Sick or Sane?

[Lucia Drusa Severa]

Floating gracefully over toward the young, unconscious man on her bedroom floor, Lucia casually looked over the Lycan's wounds while listening to Dane. Just looking at the wound from Dane's silver knife in the boy's chest sent a small twinge of unease through the girl's ribs; but none of it was conveyed through her body language. Kneeling, she brushed some of Pablo's hair away from his face, revealing the beating the boy had taken, smiling softly, fondly. Subtly, her fingers twitched. Something inside her wanted to pull Pablo closer and finish off the life that was draining from the Lycan, to free him of his remaining blood; to ultimately end what discomfort he might be feeling and finally feed from a living source and gain more strength. It felt like years since Lucia had tasted warm blood taken straight from a donor or unwitting victim. Yet the girl restrained herself, resigning to self control for the moment, and stood back up, watching Dane.

Lucia beamed as Dane assented to bringing Pablo; her wide grin accented with sharp, white canines lit up the Hybrid's entire face, adding a mischievous glow to her crimson eyes. Scanning the area briefly for any trace of the boy's clothes, the Hybrid could find nothing that seemed to have survived, and so pulled the purple sheet from her bed over, wrapping the young man thoroughly to cover his nakedness. Bending over on one knee, Lucia reached under the boy and picked him up easily, cradled to her chest with his chin tucked in and head resting on her shoulder. It was amazing that such a boy could grow to such a fearsome size in his Werewolf form; but the girl's Hybrid strength would have made lifting up even a bodybuilder easy.

There was too much on her mind to remember to look for anything she might have liked to bring with her, but if she'd stopped to think on it, there wouldn't have been anything truly worth-while to stop and grab that she might not already still have in London, assuming that's where Dane was taking her. Lucia's most coveted possession was a necklace that had been given to her by her father, which she always wore.

Quietly, the young woman followed Dane barefoot up the stone steps to the main floor of the Den, Pablo in arms. Not even halfway up the stairs, Lucia could smell the thick aura of pain and recent death, crawling slowly into the stairwell and filling the air. The power was overwhelming and Lucia's polite and calm facade dropped for the slightest of moments; taken over by the most base, animistic part of her, hungry and sadistic. For that moment, the girl was paralyzed and glad that Dane was not facing her to see. The walk to the back of the Den was a blur, as every step required the utmost concentration to move forward in the direction the Vampire was taking her. That Lucia made it to the back door at all was a surprise. Her parentage left her with little to none genes of a Human, and every fiber of her being was screaming, needing to lash out and feed, to be part of the destruction, to cause pain. Anger, hate, hunger of every form; only satisfying those needs would satiate the girl and make her happy. Yet somewhere inside, there was a voice, familiar, but one Lucia had not heard in years, telling her to calm her mind and take hold of herself. To remember to breathe... Raven's voice, telling her soon she would be out of here for good...

No. Not Raven's voice.

Blinking, Lucia looked up and stopped just before running into Dane. His touch was not physically warm, but was a comfort nonetheless and helped to calm the violent stirrings within. She smiled pleasantly, genuinely; she believed her father had trusted Dane, so of course, "I trust you, Dane." Lucia stepped out into the night with the Vampire Dane, carrying an unconscious Lycan in her arms.

[Szandor Colden]

The door to the Den in Rome opened easily, creaking the rest of the way open from a slight push. An unwelcome silence throughout the building made the creak of the door sound like a maddening scream interrupting the eerily stagnant void of sound. Something wasn't right here. A chill crawled up Szandor's spine, raising the hairs on his arms and neck.

The sight that greeted Szandor was not one he'd been expecting. Alena Wulf had asked him to stop by the new Den to make sure everything was running smooth; to check up on how Pablo was handling his new responsibility and to bring Lucia back to Sweden when he returned. In a Den as new as this one, the common room should have been full of life, verbal, and sometimes physical dueling, joking, and just general signs of the formation of a new brotherhood. Many of the Lycans here were young, new to the life; there should have been a group gathered around a senior member to learn proper socialization within a pack at a Den. There should have been men and women going about their daily lives.

But what Szandor walked in on was an abrupt interruption to the act of carrying out a daily life. Pups that should have been arrogant and happy and full of life lay mangled and distorted throughout the common room and in the hallways. There was blood everywhere; Werewolf blood, not a drop of Human or Vampire.

Mentally, Szandor reached out for a sign, any connection within the walls of the Den to tell him that there was a living Lycan among the massacre, but nothing responded. Nothing. not even Lucia. Lucia! Szandor called out as far as his mind could reach, but the girl did not respond; that, or she had closed her mind to him.

Szandor raced down the stairs to the basement, jumping over the dead Lycan at the top, and into Lucia's room, scanning the area with gray eyes. From the look of it, a Hell of a battle took place here. He could smell his Mistress' daughter, and the scent of his comrade in arms, Pablo. Again, the only blood present was a Werewolf's; in this case, all of it, specifically, belonging to Pablo. Moving further into the adjoining room, Szandor's gaze followed the path of the blood spatters. Bullet shells littered the room, and despite the presence of only Pablo's blood, Szandor could not believe that the young man he'd fought beside would have pulled his gun against their Alpha's daughter. No, Pablo's loyalty was unquestioned, and centuries of fighting Vampires made it easy for Szandor to pick up the faint presence of Vampire aroma in this room. There had been a blood-sucker in here. The thought was disconcerting: only Werewolf blood had been spilled and the scent of the Vampire was not terribly strong, suggesting that very few Vampires had been here. That meant only one or two had destroyed the entire Den, Pablo included.

