My Little VentrueChapter 112 free porn video

~~Beatrice~~

Everyone left. Sándor was apparently a really, really strong Begotten, to the point he surprised Fiona when he opened a pathway back to the real world without issue. A wave of the gargoyle’s hand, and the darkness in the forest flickered. Fiona, or Vrall or whatever, went through it with her man, and they disappeared, supposedly to arrive near Damien’s apartment so he could take a moment to recoup. Two crows sat on Damien’s shoulders, and several more plus a few rats scurried along with them. Mulder, Scully, and the few that survived Jack’s assault. A second later, Sándor did it again for Clara, opening to somewhere in the Carthian district. And then again, for Aaron, who was dragging the now barely conscious Othello. Sándor opened a portal to the outskirts of town, guided by Aaron’s suggestions. Mark had already left with Azamel, so, that left Beatrice, Jennifer, and the gargoyle.

“Why did you not leave with your friends?” the beast asked.

Triss shrugged, and dragged herself over to the altar she knew had been Sándor’s imprisonment. This was where Elen had done her ritual, with knife and skin. Triss could almost feel the residue of a strange power emanating from it. Not so strange, really. It felt similar to Crúac.

“I thought Athalia might come through. I wanted to talk to her,” she said.

“The door between our lairs has closed. I am, once again, closed off from the other Begotten.”

“Closed off?” she said.

“Yes. Athalia, Fiona, Azamel, and Mark have linked their lairs. They may travel between their many realms freely. I ... have not linked my lair with anyone in many years.”

“Sounds lonely,” Jennifer said. She came up behind Beatrice, and hugged her, arms looping around her stomach. She either wanted to keep close in case Triss started to fall, or she just wanted to be close in general. It was good, either way. Triss was too exhausted to be surly and dismissive. And it felt good to let Jennifer in close again. She leaned back into Jennifer’s body, and sighed.

Triss turned her head enough to give her friend a small kiss on the cheek. “How long were you under Elen’s control?”

“Four years.”

“Jesus Christ.” She shivered, and set her hands on the altar. It was sloped upward, but at the lowest point where it pointed toward the center of the clearing, it was low enough that her arms came down in order for her palms to reach it, with a bit of a slouch, too. “He murdered your family, to capture you?”

“ ... yes.” Slowly, with delicate hands completely at odds with the Horror she’d seen earlier, the gargoyle lowered some of the many bodies into the hole he dug. They didn’t deserve a burial, especially if they helped Jeremiah capture Sándor, and yet the monster was burying them. From how careful he was being, she suspected he’d give them a proper burial, if it’d been viable.

“Horrible,” Jennifer said. “Absolutely horrible.”

Triss winced. Yeah, it was horrible. But how long ago did Triss and Jen brutally butcher a bunch of kine, sacrificing them into a big rusty bowl, so Triss could communicate with some otherworldly entity of blood and pain? Those people had been brothers, sisters, sons and daughters, maybe even mothers and fathers too. Tough to think of the hunters as being so low, when—no. No, don’t think that shit. The people you killed were just scumbags and worthless cockroaches. What you did is not the same as killing the family members of the people you were hunting. Jeremiah and Angela were the lowest of the low. Don’t compare your journey into the world of blood sacrifice, to their pathetic, cowardly, shitty tactics.

“Well,” Triss said, “fuck him. He taught Angela to fight dirty like that, and it got them killed.”

“Yes ... yes, it did.” The gargoyle put on the smallest smile, before he came over to them, and squatted like he was perching on a jutting stone of a church wall. God damn he was huge, muscular as all fuck, and she stared at the beast for a few seconds as he pulled his huge wings in snug to his back.

His face was expressive in a way she hadn’t been prepared for. It was a demon face, yes, but a human demon face, with dark steel-colored skin, deep set eyes, pronounced eyebrow ridges, and of course, giant horns. Like, big, curly, scary, giant horns. And with his very hard, broad chin, he would have looked perfectly at home sitting on a throne, looking stoic, and giving orders to his army of demons. When he talked, she could see hints of his teeth behind his lips, all of them sharp, with some very nasty, pronouncd fangs. Those teeth had chomped Jeremiah into bite sized chunks.

Speaking of teeth, and biting.

“Your neck ok?” she said, gesturing to it.

That, of all things, brought a real, if momentary smile to the squatting monster’s face. “Yes, mostly.” He raised one of his hands to his neck, and rubbed at the wound. The skin was mostly closed, but she’d managed to fuck his neck up pretty good. Damn proud of that.

