Alaric Saltzman

I'm going under and this time I fear there's no one to save me This all or nothing really got a way of driving me crazy I need somebody to heal, to know, to have, to hold

The ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway was enough to make his left eyebrow twitch. Every motion rang throughout his apartment, shattering the silence on repeat. It was deafening. Any minute now and his ears would bleed from the sound, or maybe his eyes. Perhaps, if he was lucky, his head would explode. Anything had to be better than this. This sinking, end of the world feeling that had taken up residence within him since she left. It just waltzed on into his chest cavity, BYO seating and all, planted it’s ass and has remained, taunting him ever since.

That feeling that she shouldn’t have left on her own- hell, she shouldn’t have left at all. Braeden had stayed long enough for the gashes in her face to heal to scars before accepting another mission. Countless nights were spent tending to the wounds, to her every need. Braeden wasn’t the type to wake up screaming but this time... the horrors of the night had gotten to her. It was a call just that little bit too close to bounce back from with a peppy smile and can-do attitude, a close call the older hunter felt deep in his soul.

He could hear her screams in his mind sure as if she were still here. The terror that filled her as she thrashed in her sleep, countered by the sudden calm that always came as his arms wrapped around her, reminding her that she was alive, she was safe, she was home. His heart skipped a beat at the thought. She’d stayed here most nights during her recovery and Ric wouldn’t have it any other way. He’d needed to keep a close eye on her, to make sure she was guarded and well tended, for his own sake as much as hers. But now... now she was gone and that deafening sound was crashing in on him.

Now the day bleeds into nightfall And you're not here to get me through it all I let my guard down and then you pulled the rug

He should have stopped her this time, every fibre of his being told him that Braeden leaving was a bad fucking idea. The same voice spoke to him every time she left but what if this time, she didn’t return. The universe gave him a solid idea of what life was like without her and it wasn’t the kind of life Alaric was prepared to face.  There was an ache in his chest and her absence was the root of the problem... she was the cause and the cure all at once and there was nothing he could do about it.

The screen of his cell lit up from idle stroking, he’d been thumbing the pad for the better part of an hour, contemplating whether or not to send a message, to check in. Braeden wasn’t a spirit to be tamed, wasn’t one to stay in New Orleans- or anywhere for that matter, for very long and he wasn’t going to tell her otherwise... but every gut instinct he had was shouting at him to reach out and make sure she was okay, to see it with his own eyes that she was safe from harm.

It was a false sense of comfort given what they did. She’d never truly be safe and he’d never truly be able to protect her. In the dim glow of the moonlit space before him, Alaric could picture her presence. Sure as if she was really there. That disapproving look at his misplaced concern for her well being, that perfect body standing tall and proud, that devil may care grin that he’d fallen so in love with... God, he was pathetic.

And I tend to close my eyes when it hurts sometimes I fall into your arms I'll be safe in your sound 'til I come back around

Tossing his cell to the side, his head dropped into his hands, staring at the lines of the floor like they were the answers to the worlds problems. He groaned into the abyss, desperate for any kind of distraction. The hunter was getting old, going out of his mind with worry that was ageing him faster than it should. Surging up from his seat, he found the nearest bottle. Wasn’t sure whether it was scotch or bourbon, didn’t really give a fuck either... nor did he bother with a glass. Bringing the tip of it to his lips, he took a hard swig on the way to the bathroom and several more as clothes fell from his body, disrobing entirely before stepping under a scorching hot spray.

He groaned at the feel of the water as it hit his skin, seeping into his aching body like a soothing touch in a quiet moment. Closing his eyes, he stood with a palm planted firmly against the slowly heating tiles of the shower wall, losing himself to his thoughts. He thought of a life in which she never left, he thought of a world in which she was standing in this shower with him. Her hands roaming his body and not the water. He felt his cock harden at the thought. A heavy hand slid down his body, closing around the thick length as images of her swam around his consciousness.

Alaric pumped hard against his cock, guttural groans escaping him as he allowed his mind to give in to the pleasure. The hard muscles of his abs flexed as he worked himself to the brink of orgasm. Thinking about those perfect lips saying his name, or wrapped around the length of him as he worked her, instead. Alaric didn’t bother fighting the tidal wave of pleasure as it swept over him, his orgasm slamming into his psyche as thick ropes of cum splashed against the tiles he was leaning against. On the bed behind him, the screen of his discarded cell lit up, her name flashing across it. He was too wrapped up in his ministrations to know or care about anything else... 

