ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
Happy Mother's Day to your mother. It's Mother's Day here too, and and I'm about to spend the day with my birth giver as well. But for me its several hours off.
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The Blood, Continuing where we left off with The Beasts
- Thread starter ChrisGibson
- Start date
CharmedFan28
JUB Addict
Happy Mother's Day to your Mum too! I hope you have a nice day together.
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
I HAD NO IDEA WE WERE ALMOST DONE!!!!
PART ONE OF THE CONCLUSION OF THE BLOOD
“It’s open,” they heard the woman call.
There was only a slight French accent in her tongue, and when they entered into the large suite, she was in the kitchen.
“Jenean, help me with drinks,” she said said, and the blond woman with the long, swinging hari went into the kitchenette and, a few minutes later, she came out followed by a small, dark haired woman whom Myron thought looked a great deal like Marabeth.
“Drinks for us all,” Clotilde said as she sat in a chair by the fire, and there was sofa before it and when Kris went to sit in the chair across from her, Clotilde shook her head and said, “No, no, that is for the Queen.”
When they all looked at her, she nodded to Marabeth, and feeling embrassed, Marabeth sat down across from Clotilde.
Marabeth had arrived with Jason, which gained a raised eyebrow from Peter, who had come without Joyce. She ignored her cousin, and the detective sat between Seth and Kris, one long leg crossed over the other while he leaned back in his chair.
“Once you would have been queen of your clan and I of mine, but things are as they were long ago, and there is only one queen, and it is you.”
“But why am I the Queen?” Marabeth said.
“Because the werewolf clans were always headed by queens, and what happened to the queen was what happened to the clan. If you would heal your clan, you must heal yourself.”
When Marabeth did not speak, Clotilde continued, “As of yet, you have done little. You did not know what to do. How could you? You had not been taught. And from what I have heard, your Aunt Pamela did what she could. She saved your family in a time when it was nearly wiped out, when mine was still thriving.”
“You are our cousins. So to to speak.”
“So to speak,” the older woman echoed.
“But you said you were a queen,” Marabeth said, ‘Or that you would have been.”
“Yes, but we thought over time it was best to become like other people,” Clotilde said. “The Gift, we thought was a curse. And so we set out to end it. It can be ended.”
“Two generations of women after the werewolf.”
“Yes,” Clotilde smiled and sipped from her drink.
“And so we did this.”
Marabeth did not ask what they had done. Had they castrated boys? Killed them? Prevented them from reproducing by other means? There was no need to ask.
“And in the end it brought ruin,” Clotilde said. “”The Gift was the link to the powers our women had, but those powers were diluted, perverted. The men,” she said, looking at Myron, and Peter, at Kris and Jim, “no longer Changed, but where the Change would happen, they succumbed to madness. Thus” she looked ot her niece, “Jenean’s father, and her grandfather and many before them. We went from a noble house to what you see. But then, so did you. However it seems the Stausses have faired better.”
Marabeth leaned forward.
“I need to know everything,” she said. “If I am the Queen, then I must know everything.”
“It’s all in the story,” Clotilde said, and Kris said, “The Riding Hood.”
“Yes,” Clotilde said to him. “The only story.”
“Tell it to me,” Marabeth said.
Peter stopped himself from groaning. There were other things on his mind, like, did this mean that all his cousins who did not Ghange were destined to be insane. That didn’t seem to be true. But, at least to this woman, Marabeth was the Queen, and Marabeth said:
“We have read the different versions of that story, but we have not heard it from anyone’s mouth. Except for Jim who heard it from Pamela. Tell us the story.”
Clotilde nodded, and as she put down her glass of wine, Marabeth noted her large knuckles. Did she have arthritis? Grandmother, what big knuckles you have.
Clotilde began.
Once upon a time there lived in a certain village a little country girl, the prettiest creature who was ever seen. Her mother was excessively fond of her; and her grandmother doted on her still more. This good woman had a a hooded cloak of wolf fur made for her. It suited the girl so extremely well that everybody called her Little Hood.