“I guess Athalia didn’t come back,” Jen said.

Triss nodded. “I’m not surprised. It ... it...” Fuck it. She turned around, and hugged Jennifer, full on hug. She set her face in her friend’s neck, and just held on. No crying, no sobbing. She’d cried enough for a decade, at least. But, she wanted a hug. “Killing Angela wasn’t fun.”

Jennifer chuckled, a tiny laugh, only audible cause Triss was close enough to feel it. “You thought it would be?”

“Yes. I thought I’d kill her, laughing and dancing the whole time, you know? It’d be great. I’d feel great.” Sighing, she ran her hands up and down Jen’s back a little, continuing the hug. “Instead, all I did was ... execute a defeated, broken, stupid girl. And I did it in front of her crying mom.” After making sure the hug was good and long, she backed off and set her hands on Jen’s shoulders. “Felt more like ... like a scene from Old Yeller, or something, you know? I was putting down a rabid dog. I wanted to be screaming with joy! Not ... not...”

“Jeremiah’s last words,” Sándor said, his quiet voice rumbling with so much bass, he sounded more like a subwoofer, “were to tell Angela to run. His last words ... were an attempt to save her, while he died.” The gargoyle, still squatting with his two lower arms resting on his knees, raised his two higher arms out in front of him, and slowly grabbed the air, as if grabbing Jeremiah again. “I did not kill a monster. I killed a person. It had to be done, but that does not alleviate the weight such death places on our ... souls.”

Ugh, she hated that that sounded right. Killing people brought with it something she couldn’t quite put her finger on, until Sándor just said it: weight. She’d been killing a lot of people lately, and that weight was starting to pull her down, like shackles tied around her throat. Killing Angela was more weight on her soul, and good god, that fucking sucked. Killing the bitch should have freed her, not added to a growing mountain of bones tied to her.

“You sound ... wise, I guess,” she said, smiling up at the gargoyle. Jen slipped behind her, and started hugging her again, this time putting a kiss on her ear as she did. Triss didn’t pull her head away this time. It felt nice, to have Jen’s hands on her, and after tonight, after the misery of Athalia’s sobs faded, maybe she’d let her do more. Not tonight, but later.

“I’ve been around for many centuries,” the beast said. “I guess ... wisdom snuck up on me.”

“Centuries?” Jen said from over Triss’s shoulder. “We thought Begotten aged. Slowly, but they did.”

“It depends on whichever Horror has cursed us. The ... gargoyle, ages very slowly, like the stones of a castle wall. I will live for centuries yet, I imagine.” With a great, heavy sigh, the beast slid his long tail along the earth, until it was curled around the front of his ankles, and then behind him again. “I ... I have to apologize, Beatrice.”

“Apologize? For—oh ... right.” Right. Sándor was a big part of the reason Julias was dead. “You were under a fucking spell, dude. And after learning about what Jeremiah did to you, the fuck am I going to do, yell at you because you were forced to help kill my boyfriend? Christ man, you lost your wife, and your son! I...” She’d started yelling, and only after her volume rose, did it slap her in her stupid face that she was yelling at herself. “H ... How was he, at the end? Julias, I mean.”

“Ridiculously strong. I knew of the ancilla, and what was to be expected of a Ventrue his age, and yet he surprised me. Defeated me. He demonstrated resilience, and strength that I had not expected. I could tell he was fighting for something, for someone.”

God damn it. She smiled, and took a breath, forcing down the sudden urge to cry again. “Tch, yeah, he was. Me, and for Jack, too.”

“Jack...” The gargoyle shivered, and that included his wings, all four of them reaching out with their long arms to shake, as if dislodging snow. “The curse is a horrifying taint. I ... I would have lost that fight, if he’d really tried to kill me.”

Jen and Triss both shivered as well. Yeah, she could believe that.

“So, Mr. Sándor, you’re going to stay here in your lair?” Jennifer stepped around Triss, and walked up to the squatting titan. Without a bit of fear in her step, but definitely a bit of sway in her hips, she came up under the monster’s head, and grinned up at him.

“I ... yes. I will heal faster here. And ... I have nowhere else to go, for now. Sándor’s life, my old life, is gone.”

The damn Ventrue put a hand on the gargoyle’s knee, and chuckled. Or, giggled, if Triss was hearing right. “So, you could stay in Dolareido?” Oh good god she was flirting with the gargoyle.