The Huntsman | A&B

He was warm. He was always so warm. Not just physically. Alaric’s presence was the soothing, cleansing heat of warm water on an open wound. For over a decade that was exactly how she’d felt, like an open wound. Always bleeding or infected, unable to fully heal without his curative presence to act like a salve for her soul. 

Watching as her thumbnail scaffed over the scrape of his five o’clock shadow as she traced the line of his jaw, Braeden bit down on her molars. She grit her teeth against desires that always cut her visits home so short. Impulses that wrapped like rope around her middle, tied the other end to a paycheck, and yanked her so hard and fast from New Orleans that she got road rash, whiplash, and a grocery list of unresolved issues that were getting harder to ignore. 

Braeden needed this. If she had any hope of getting more than 2 hours of sleep at a time, she needed the calm Ric’s company always gave her, the peace his proximity provided. The other stuff, the shit she couldn’t say out loud or think about too often, the crap that chased her out of town toward jobs and assignments, could wait. She’d take those emotions out of their deeply buried vault later, when she had nothing and no one but a bottle of Jack to watch in silent judgement. Now she needed some alone time with Ric. Just the two of them, without the distractions of work or a cataclysm countdown.

Braeden smirked at the rough timbre of his voice, the octave so low she felt more than heard it, both in the center of her chest and somewhere deeper. “I figured as much,” she intoned in quiet reply. Her hand trailed up from his neck to his jaw, her thumb scatting just under his eye. A breath breezed from her nostrils, resolute. “Going by these dark circles under your eyes, I clearly have my work cut out for me.”

For seconds that dragged on too long –yet felt like no time at all– all she did was maintain his gaze. When neglected, unacknowledged emotions tried to wriggle from their cage to see the light of day, she blinked herself back into focus. It was a concentrated effort to move her hand from her face and return it to her side. Braeden cleared her throat and pushed away from the desk, rolling her shoulders and her head on her neck, hoping it’d help to get her head on straight. 

At his question, she answered, “Apartment hunting.” She stopped behind the chair she’d been seated in before, a part of her wishing there was more furniture she could put between them while the other, much larger and louder part wished for the exact opposite. Braeden ignored both parts and everything else so she could explain, “My place has gone to shit and I can’t keep couch surfing. Cora and Derek are probably over it. And I’m pretty sure I’ve fucked up your sleep schedule with all the late night chit chat. If I’m gonna be here long, this won’t be sustainable for any of us.”

God, his lungs were burning. Maintaining a stoic expression whilst the warmth of her hand seeped into him was far too difficult. He’d known Braeden all her life. It was so hard to reconcile the woman standing before him with the scared and lost girl he’d taken in, so many years ago. 

The hunter had to focus on his breathing, the mere act of keeping a steady rythm flowing through his lungs helping more than anything else. “You leave my dark circles alone,” he bit back, a sly grin crossing his features. It wasn’t just Braeden keeping him awake at night that had them there. 

There was so much going on, things wearing him down- ageing him up... it was enough to leave him seriously considering his career choice. On a sigh, his eyes raised to level with that of the young hunter before him, he watched as she pulled herself away from the mahogany monstrosity that was his desk. Shaking out whatever tension was knotting her up inside.

On a sigh, he rose from the chair. Grabbing his cell off the desk as he closed the distance between them. “Let’s not pretend my sleep schedule wasn’t fucked before you came home.” The fact that she was looking at a fresh apartment gave the older man a kind of hope he wasn’t supposed to have.

“You know I’d rather be a drunken insomniac with you than sitting there, staring at a wall going batshit crazy on my own.” His way of telling her she was welcome any time, new apartment or no new apartment. He wanted Braeden to have her own space but sometimes he wondered if there was too much space between them... 

For a brief, introspective moment, neither of them said anything. Braeden was too busy watching as all the stress and uncertainty of his position and in this city seemed to settle on Alaric’s shoulders. It was a heavy coat, stitched with thick weaves of responsibility and volatility. In that split second before he shook it off and slid his unflappable mask into place, he looked older. Tired. 

