him a medal -- sort of -- and yet here he was wanting what every single cell in the water, her included, wanted: that kinetic smash of closeness. She found herself grinning for no reason at all. ❝ What on earth could you regret doing ? ❞ Okay, so she took the bait this time.

Mary kept her eyes on him, assessing whether he’d pull back or make a move. Cain, for all his preternatural stillness, projected a heat that made the cold water less harsh. There was no room here for the old, prepackaged versions of themselves -- they both floated in the liminal space between memory, expectation, and whatever was occurring now.

Mary drifted closer, treading water so their faces were almost level. She didn’t want to break the surface tension of what pressed close between them, but the next thing out of her mouth was, ❝ Come on, you’ve got to give a girl more than that. What’s keeping you from doing it ? ❞ The words were a challenge, but also something else -- an exhale smoothing the hesitation away. She brushed a stray lock of wet hair behind her ear, considering how easy it would be to slide a hand into the water and pull him closer. But she didn’t move yet. She wanted to see if he would close the gap first.

Ind. Pri. Sel. Multimuse , 21+ Viewer Discretion Advised Got , Btvs , Spn , Tvd , Twd ,Twilight , Fright Night , The Lost Boys , &  More !  Please Read The  ➺  Rules  ➺  Carrd ➺ Muses Written & Loved By: Sonya