The gargoyle tilted his head to the side, as if perplexed by her blatant flirting. Maybe he was. Well, he’d helped them a fuckload, least Triss could do was save him from Jen’s legs.

“Jen, stop flirting with the giant gargoyle. It—he’s a gargoyle.” She was tempted to make a comment about his obvious lack of a penis, but then, she knew Jessy had sex with Eric when he was transformed, and werewolves didn’t walk around with dicks and balls. Maybe it formed when the desire was present? Werewolves were spirit things, not biological, and Sándor was a dream thing, not biological.

Hell, did vampires really count as biological? They may have lived in a world of blood, but blood and flesh were proving capable of more than she’d ever thought, considering what Elen had done, and what she’d done with Crúac. Maybe it was time she stopped thinking of vampires as simple bodies of flesh and blood, and more like how she thought of dream monsters, spirits, and ghosts.

“Athalia’s not coming,” Triss said. “Let’s go.” It was probably a good thing she didn’t. Triss wanted to talk to her, but she still hadn’t resolved her feelings about the whole situation, and she knew it. It made her feel guilty, not knowing how to feel. She’d killed a woman’s daughter, and that woman was a fellow monster, too. The least she could do was understand how she felt about it, so she could feel justified, or something. It was the least she could fucking do, so she could talk to Athalia, and know where they both stood.

“Fine, fine.” Jen rejoined her, and the two of them started toward the village road. At least, until Jen stopped, and leaned in close to Triss’s ear. “We should ask him to come home with us.”

“Jen, Angela’s been dead thirty minutes. Can’t you—”

“Not to sleep with, dumbass.” She looked over her shoulder back at the gargoyle, and draped her left arm over Triss’s shoulders. Ow, legs, not healed, ow. “Though, I mean, we’ve both seen him in his human form, without his shirt. He’s a sexy man. Hell, he’s sexy right now. But, not what I meant. I meant, he’s has no home, and he’s lost everything. Perhaps we should extend him a hand?”

Triss rolled her eyes. Jen wasn’t fooling her. It was true they’d both seen him without his shirt, that night they fought him and a few other hunters in Elen’s flesh chamber, and he’d been a gorgeous man. A little tall, quite lean, muscular but not overly thick. He actually kinda looked like Jack, just scaled up; even had the short dark hair. Only difference besides the overall size, was the Begotten had had some gruff on his face.

She tried to think about how hot he’d looked when they’d been fighting him, with his abs and shit on a sweaty display, but the image was ruined. That was the night Julias died. But, hey, if Jen wanted to fuck him, she was free to fuck him. Poor girl hadn’t fucked anyone since Superman died.

“Go ahead,” she said, and immediately regretted it. No, she didn’t want a stranger around. She wanted to be alone, or maybe talk to Jacob about all this shit, about revenge, about this hole in her fucking gut that wouldn’t go away. He’d understand; ancient fucker understood everything.

“Sándor,” Jen said, turning around, and hooking her other arm around Triss’s throat gently, so her wrist dangled over Triss’s further shoulder. “Did you ever find out where the Circle of the Crone sleeps during the day?” Except for Jacob, of course. Elders didn’t expose their backs when sleeping, even to their comrades.

“No.”

“We sleep on the outskirts of town, in a cave hidden in a ravine. It’s not far from the path you made for Aaron, East of there. You’ll know you’ve found it when you see three giant rocks propped up next to each other.”

The gargoyle stared at her, his steely expression so damn hard to read. Fucker was stoic, so stoic it was almost comical. It was so hilariously different from the raging bull that’d been trying to kill them before, she wasn’t even sure it was really him. If he got angry, would he become that raging death machine, like his Horror had been? It’d been scary strong.

And a scary strong Begotten would be a powerful ally.

Triss raised a brow as she looked at the Ventrue still hooking her neck and shoulders, and Jen spared her a quick, knowing smile. That crafty slut. Well, she said her sire had sired her because she was both attractive, and conniving.

“I will ... visit, sometime.”

“Wonderful!” Jen let go of Triss, and clapped her hands together once, before rising onto the balls of her feet for a moment, then landing on her heels. Just enough of a tiny, ‘girly’ flirtatious jump, to make her tits jiggle a bit inside her suit top. If it’d been someone like Fiona, Triss would have chalked it up to just natural flirtiness; the redhead flirted like breathing. With Jen, on the other hand, it was calculated, always calculated.

