by Kallysten
"Get the mages to the breach!” was all Daniel had time to call out before the roars and howls of the beast-like demons drowned out the sounds of human voices.
The next few minutes were chaos.
At first, Marc tried to stay close to Blake and Kate. The three of them and four more soldiers escorted the mages through the fights between demons and humans and toward the breach. A charging demon distracted him, however, and he had to relinquish his position by Kate's side to stop the attack.
His adversary raised a huge half-moon axe. Marc grabbed his sword with both hands to parry the blow. It was all he could do to push the axe back; his arms still shaking from the impact, he started circling the demon, trying to find an opening. As most demons did, it wore armor of intricate leather and metal pieces, but the usual matching helmet was absent, perhaps because of the dozen or so spike-like bones that protruded from its skull.
Marc tried to remain focused on his fight as he attacked and defended in turns, but the temptation to look around and see how everyone was faring—where his lovers were—grew with every passing second. When a successful feint finally allowed him to slash his sword at the demon's neck, almost but not quite severing it, he allowed himself a handful of seconds to look over the battlefield.
Already, he could see fallen shapes that were too small to be demons. In the distance, the breach was a large floating rectangle of light, and the blue flashes running across it could only mean that the mages had been successful in approaching it and had started working on their spell. Between him and the breach, dozens of fights were taking place, but he couldn't see Kate or Blake anywhere. A small voice inside him screamed, demanding that he find them and make sure they were fine. He silenced it as best he could. He would help them if the opportunity presented itself, but he couldn't afford to run across the battlefield, doing nothing more than look for them. Other people would die if he lost his focus. People like the soldier battling a demon alone just a few yards from him. He had a knee to the ground and seemed unable to get back to his feet. Marc went to help him.
The feeling of dread stayed at the bottom of his stomach as he fought, and every time he walked away from the dying body of a demon, he couldn't help but look around for them. It felt like hours before he caught a glimpse of them, and when he did, he let out a quiet sigh. They were fighting back to back, as they so often did, protecting each other. They'd be all right, he thought, relieved.
Yards away from him, the sparks of two swords clashing together caught his eye. He looked up just in time to see Daniel's sword break, and the sword of his opponent draw back to strike again. Marc started running, hoping beyond hope that he wouldn't be too late. He fully intended to see Daniel come out of this fight—and the next one for that matter—alive. He liked the man, but he still wasn't sure he wanted to sire him. He had quite enough on his hands already with Blake's antics, and now that Kate had entered their lives—
Daniel ducked the first blow, but without a weapon he couldn't do much more than retreat. He stumbled on some rubble and barely avoided falling. It would have been better if he had. As he tried to regain his balance, the demon stabbed him low in the stomach and pushed up, impaling him on his sword. With a roar of rage, Marc threw himself at the demon, catching him by surprise and killing him in three powerful blows. When the demon fell down, Marc turned to Daniel. He had pulled the sword out of his body and was pressing his hands to the wound. Blood stained his lips.
"How bad?” he said, coughing up blood.
After making sure no demon was close enough to attack, Marc put a knee down next to him and gently lifted Daniel's hands. Blood dark as ink immediately flowed, running in tangled lines over Daniel's clothes and to the ground.
Marc clenched his teeth and forced his eyes away from the blood and back to Daniel's slowly dimming eyes. “Did you think about it?” he asked roughly. “Can you be a Childe?"
Daniel blinked very slowly, so slowly that Marc thought for a second that it was too late already. But two words passed Daniel's lips, barely audible in the continuing battle.
"Do it."
And Marc did.
Each time her sword or Blake's flashed like lightning across the night sky, each time metal on metal echoed like thunder, Kate could have sworn she felt electricity crackling through her, energizing her, pushing her to fight that much harder. While Blake attacked the demon high on its left side, she twisted down and struck on the right, sliding her sword beneath the edge of the armor plate that covered the top of the demon's thigh. She pushed up, hard, until she could feel flesh splitting, and the scrape of metal against bone. The demon cried out, the sound guttural and wordless.
"Fall back!” Blake shouted, and Kate instinctively obeyed, letting go of the hilt of her sword when she couldn't pull it out fast enough. She stumbled back just in time to avoid the swinging axe that would have cut her in two.
With a yell, Blake struck at the demon's arm, then its neck, then twice more, and the demon finally fell, a gurgle on its dying lips. Blood was splattered over Blake's cheek and chest, but he was grinning widely when he offered Kate his hand. She took it, and he pulled her up, drawing her close enough that she could feel he was aroused. His arm slid around her waist as he leaned in for a kiss.
She flicked her tongue at his lips and pushed back, both hands lingering over his chest just a moment longer.
"Focus,” she said, chastising, but beneath her armored vest, her heart was beating faster suddenly, and it didn't have anything to do with the heat of the battle.
Blake laughed. Turning back to the demon, he pulled Kate's sword out of its body and twisted his grip on it to hand it back to her hilt first.
"Deathblow goes to me,” he said, grinning. “That makes two more than you."
Her hand flexed on the sword's hilt. She started returning his grin, but her lips set on a grim line as she noticed movement behind him. “I think the game's over,” she said, already stepping forward.