One day her mother, having made some cakes, said to her, "Go, my dear, and see how your grandmother is doing, for I hear she has been very ill. Take her a cake, and this little pot of butter."
Rosamunde set out immediately to go to her grandmother, who lived in another village.
As she was going through the wood, she met with a wolf, who had a very great mind to eat her up, but he dared not, because of some woodcutters working nearby in the forest. He asked her where she was going. The poor child, who did not know that it was dangerous to stay and talk to a wolf, said to him, "I am going to see my grandmother and carry her a cake and a little pot of butter from my mother."
"Does she live far off?" said the wolf
"Oh I say," answered Rosamunde; "it is beyond that mill you see there, at the first house in the village."
"Well," said the wolf, "and I'll go and see her too. I'll go this way and go you that, and we shall see who will be there first."
The wolf ran as fast as he could, taking the shortest path, and the little girl took a roundabout way, entertaining herself by gathering nuts, running after butterflies, and gathering bouquets of little flowers. It was not long before the wolf arrived at the old woman's house. He knocked at the door: tap, tap.
"Who's there?"
"Your grandchild, Rosamunde," replied the wolf, counterfeiting her voice; "who has brought you a cake and a little pot of butter sent you by mother."
The good grandmother, who was in bed, because she was somewhat ill, cried out, "Pull the bobbin, and the latch will go up."
The wolf pulled the bobbin, and the door opened, and then he immediately fell upon the good woman, slaughtering her. He cut up her flesh and drained her blood into a vial and put them on the fender by the fire. He then shut the door and got into the grandmother's bed, expecting Rosamunde, who came some time afterwards and knocked at the door: tap, tap.
"Who's there?"
Rosamunde, hearing the big voice of the wolf, was at first afraid; but believing her grandmother had a cold and was hoarse, answered, "It is your grandchild Rosamunde, who has brought you a cake and a little pot of butter mother sends you."
The wolf cried out to her, softening his voice as much as he could, "Pull the bobbin, and the latch will go up."
Rosamunde pulled the bobbin, and the door opened.
The wolf, seeing her come in, said to her, hiding himself under the bedclothes, "Have yourself some wine and cake. It is there on the fender. then come get into bed with me."
Rosamunde saw eyes and heart and lungs ate her grandmother’s flesh and drank her blood, and then she took off her clothes and got into bed. The wolf was greatly amazed to see how Rosamunde now looked. Lying naked with him, and he said to her:
"Granddaughter, what big arms you have!"
"All the better to hug you with, my dear."
"Granddaughter, what big legs you have!"
"All the better to run with, my child."
"Granddaughter, what big ears you have!"
"All the better to hear with, my child."
"Granddaughter, what big eyes you have!"
"All the better to see with, my child."
"Granddaughter, what big teeth you have got!"
"All the better to eat you up with."
And, saying these words, Rosamunde fell upon the Wolf and ate him all up.”
“Well, that was something different,” Jim turned to Seth.
“But,” Marabeth said, “I believed that, well, actually, my brothers Kris and JamesMyron believed, that the Grandmother was Leinghelde, the first of us, the first Queen. And then the Riding Hood was Rosamunda, her granddaughter.”
Clotilde smiled with approval, and nodded.
“But… what of the wolf? the wolf who kills the Grandmother?” Peter said.
“But you know who it was,” Clotilde told him.
“Hagano. Stedenfeld.”
“Yes.”
“But the wolf killed the grandmother.”
“The Wolf did not kill the grandmother,” Clotilde said. “The Wolf… how do you say… fucked the Grandmother. Leinghelde was the child of Hagano the Shapeshifter, but she became the shapeshifter because she was also his lover.”
“Like Pamela,” Marabeth murmured.
“Many times over,” Jim said.