More than tired. Exhausted to his bones. 

Guilt dropped to the pit of her gut and sat there like a sack of cinder blocks. How much of that exhaustion was her fault? Not just because she’d been a selfish little shit since coming home, and not letting him get a wink of sleep if it meant abandoning her to her own insomnia. But because she kept fucking leaving. How much easier would it be for him if she stayed put, right where he could see her and know that she was safe?

The thought coiled around her neck and squeezed, a python she could tear loose enough to draw a full breath. Could she stay? Leave the mercenary work to the past, turn desk jockey and pencil pusher? 

Whatever he’d been saying about theories was lost on her. She wasn’t paying attention and couldn’t be fucked to remember their previous discussion. Instead Braeden swigged the rest of the bourbon in her glass, leaned forward to deposit it onto the surface between them, and pushed out of the stiff chair to round Ric’s desk. She sat on the edge of the massive mahogany monstrosity and leaned across it for the phone. 

A quick press of the extension resulted in a single ring before his secretary answered. “Mr. Saltzman is going to take the rest of the day off. Reschedule any calls or meetings he has on the books. Thanks.” She hung up the call before she could argue or ask any questions, then turned her focus onto the man still seated in the tall backed, leather throne.  

“I am here now, Ric.” She placed a hand on a firm shoulder, corded with muscle. Her touch slid from the round of his shoulder up to the slope of his neck, her thumb on the hard angle of his jaw so that she could hold his gaze prisoner to hers. “Whatever happens, I’m here. With you. So let’s go enjoy the city before it collapses into inevitable chaos.”

After a brief, avid smile, her hand slid from his jaw back down to his shoulder. She squeezed his arm encouragingly before lifting herself from his desk. “When’s the last time that you did anything not school or Faction related? This is actually why you called me back into town, isn’t it? Because you needed a distraction?” A jerk of her chin motioned him to follow her toward the exit. “Well, c’mon, Ric. Time for a distraction.”

Braeden downed the last of her drink, slapping the glass onto the table as she rose from her seat. Suddenly, whatever he was saying didn’t feel quite so pertinent anymore- not whilst he was watching that perfect frame of hers round his large, wooden desk. 

He was struck stupid at the sight of her, every god damn time. It didn’t matter if it was the first time in days, months, years- or in the same sitting. She rested against the edge of his desk, a petite little thing against the size of the base. He fought against the urge to admire every inch of those curves as she leaned across him to dial the secretary that was just a few feet away.  

Were it any other day, he’d argue with the huntress. His schedule was always jam packed, today was no exception- but frankly, he didn’t have it in him. Brae had been back a few weeks now and aside from their sleepless nights, he’d hardly spent any decent time with her. Life just kept getting in the way, more so now with the shit they were all dealing with. 

A breath left him in a rush as her small hand found his shoulder, squeezing hard before moving to the warm skin of his neck. She was such a soothing presence in his life, he wondered how he ever managed to get through his days when she was gone. Her missions were few and far between but for the older hunter, they felt like never ending phases in his life without her. 

“Yep, that’s precisely why I needed you back here.” His voice was full of gravel as he spoke, the words barely a murmur. God, he missed her more than he’d realized. His eyes roamed her face, skirting over the scars that reminded him of all she’d been through and his heart ached at the thought. He hated her missions and every time she walked out that damn door, knowing that every time could very well be the last. Yeah, he was going. Any chance to soak up time with her, to hell with responsibility for an afternoon. 

His words pulled her hand away from her face, from the imagined itch that had her rubbing absentmindedly at her tired eyes. Braeden aimed a furrowed look at Alaric, silently waiting for an explanation. He didn’t look particularly surprised by her admission of insomnia but, then again, why would he be? It was his hooch she was drinking at odd hours of the evening, and his company she’d been keeping instead of letting the man sleep. 

Of course he knew she was struggling. If anyone knew her inside and out it, was Ric. No question or competition. The hours he’d spent in his den, with her, instead of in his bed, sleeping, were just unnecessary additional clues to what he already knew. The man could read her, cover to cover, at a glance. There were no secrets between them, and there wasn’t a soul alive or dead that could say the same.