Calculated boob jiggle. The thought made Triss laugh, and she struggled to get it under control. Pain ripped through her, but she laughed anyway. When Jen turned to face her, Triss hooked an arm over her shoulders, and leaned on her, desperate to get some weight off her legs and ribs. But she still laughed. The pain didn’t matter. It felt good to laugh.

“Before ... you go,” the gargoyle said, “I...”

“Yeah?” Triss asked.

“I ... do not know who to tell of this. But, the presence that ... attacked me in my lair, months ago, the one that rescued Jack and the others...”

Oh shit. Triss’s laughter came to a quick stop, and she turned her and Jen around so she could look at the gargoyle again while keeping her arm on Jen’s shoulders. They hadn’t gotten very far, just to the edge of the clearing, and she wasn’t looking forward to limping over all the destroyed trees back to the creepy village road anyway.

“You’re talking about Black Blood,” she said. “A spirit.”

The titan nodded, and slowly looked down. “It came.”

“He came? Like ... like, tonight, he came?”

“Yes.”

Of course he did. Of fucking course he did. The damn thing had probably been watching from outside the nightmare somehow, looking for an opportunity to take advantage of the situation.

“What’d he do?” she said. “If he showed up, he was up to something.”

“I do not know. Except ... it ... he helped me break the ritual.”

“Say what?” She stared at the gargoyle, but the beast simply remained where he was, squatting over the grass and death around him. Stoic bastard. “Black Blood helped you?”

“Jeremiah’s ritual took the nightmare from me, and blinded me. The ... the spirit, removed the veil from my eyes.” He snorted, just like a big, heavy animal that didn’t like its situation might. A damn powerful sound, and Triss shivered as she felt the heavy bass of it flow past her. “The spirit was ... cold.”

Triss and Jen looked to each other, and sighed. Yeah, that was Black Blood. His presence was cold, but not in temperature. It was cold, the way death felt cold.

“Thanks for telling us,” she said. “I’d avoid telling anyone else except for us witches. Black Blood isn’t exactly well liked in Dolareido.”

The monster nodded, and turned his head back to look down at the ground in front of him. He didn’t move. Literally. He didn’t breath, didn’t shift, didn’t adjust, he just squatted there like a statue. Like an actual gargoyle.

“Hungry?” Jen said.

“Oh god, very. Fucking starving.” She gave her friend a smile, and started to limp toward Dracula’s knock-off castle.

Angela was dead. Jeremiah was dead. The hunters were defeated except for some still hiding out in the city, and they weren’t nearly the threat they’d been with their leader. Triss and the gang had won. Yeah, Athalia probably hated them, but they saved Azamel’s life too, so that was a point in their corner for keeping the Begotten on their side. Jack managed to become Jack again, normal Jack. And they’d made an ally in Sándor. Everything was looking up.

She could go home now, maybe go visit Julias’s mansion, and do something to seek finality. Burn it down, maybe? The Invictus would probably have her head for that. Maybe walk around the mansion for a while, and just absorb the sad memories. Maybe cry until it hurt, like she’d done so many times already? No matter how bad she felt about killing Angela, about how horribly the night had gone and had been, there was a piece of her that was genuinely happy. Vengeance was had. Time to move on.

But, why was Black Blood here? How did he know what was going on? What the fuck was Jacob up to?

~~Natasha~~

Flowing Sanctuary kicked them out of the Hisil, under threat of reporting them to Avery, and beating them to a pulp. And it had the power to make it a reality. It became clear, as the strange entity guided them to the nearest locus, and then sent them packing, that Flow was a very powerful spirit.

The boys told Tash a story, a third hand account of how Avery, who’d lost her pack and her previous totem spirit, met Flow when she was dying. They didn’t know what, but something happened to Simon and his pack, between now and the last time Avery had come to the city. Flow had been tiny then, apparently a water spirit who’d obtained a desire to protect others somehow. It wasn’t far fetched. Water could be a very protective force in certain circumstances. A river could be a wall between predator and prey. The surface of a lake could be the barrier between predator and prey. She’d have to ask to find out, and after tonight, she was afraid to ask Flow anything.

Together, Flow and Avery had helped each other survive, and forged a friendship. That friendship was how Flow became her totem spirit, instead of a deal struck or forced enslavement. Flow was too powerful to be forced to do anything, probably.

So, Tash and friends had been forced out, back to the physical world. Eric looked upset. The man was finally reaching out to affect the paranormal world, instead of being pulled into it, and got shut down for his efforts.