Seth looked at Jim and Jim understood, the reason he was resistant to the damaged version of the Gift, the version that was a curse.
“Leinghelde bore her daughter and her son, her son who was the first of the Jaquils, our family, which split off from yours and remained in France, but whom Geneva would marry back into, But she sent Rosamunde to do the same. To be consumed by the Wolf and to consume him is to be consumed not only by the Gift but by its spirit. This was how she tied the Wolf Gift to our line forever. This is how it is restored. Through the ritual of giving yourself to Hagano, taking him and letting him take you. No one can do it but you. This is why your are the Queen.”
“You cannot have sex with a ghost,” Kris said so forcefully it was almost funny, and Seth suggested, quietly, “It may be a metaphor.”
But Marabeth only said, “How do I do it? Whatever it is?”
Clotilde said, looking to Jason, “It is good you have invited your friend. I do not know how much of Hagano is spirit, and how much is flesh and blood, but of old, when we called to him, when the connection was remade, he entered through our men. For a time. It may be that your redheaded detective is your door to Hagano.”
“But—” Peter began.
“My dear Mr Keller,” Clotilde said, “I saw the change in your face when I talked of the madness that feel upon our family. The madness happened because we all rejected the Gift. If you had read the record, you would know that the Gift has departed from many of us over the years and madness does not result. Madness only comes when you try to be the Children of the Wolf without becoming the Wolf. Trying to be a thing without actually being was always the door to sickness.”
Well I woke up Sunday morning
With no way to hold my head, that didn't hurt
And the beer I had for breakfast wasn't bad
So I had one more for dessert
The snow was falling softly out of the window, and Johnny Cash was singing.
That night, in her apartment, Jason McCord said, “Is it hot in here?”
“A little, but you get hot easily.”
Jason got up and cracked a window. The heat in Marabeth’s apartment was almost too good. He went into her room and opened a window too.
“f you can call him, then you’d better,” he said, coming back to the living room.
“You’ve called him,” Jason said, “and now let’s leave him alone. He’ll show up when he shows up.”
“Hagano?”
“I didn’t mean the pizza man.”
“Let’s go to bed,” Marabeth said. “Unless you think I’m too forward.”
Jason stood up and she stood up taking his hand.
“You’re as forward as you need to be. After all. You’re the Queen.”
TOMORROW NIGHT THE CONCLUSION OF OUR LONG STORY
PART ONE OF THE CONCLUSION OF THE BLOOD
“It’s open,” they heard the woman call.
There was only a slight French accent in her tongue, and when they entered into the large suite, she was in the kitchen.
“Jenean, help me with drinks,” she said said, and the blond woman with the long, swinging hari went into the kitchenette and, a few minutes later, she came out followed by a small, dark haired woman whom Myron thought looked a great deal like Marabeth.
“Drinks for us all,” Clotilde said as she sat in a chair by the fire, and there was sofa before it and when Kris went to sit in the chair across from her, Clotilde shook her head and said, “No, no, that is for the Queen.”
When they all looked at her, she nodded to Marabeth, and feeling embrassed, Marabeth sat down across from Clotilde.
Marabeth had arrived with Jason, which gained a raised eyebrow from Peter, who had come without Joyce. She ignored her cousin, and the detective sat between Seth and Kris, one long leg crossed over the other while he leaned back in his chair.
“Once you would have been queen of your clan and I of mine, but things are as they were long ago, and there is only one queen, and it is you.”
“But why am I the Queen?” Marabeth said.
“Because the werewolf clans were always headed by queens, and what happened to the queen was what happened to the clan. If you would heal your clan, you must heal yourself.”
When Marabeth did not speak, Clotilde continued, “As of yet, you have done little. You did not know what to do. How could you? You had not been taught. And from what I have heard, your Aunt Pamela did what she could. She saved your family in a time when it was nearly wiped out, when mine was still thriving.”
“You are our cousins. So to to speak.”