So she was curious to hear him explain the connection between her inability to get a restful night’s sleep to why he’d called her home. A chill scuttled down her spine at the memory of his voice during that phone call, the guarded uncertainty of it. Easily as he could read her, Braeden liked to think that she knew him just as well. It was why she’d come running. It was why she’d come prepared for anything, to do anything. Whatever weirdness was going on in New Orleans, she wasn’t going to let it touch him. She had too few people left in this world.

Braeden’s nod was slow, thoughtful, discerning. “I’ve noticed,” she agreed. “People around town have been twitchier than usual, more tense.” After a contemplative beat, she lifted her glass from its perch on her knee and nursed the amber liquid. 

Her gaze was on Alaric when the cup returned to her leg, finger tapping its curve as she watched his expression and read the thoughts in his eyes. “You’ve been keeping your thoughts on it all pretty close to the vest.” An eyebrow arched in prompting. “Any theories on what we’re up against?”

Without the perks of heightened senses, supernatural strength and healing, and magic, hunters understandably didn’t like sprinting headlong into danger without an idea of what they were getting into or how to get out of it. Braeden didn’t doubt that he’d done his homework. The only question was what he was willing to share with the class. If the answer was nothing then there was probably more detective work to be done.

Instead of answering her, he hung a conversational Louie. One that brought a quiet smile to the surface as Braeden stared at the man across from her. Were he anyone else she would’ve told him which dark orifice he could shove his worry. But he wasn’t anyone else. He was Alaric Saltzman. Her mentor, confidante, protector, safe place. If anyone was allowed to worry about her it was him, and she wouldn’t deny him that right.

“What’s to worry about, Ric,” muttered Braeden, smile shifting into a smirk. “We’re a couple of humans in a city filled with supernatural entities teetering on the brink of something dark and unknown. I’m livin’ the dream.”  She lifted her glass in cheers before taking another swig.

He could deflect her concern all he wanted, but transparency begot transparency. If he wanted straight answers he needed to start giving them. Braeden winked over the curve of her cup.

Thumb and forefinger rubbed at his lips as the Hunter leaned back in his chair. The leather groaned at the shift in body weight, his own aching body protesting along with the movement. He’d been upping his training of late, running himself bare in the hopes that exhaustion would overwhelm him and he too, might get a decent nights sleep.

It wasn’t working, the vigorous training merely serving as a reminder for the years he now had notched into his belt. He wasn’t getting any younger and this town- it wasn’t getting any less dangerous.

Eyes roamed over Braeden’s form, drinking in the sight of her as if it’d be the last time he’d ever get to see her. The truth was, he never knew if he would see her again. Every time she took on a mission, or walked out the damn door... and every time she returned, he drank in her presence as if committing the sight of her to memory all over again. Just to remind him she was okay, just to remind him she was there. 

There was something about the Hunter that calmed him. She’d always been a grounding force. “I have some theories, I’m praying I’m wrong.” His gaze flickered towards the door, of which his secretary was sitting just beyond. He didn’t want to get into it now, or more so, here. 

The walls had ears.

In the time she’d been back in town, Braeden had come to Dean Saltzman’s office on a number of occasions. Hardly ever on official hunter related business. She’d come often enough to be familiar with the glaring contest with his secretary, and to have already surveyed his collection of random shit either gifted to him or that he’d dug up himself. 

Most of her visits were for lunch, because he pretended to hate his job and needed to step away from it for a while. She hadn’t called him out on his shit yet, not verbally. When the brow rubbing and grumbling started it was met with a cocked eyebrow and a stare that cut cleanly through bullshit. 

No longer a history professor, his passion for the past took a backseat to all the duties and responsibilities that came with heading up a university. But the man liked to be involved, and it didn’t get more involved than Dean of NOU. So, while she wouldn’t argue that a lot of his job would make her want to jump off a tall bridge with a tactical backpack full of cinder blocks, there was plenty in the “Pros” column too. 

The sound of clinking at the drink cart turned Braeden away from the various baubles she’d been browsing in time to watch Ric pour them each a drink. He lifted a glass toward her and Braeden smiled subtly as she strode across the office to take it from him. She nodded her thanks before tasting the bourbon. A hum bubbled in her chest at the taste. Good fucking god, he had impeccable taste in booze.