Blake fell into step with her at once. Only yards away from them, two human fighters were struggling to keep a demon away from the mages. Two more demons were approaching. Without needing to say a word, Kate and Blake split up, each of them rushing at one of the demons.
As she fought for her life—for the mages’ lives—Kate caught glimpses of the rest of the fight. Silhouettes fighting everywhere; she couldn't tell how the battle was going. A shadow running in the distance: she would recognize Marc anywhere. Simon and the other two mages: how far along were they in casting the spell that would close the breach? And Blake, of course. He killed his adversary before she did and glanced toward her.
"I'm fine!” she called out, ducking a blow from the demon she was fighting. “The breach! Another is coming through!"
As she twisted her body around to attack, she lost sight of Blake. When she could see him again, he was by the breach, blocking the path of the demon that had just stepped out. She fought hard, trusting that he was doing the same. One of the fighters defending the mages fell only seconds after the demon he had been battling; with an anguished cry, the other one came to help Kate, his axe raised high and already swinging at the demon. They took turns slashing and hacking at the monstrous being. It seemed to take forever, but it finally fell to its knees and then forward, its deformed face hitting the broken asphalt hard.
Kate wiped sweat and blood from her face with her arm, already turning around to search for Blake. He was still fighting by the breach. She started taking a step toward him, but froze mid-stride when a blinding flash of light erupted from the breach. All she could see were two silhouettes; the larger, broader one tackled the leaner, shorter fighter. They both stumbled through the breach and disappeared right along with the light. Her night vision damaged by the brightness, Kate had to blink several times before she could see anything again. When she did, she stared in shock at the space where, just a second earlier, the breach had winked out of existence. The shout that had been rising to her lips died there without a sound. She d
ropped her sword and clutched at her throat, touching the two bite marks there. She blinked once, then a second time, and still the breach was gone.
"Oh my God. Oh no, please no..."
She ran amongst the last of the fights toward the circle of mages, already shouting.
"Simon! Open it back up!"
He turned to look at her, his joy fading in front of her panic.
"What?"
She seized his arms and clutched them. “You have to open it again, you've got to—"
He shook his head and cut her in, each word slicing at her heart. “We can't do that, Kate. We've got no idea how. And even if we did, why would we?"
She opened her mouth but no words came out. How could she express the horror she felt when the image of the breach disappearing filled her mind, obliterating everything else. She let go of him and turned on her heel, looking around with a sudden hope. Marc. Marc would know what to do. Marc would know if...
Her eyes found him, crouching near a rock maybe fifty yards away. She ran again, paying no mind to the demon bodies on her path.
"Marc!"
He turned his face toward her and slowly stood, giving the body at his feet a last glance. She threw herself into his arms and clung to him.
"Is he...is he alive?” she said in between dry sobs.
His arms closed around her. “He asked me to do it,” he said against her hair. “I swear. He'll wake up tomorrow and tell you—"
She pulled away and looked at him, dumbstruck. “What are you talking about?"
He frowned at her. “Daniel. What are you talking about?"
Her heart constricted in her chest. She looked down, already knowing what she would see. At their feet, Daniel looked like he was merely asleep. The trace of blood on his neck only emphasized how pale his skin was. She turned her head away and rested her cheek against Marc's shoulder. If he hadn't been holding her still, her knees would have buckled beneath her.
"Blake. A demon...” She swallowed hard. “A demon pushed him through the breach before they closed it."
Marc's arms tightened around her until she could barely breathe. She asked again, the words coming out in a murmur.
"Is he alive?"
A few seconds passed before he answered, his words a choked murmur. “I don't know. I didn't feel him die, and I would have if... if he were dust. But I can't..."
His voice trailed off. She raised her face to look at him, blinking away the curtain of tears that was blurring her vision. He seemed a little lost, his gaze pointed at something behind her—where the breach had been.
"There's a link between us,” he murmured after a moment. “Between all Sires and their Childer. A bloodline. I can hold on to it and call him back to me. Or rather...” His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. “I should be able to call him to me. But there's nothing. I can't feel it, or him.” His eyes closed and he pressed his face to the crook of her neck. “He's gone, Kate. Blake is gone."
The first tears started rolling down her cheeks.
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Chapter 7
As the truck brought them back to Lakeview, numbness slowly spread through Marc until he didn't know what he was feeling anymore, if anything. He let the movements of the truck rock him back and forth on the bench, uncaring of the way he was being jostled. He kept his eyes on Daniel, lying on the thin blankets at his feet. The rest of the soldiers in the back of the truck had asked Marc to cover his face, but he had refused. Daniel wasn't dead—or rather, he was, but he was not to be mourned. He would tell his soldiers as much in a few hours.
The truck was silent except for Kate's quiet sobs. Marc tightened his arm around her waist, pulling her closer to him. He hated that she was crying, but he didn't know how to comfort her. He wished he could have told her Blake was fine, reassured her like he had reassured the other soldiers, but he couldn't. He didn't know where Blake was, or whether he was still alive. He hadn't felt him die, but would the bloodline between them subsist if Blake were in another dimension?