“So to speak,” the older woman echoed.
“But you said you were a queen,” Marabeth said, ‘Or that you would have been.”
“Yes, but we thought over time it was best to become like other people,” Clotilde said. “The Gift, we thought was a curse. And so we set out to end it. It can be ended.”
“Two generations of women after the werewolf.”
“Yes,” Clotilde smiled and sipped from her drink.
“And so we did this.”
Marabeth did not ask what they had done. Had they castrated boys? Killed them? Prevented them from reproducing by other means? There was no need to ask.
“And in the end it brought ruin,” Clotilde said. “”The Gift was the link to the powers our women had, but those powers were diluted, perverted. The men,” she said, looking at Myron, and Peter, at Kris and Jim, “no longer Changed, but where the Change would happen, they succumbed to madness. Thus” she looked ot her niece, “Jenean’s father, and her grandfather and many before them. We went from a noble house to what you see. But then, so did you. However it seems the Stausses have faired better.”
Marabeth leaned forward.
“I need to know everything,” she said. “If I am the Queen, then I must know everything.”
“It’s all in the story,” Clotilde said, and Kris said, “The Riding Hood.”
“Yes,” Clotilde said to him. “The only story.”
“Tell it to me,” Marabeth said.
Peter stopped himself from groaning. There were other things on his mind, like, did this mean that all his cousins who did not Ghange were destined to be insane. That didn’t seem to be true. But, at least to this woman, Marabeth was the Queen, and Marabeth said:
“We have read the different versions of that story, but we have not heard it from anyone’s mouth. Except for Jim who heard it from Pamela. Tell us the story.”
Clotilde nodded, and as she put down her glass of wine, Marabeth noted her large knuckles. Did she have arthritis? Grandmother, what big knuckles you have.
Clotilde began.
Once upon a time there lived in a certain village a little country girl, the prettiest creature who was ever seen. Her mother was excessively fond of her; and her grandmother doted on her still more. This good woman had a a hooded cloak of wolf fur made for her. It suited the girl so extremely well that everybody called her Little Hood.
One day her mother, having made some cakes, said to her, "Go, my dear, and see how your grandmother is doing, for I hear she has been very ill. Take her a cake, and this little pot of butter."
Rosamunde set out immediately to go to her grandmother, who lived in another village.
As she was going through the wood, she met with a wolf, who had a very great mind to eat her up, but he dared not, because of some woodcutters working nearby in the forest. He asked her where she was going. The poor child, who did not know that it was dangerous to stay and talk to a wolf, said to him, "I am going to see my grandmother and carry her a cake and a little pot of butter from my mother."
"Does she live far off?" said the wolf
"Oh I say," answered Rosamunde; "it is beyond that mill you see there, at the first house in the village."
"Well," said the wolf, "and I'll go and see her too. I'll go this way and go you that, and we shall see who will be there first."
The wolf ran as fast as he could, taking the shortest path, and the little girl took a roundabout way, entertaining herself by gathering nuts, running after butterflies, and gathering bouquets of little flowers. It was not long before the wolf arrived at the old woman's house. He knocked at the door: tap, tap.
"Who's there?"
"Your grandchild, Rosamunde," replied the wolf, counterfeiting her voice; "who has brought you a cake and a little pot of butter sent you by mother."
The good grandmother, who was in bed, because she was somewhat ill, cried out, "Pull the bobbin, and the latch will go up."
The wolf pulled the bobbin, and the door opened, and then he immediately fell upon the good woman, slaughtering her. He cut up her flesh and drained her blood into a vial and put them on the fender by the fire. He then shut the door and got into the grandmother's bed, expecting Rosamunde, who came some time afterwards and knocked at the door: tap, tap.
"Who's there?"
Rosamunde, hearing the big voice of the wolf, was at first afraid; but believing her grandmother had a cold and was hoarse, answered, "It is your grandchild Rosamunde, who has brought you a cake and a little pot of butter mother sends you."