Natasha frowned down at the sidewalk as she turned the thoughts in her head. “I wonder...”

“Mm?” the boys said, looking over their shoulders at her. She’d fallen behind the group, trapped in her thoughts.

“I w-wonder how Flow found us. Dolareido is a b-b-big city.”

“It probably tracked Matt and me down,” Art said. “We’ve been working together for years. I’m sure it can find us if we’re in the Hisil.”

That made sense, she supposed. She wasn’t sure how spirits sensed, but if Flow was acutely familiar with the ‘scent’ of its pack, then—”Um, then m-maybe Eric should do what he wants ... without you?”

Eric glanced over his shoulder at them, shrugged, and continued on. He was cranky, but she was confident he’d get over it. And the streets of Dolareido weren’t the best place for this sort of conversation anyway.

“She’s right,” Matt said. “Sorry Eric. I mean, we knew Flow would disagree, but we didn’t think it’d actively block us.”

Art sighed as he shrugged. “Avery must have warned it, tipped it off that we might do something like this. Damn woman knew what you were going to do, Eric, and of course whatever Avery thinks is right, she does.”

Avery was strong willed, to the point it’d be a problem if she ever disagreed with Antoinette about something important. She’d willingly fight the elder, if she thought it was the right thing to do. And, while the werewolf must have been extremely dangerous, Antoinette was half a millennium old. Eric, on the other hand, was a fresh pup, and Avery would have no trouble smacking him around.

She pulled out her phone, and checked her messages. She’d gotten into the habit of turning off the vibration, for fear it might get her in trouble someday in a precarious situation. And—oh, oh god. One from Jack, one from Antoinette, each a couple hours old, and a new one from Antoinette. Uh oh.

“Um, I have t-to get back to the Elysium, immediately.”

“Business?” the boys said together.

“Yes. Um, Jessy, you’ll w-want to talk to McDonald, too. Something happened. Something ... b-big.”

“Big?”

“Y-Yes. Um ... we ... we d-d-don’t need to worry about the hunters anymore. M-Most are ... dead, including Jeremiah, and Angela.”

Everyone stopped, and stared at her. She’d had to whisper it, so quiet they wouldn’t have been able to hear it if they hadn’t been paranormals. The text said some hunters were still in the city, and she couldn’t risk them hearing. Even letting normal kine hear such a profound statement was risky.

“Wow,” Matt said, “um ... ok? I guess we’ll head back, and see what Avery knows.”

Natasha stared at the text again for a moment, took a second to nod to each person in the group, including a knowing one for Jessy, before she vanished.

As she descended the stairs of the Elysium tower, she froze. People were talking, voices she recognized.

Jack, and Samantha. The two were sitting in one of the recreation rooms, the one with couches and an enormous TV, meant for digesting news in luxury. Jack was talking about his fight with the hunters, from the little Natasha picked up, and mentioned Angela was dead.

So, Natasha did what any self respecting Mekhet would do. She Cloaked herself, and pressed her back to the archway of the room’s entrance. Spying! No, not spying, but she just couldn’t help herself.

“Angela’s dead?” Samantha said.

“Yeah, she’s dead.”

“I ... I ... I don’t know what to say.”

That earned a chuckle from the kid. “Neither do I, Mom. I don’t know how to feel about it. It ... it...” Natasha couldn’t see him, from how she kept her back to the frame of the arch entrance, and Jack might be able to spot her if she peeked, with his new power. If he could sense her right now, he wasn’t letting it affect his conversation. Maybe he was too tired to.

“It must have been horrible.”

“Yeah, it was. We won, really won. We took them down and didn’t lose a single person. But ... yeah, it was bad.” After a long sigh, one Natasha knew Jack often made while rubbing his buzzed hair, he continued. “But, we’re safe. Or at least, a lot safer. There’s still some hunters in the city, but—”

“What about Athalia?”

“Athalia? She ... she was there, yeah.”

“Oh no. She helped kill her daughter.”

“No. It was the plan that she’d help kill her, or possibly capture her. In the end, she ... she tried to save Angela, and we had to kill her anyway. I ... I don’t think ... Athalia’s ever going to forgive me, for that.”

“Oh Jack. I can’t imagine. I ... I can’t imagine.”