Heading back up the stairs, Szandor walked throughout the Den, noting each body he came across. After a quick but thorough inspection, what he found was disturbing, yet confirmed what he had suspected. Every Lycan in the Den had been murdered. But there were two bodies missing: Pablo's and Lucia's. Pablo's blood had been spilled and it was apparent that he'd been badly wounded, yet he was not killed and left like the others; why? There was no trace of Lucia at all, however, and that was what worried Szandor. This was not good; Alena would not be happy.

Pulling out a cellphone, Szandor returned to the main level and dialed Alena's number. "Mistress..."

[Alena Wulf]

(Co-conspired by Szandor and Alena Wulf)

The sound of a soft, rhythmed vibration and a few long 'brrrrrrrring's brought Alena's attention out of what she was in the middle of and made her long, black, furry ears perk up. Shifting back down into Human form, the Queen of Werewolves smiled a bloody grin and caressed the face of the man she was now straddling, knowing full well the only person who would be calling at such a time was Szandor, "Excuse me."
The man beneath Alena had blondish-red hair and gorgeous grey eyes, almost of a like intensity as the eyes of the Mother of Werewolves herself. At just over 198 cm. tall, his build was slightly athletic. Tribal tattoos were inscribed along his arms, legs and torso. He was handsome, to say the least; but that wasn't necessarily the reason he was chosen tonight, although it was certainly a plus. No, this man just happened to be in the right place at the right time to find himself in Alena's cross-hairs.
That had been 2.5 hours ago. Now, the Human lay motionless, face up on the floor, arms spread out to the side, gazing blankly at the ceiling beyond Alena. His breathing was shallow, and to the Werewolf Queen, he resembled some sort of fish that had been pulled out of water but had resigned to its fate of dying, lying calmly, its mouth opening and closing as if trying to suck in any amount of air it could. There was blood everywhere, and small bits of skin and flesh lay scattered nearby. Large pieces of the man's body had been torn out in jagged chunks, and Alena's now nude body was drenched in red.
With her thumb and pointer finger, the Queen of Werewolves gingerly lifted the phone up; the caller id said it was indeed Szandor trying to contact her. As convenient as they were, cellphones were not one of Alena's favorite inventions of the modern world, but she held the gadget up to her ear nonetheless. "Yes."
"Mistress..." Szandor's voice came crisply through the phone, "I've made it to the Den in Rome."
Leaning back on the man, Alena grinned happily, "That's good to hear. How is my daughter? I trust Pablo had no troubles taking over?"
A brief but foreboding silence came through the phone for a moment before Szandor responded, the slightest hint of guilt coming through his voice. "There seems to have been complications, my Queen."
Alena Wulf did not respond immediately, but waited for Szandor to explain.
"The Den here in Rome seems to have been attacked by Vampyres, only just recently. I cannot say how many for sure, Mistress Alena, but the death count is high." There was no point in sugar-coating anything, that would only anger his Queen more. Szandor had been under Alena's service for over 2,000 years. The sole reason he'd been bitten and trained was for the service and protection of Alena. In all his years, he'd been her right paw, carrying out orders that were not always the most honorable for the sake of Alena and the pack. He'd had to deliver good news and bad before, but never had he delivered news such as this. "It is clear Lord Pablo was here during the attack; I've found his blood on the walls in the Lady Lucia's room. But his body is nowhere to be found, while the bodies of every other Lycan are present. Mistress, your daughter is also missing from the body count, though there is no evidence she was involved in the struggle. I believe both Master Pablo and Lady Lucia have been abducted by the Vampyres."
"What!?" Fury rose abruptly and Alena's free hand balled up in a tight fist, slamming down on the face of the Human beneath her, squishing it beyond recognition. Blood and bone flew everywhere, spraying the Mother of Lycanthropy anew. Pure rage filled the Lycan mother, but something stuck out to her through it all. Lucia had not been part of the struggle... Alena's daughter had spent six years in London with her father at the Vampyre headquarters; surely she'd interacted with quite a few of the blood-suckers, perhaps even met some who she believed loved and adored her. Could it have been one of those who'd gone to Rome after the Werewolves had forcefully taken the city back? For some reason, Alena suspected Dane, the Vampyre who'd recently come to calling himself King. Her daughter had mentioned Dane a couple of times, though she was awfully vague whenever Alena asked for more details. "Find them immediately! What of Damien, Pete and Adele? Were they there?"
"No, Mistress, I see no sign of any of them."
London was not only the closest major Vampyre coven to Rome now, but also the main European Vampyre headquarters, "Get Pablo and my daughter back. Now!" Just as she was about to crush the phone in her hands, an idea came to mind, giving the Queen pause, "Szandor. Meet me back Home. We have to reach someone before our trip to London." Alena hung the phone up by throwing it hatefully against the nearest wall.