When Ric lowered himself into the high backed seat of his fancy leather throne, Braeden claimed one of the chairs in front of his desk. She nodded in answer to his question, nursing the bourbon before holding the glass to her lap, just above her knee. Elbow finding purchase on the armrest, she wiped absently at her eye, confessing to Ric a truth he’d probably already noticed but she was too proud to talk about with anyone who wasn’t him. 

“Haven’t been sleeping much,” she stated on a sigh. 

It always took time to settle whenever she came back home but, in the past, she’d had an easier time dealing. She didn’t know what it was this time around, but she could shut her brain off when she was alone at her ramshackle shit hole of an apartment. Couch surfing hadn’t done her any good either, and she was pretty sure that both Derek and Cora’s patience for it was nearing a cut off. Alaric was a victim of it, too. She just never really felt like she was imposing when she stayed with him. Not with their history.

With a nod toward the man opposite her, Braeden threw his question back at him. “Everything good with you?”

There was no change in the older Hunter’s face at her words. Braeden’s confession came as absolutely no surprise to him. Never mind the fact that most of those sleepless nights had been spent at his place, the pair of them staying awake into the early hours of the morning going through bottle after bottle of his finest liquor- because honestly, who else would he crack those open for?

No, he knew her better than that. Had known her ever since he could remember. Braeden was an easy woman to read, it was one of the things he loved so much about her. She may be an enigma to everyone else, but to Alaric? She was an open book. “It’s the reason I brought you back here.” There was trouble brewing and he needed the cavalry on this one.

He thumbed the edge of his glass, tracing the clear crystal with a slow tenderness. “Things have been wrong in the Quarter for months now, and it’s getting worse.” They all felt it, the Supernaturals and humans alike. He could see it in the way everyone acted, whether they were privy to their world or not, a ripple of unease had been stretching it’s way into the far corners of the city like an unwanted, weighted blanket. The kind that couldn’t be removed.

There were certain perks to her returning. Heavy eyes slid over the scars running down her neck, the deep gashes a brutal reminder of the life they lead and the dangers he put her through every single day. Braeden was a strong woman, the kind who’d made her own decisions ever since she was old enough to talk. 

He didn’t for a second fool himself into thinking he could have changed her fate in any way that day, but it didn’t stop Alaric from wishing. Wishing he could have changed things, wanting to protect her from the horrors of this world, even though he seemed to fail on repeat, like a broken record reminding him of the horrors that tear at them.

The Huntsman | A&B

@venandi

There weren't many people left in the world that she cared about. And maybe that was by design, but the names on that too short list meant more than the world to her. She'd do anything for any of them, like drop everything and come running with nothing but a phone call. Or maybe that was just him. Braeden didn't catch the earliest redeye and hightail it thousands of miles for just anyone, after all.

Not without charging extra, that is. But for him? Gratis. With their history, it was the least she could do.

Strolling the halls of the NOU campus, she casually observed the various awards and accolades that decorated the walls, mild interest in her gaze as it passed over trophy cases and faculty portraits, donator plaques and other circle-jerk memorabilia. She might've been an NOU alum, but she'd never been one for "school spirit." Leave that to the Zeta Delta Douchebags and the like.

The path down memory lane ended with an office guarded by a lone secretary's desk, which currently sat empty. The door behind it was open just a crack, barely enough to hear a familiar voice on the other side. Braeden didn't wait for Horn-rimmed Barbie to finallt stumble upon her and announce her to the room. She stepped around the desk, toward the office, and pushed the door open far enough to lean her shoulder against the frame.

Arms folded, ankle crossed over her leg, a warmth in her gaze that didn't quite make it to the lines of her expression, Braeden silently watched as Alarc Saltzman spared her a meaningful glance before wrapping up his meeting with his secretary. When the pencil skirt shouldered past her with a polite, "Excuse me," and less polite disapproval in her eyes, she nodded an acknowledgment of the woman before pushing off the doorframe into the office and closing the door behind her.

"My, we are important these days," muttered Braeden, inspecting the various, now familiar, knickknacks on the shelves in Ric's office. Impassive as the words were said, the joke was in the truth of them. Alaric was important. Every day. Not just these days.

Still perusing his stuff, as she did on most visits to this office, she mused, "You wanted to see me?"