“I have to go talk to my bosses in a minute, Mom. But later, we can—”

Some shuffling fabric sounds signaled that they were hugging, and Natasha felt her heart break. She’d been super happy to learn the hunters were defeated, so happy she’d forgotten about Athalia. Antoinette would tell her to not concern herself with Athalia’s pain, but it was easier said than done. Maybe with a hundred years under her belt, Natasha could close off her heart like that, but for now, it all hit her no matter how hard she tried to keep it out. It was one of the reasons she didn’t hang with people as much as someone like Jessy. She absorbed the emotions of people around her, whether she wanted to or not.

She didn’t stick around anymore, and instead moved on to the primary experimentation room, where she knew Antoinette awaited her. It wouldn’t be good to come to Antoinette feeling emotional about poor Samantha and poor Athalia, and poor Mary, and poor ... whoever else was hurt. Undoubtedly, other people had been hurt. But Antoinette would want her calm, smart, and logical.

She walked into the grand room where Antoinette stood by the massive table off to the side, covered in laptops. In the center of the huge room, was the dangling chandelier of blue, though it was off, and some regular white LEDs were on instead. All the laptops were on, and around the laptops, were a host of strange items Natasha had never seen.

“Prince, I—oh, w-what are these?” Immediately, the shrunken head grabbed her attention. It’d have creeped her out in the past, and while it was still definitely creepy, it didn’t bother her anymore. After months of dealing with Antoinette’s strange research, a shrunken head was pretty normal.

Except, it wasn’t just a shrunken head. There were a whole bunch of things! A knife that must have been carved out of a bone. A necklace that had bits of bone hooked on it. It was a smörgåsbord of occult objects, and they all had a very obvious motif: the key aspects of each were made of human body parts. And, in the center of it all, was a very creepy book, a big, fat, thick book that demanded she read it. Except, the cover was obviously made of skin, probably human skin, and if she opened it, she was likely to summon the Apocalypse.

The book put everything else into context. This was the hunters’ stuff, the shaman’s stuff, and Antoinette had taken it from the dream.

“Oh m-m-my god...”

“Indeed.” Antoinette looked to her, grinned a knowing grin, and sat down at the table as she gestured for her to do the same. “The hunters are defeated, and I have gained many new items for my collection. We will have much to study, I think.” And, without fear, she opened the book. Natasha froze, expecting it to scream, to burst into flame, to unleash a black demon arm, or at least do something more than be a book. But it just sat there, doing book things, waiting to be read; deciphered, actually, as she didn’t recognize the letters.

“I can’t b-b-believe it. The hunters are gone?”

“Yes, except for, as I warned you, perhaps a dozen that remain in the city, leaderless. Though tomorrow night, you, I, Daniel, and Jack will talk with Harcourt.” She frowned at the mention of the hunter’s name, the one she’d mentioned in her text. “These hunters must come to my tower, and only after I have personally inspected them, will I allow them to leave. I expect that there will yet be more deaths, hunter deaths, before this problem is completely resolved.”

“The p-part of war no one talks about. It never stops instantly, d-d-does it? It always ... trickles to a stop.”

“Quite true, Miss Vola.” Antoinette smiled at her, proud, and Natasha buzzed with joy. Teacher’s pet. “The realities of war are never as final or definitive as in literature. But, for all my frustration with Jack for the reckless assault he led tonight, the hunters are defeated. Only one true problem has been created in the aftermath.”

Uh oh. “Problem?”

“Elen lived through the encounter. And, while I admit that I had hoped she would, so I could capture her, and learn what she knew, it is not I who possesses her.”

“She lived, b-b-but she’s not here? Then, who ha—Jacob. J-Jacob has her.”

Again, Antoinette smiled. “Your deduction skills improve, my student. Oui, that infernal Nosferatu has taken her, with Black Blood’s aid. And now, my strongest ally, and perhaps strongest enemy, is potentially armed with the skills of a terribly skilled shaman of flesh.” Sighing, smile gone, she gestured to the assortment of occult goods. “And while both Jacob and I gained from the fallout of my beloved’s assault, I fear he has stolen the better of the spoils.”

“B-But, we have her book, and—”

“I doubt she needs this scripture, Miss Vola. For a creature that absorbed in her craft, it is likely that she can wield the art as easily as a musicians plays their instrument.”

“B-But, even a musician needs their sheet music for really long and complicated songs!”

That pleased the Prince, and she nodded as she sat back, tapping her chin with a finger. “Correct again, little one. Yes, it may be true that Elen will need the book, or her tools, for some of her more grand efforts. Jacob may come to bargain for said tools, or, he may attempt to take them by force.”