When they arrived in town, the medical staff tried to take Daniel to the hospital. Marc, who had picked him up off the floor of the truck, refused to let go of him.
"You have enough wounded to take care of already,” he pointed out, and each word tore at his throat. “There's nothing you can do for Daniel. His wound will heal on its own when he wakes up."
They tried to argue a little longer, but in the end they couldn't ignore the moans of pain and cries for help—not that Marc would have caved in anyway. He had lost a Childe already that night; he wouldn't let go of the other one so easily.
He carried Daniel up to the room he had shared with Blake, aware of and grateful for Kate's presence at his side. He could still smell the salt of her tears, could still see them rolling down her cheeks whenever he glanced at her, but she wasn't making any sounds anymore. Since his arms were full, she opened the door for him, using the spare key Blake had given her. She preceded Marc inside and turned on a table lamp. A soft glow lit the room. He could feel her eyes on him as he deposited Daniel on the far bed that had seen so little use. With his head on the pillow like this, Daniel looked merely asleep; in a way, he was.
When Marc turned away from the bed, Kate was still standing by the desk, one hand flat against the wall behind her as though she needed the support to remain standing. Marc forced himself to meet her eyes. If he had had a reflection, he thought, feeling numb, he would certainly have seen the same grief in his eyes that he saw shining in hers.
"I don't want to be alone,” she murmured. She sounded as though she were talking around a mouthful of glass and each word was excruciating. “Can I..."
She didn't finish. She didn't need to. Marc went to her and drew her into his arms. Her own encircled him, her hands clutching at his back desperately, trying to pull him closer still. Marc pressed his lips to the top of her head, and she shuddered against him.
They remained like that for long moments, clinging to each other and too hurt to share words. When Kate started wavering against him, no doubt exhausted, Marc drew her to the empty bed and made her sit down on the edge. Kneeling in front of her, he untied and pulled off her right shoe. The left one gave him more trouble; the laces were tangled, and demon blood had congealed over them, making them that much more difficult to pull apart. Marc worked slowly, tugging at the leather laces bit by bit, loosening sections before he could finally untangle the whole mess. When he looked up at her face, tears were again silently streaming from her eyes. He wiped at them with his thumbs, wincing when he realized he was leaving trails of blood on her skin.
"I'll be right back,” he said softly. “Why don't you take off your scabbard and armor?"
She didn't move as he stood, but while he washed his hands and ran hot water on a towel in the bathroom, he could hear quiet noises in the other room. He returned to the bedroom to find her sitting on the bed again, her scabbard, protective vest, and jacket in a pile at the foot of the bed. He stood in front of her and placed a trembling finger beneath her chin.
"Look up, Kate. Please."
She followed the barest pressure of his finger and raised her face toward him. Her eyes were bloodshot, red rimming the gray and making her skin seem much paler as he gently cleaned off the blood, grime, and tear trails with the towel. He combed her hair back with his fingers when he was done; her braid had come loose during the fight, and somehow she seemed that much frailer for it. She closed her eyes at his small touch, then shifted on the bed, pulling back until she was sitting in the center of it. Her hand pressed into the covers, inviting him to lie with her. Marc folded the towel to hide the stains of blood, placed it on the night table, and climbed in next to her.
Immediately, she curled up against him, her arm encircling his waist, her head easily sliding into the crook of his shoulder. They had rested together like this, although always in her room. After all Blake's scheming and prodding, it was only now that he was gone that she had come to this bed. The th
ought was bittersweet. Marc's hold on her tightened until a muffled sound warned him it was too much; even then, he didn't let go.
"We have to get him back,” she said after what felt like an eternity, the words cracking as though her throat were too dry.
The frame of light around the curtains had grown, and the room was bathed in a dull light. It had to be midday already. Earlier, there had been sounds of joy in the hotel hallways and outside. The fallen soldiers would be mourned and remembered, but for now closing the breach was being celebrated. Marc had rarely felt so detached from the humans around him.
"We can reopen the breach,” Kate continued when he didn't answer. “Simon will find a way. I'm sure he'll know how to do it."
Her voice wavered on the last words. She wasn't sure, no, but she wanted to be. Marc wished he could have had that confidence as well. All he could think of was that the only person he knew who had come out of a breach again had not escaped; she had been freed by the demons to work as their spy and agent. And that had only been after they had had enough time to break her and convert her to their cause.
Without realizing what he was doing, Marc reached again for the bloodline—and again found nothing. What was happening to Blake? Jen had never said straight out what she had been made to endure, but she had hinted at a few things, and sometimes her reactions had given away more than her words. It hadn't been pleasant. Death was the kindest fate demons could offer humans or vampires.
How long had it been for Blake already? On Earth, in this dimension, only hours had passed. But time was different wherever Blake now was. Jen claimed to have spent ten years on the other side, but she had only been missing in this world for less than a month. Did Blake know that? Marc couldn't remember if he had ever shared that tidbit of information with him. Was he losing hope, or was he clinging to the thought that someone would come for him? That his Sire would come for him. It was what Sires did—wasn't it?