The wolf cried out to her, softening his voice as much as he could, "Pull the bobbin, and the latch will go up."
Rosamunde pulled the bobbin, and the door opened.
The wolf, seeing her come in, said to her, hiding himself under the bedclothes, "Have yourself some wine and cake. It is there on the fender. then come get into bed with me."
Rosamunde saw eyes and heart and lungs ate her grandmother’s flesh and drank her blood, and then she took off her clothes and got into bed. The wolf was greatly amazed to see how Rosamunde now looked. Lying naked with him, and he said to her:
"Granddaughter, what big arms you have!"
"All the better to hug you with, my dear."
"Granddaughter, what big legs you have!"
"All the better to run with, my child."
"Granddaughter, what big ears you have!"
"All the better to hear with, my child."
"Granddaughter, what big eyes you have!"
"All the better to see with, my child."
"Granddaughter, what big teeth you have got!"
"All the better to eat you up with."
And, saying these words, Rosamunde fell upon the Wolf and ate him all up.”
“Well, that was something different,” Jim turned to Seth.
“But,” Marabeth said, “I believed that, well, actually, my brothers Kris and JamesMyron believed, that the Grandmother was Leinghelde, the first of us, the first Queen. And then the Riding Hood was Rosamunda, her granddaughter.”
Clotilde smiled with approval, and nodded.
“But… what of the wolf? the wolf who kills the Grandmother?” Peter said.
“But you know who it was,” Clotilde told him.
“Hagano. Stedenfeld.”
“Yes.”
“But the wolf killed the grandmother.”
“The Wolf did not kill the grandmother,” Clotilde said. “The Wolf… how do you say… fucked the Grandmother. Leinghelde was the child of Hagano the Shapeshifter, but she became the shapeshifter because she was also his lover.”
“Like Pamela,” Marabeth murmured.
“Many times over,” Jim said.
Seth looked at Jim and Jim understood, the reason he was resistant to the damaged version of the Gift, the version that was a curse.
“Leinghelde bore her daughter and her son, her son who was the first of the Jaquils, our family, which split off from yours and remained in France, but whom Geneva would marry back into, But she sent Rosamunde to do the same. To be consumed by the Wolf and to consume him is to be consumed not only by the Gift but by its spirit. This was how she tied the Wolf Gift to our line forever. This is how it is restored. Through the ritual of giving yourself to Hagano, taking him and letting him take you. No one can do it but you. This is why your are the Queen.”
“You cannot have sex with a ghost,” Kris said so forcefully it was almost funny, and Seth suggested, quietly, “It may be a metaphor.”
But Marabeth only said, “How do I do it? Whatever it is?”
Clotilde said, looking to Jason, “It is good you have invited your friend. I do not know how much of Hagano is spirit, and how much is flesh and blood, but of old, when we called to him, when the connection was remade, he entered through our men. For a time. It may be that your redheaded detective is your door to Hagano.”
“But—” Peter began.
“My dear Mr Keller,” Clotilde said, “I saw the change in your face when I talked of the madness that feel upon our family. The madness happened because we all rejected the Gift. If you had read the record, you would know that the Gift has departed from many of us over the years and madness does not result. Madness only comes when you try to be the Children of the Wolf without becoming the Wolf. Trying to be a thing without actually being was always the door to sickness.”
Well I woke up Sunday morning
With no way to hold my head, that didn't hurt
And the beer I had for breakfast wasn't bad
So I had one more for dessert
The snow was falling softly out of the window, and Johnny Cash was singing.
That night, in her apartment, Jason McCord said, “Is it hot in here?”
“A little, but you get hot easily.”
Jason got up and cracked a window. The heat in Marabeth’s apartment was almost too good. He went into her room and opened a window too.
“f you can call him, then you’d better,” he said, coming back to the living room.
“You’ve called him,” Jason said, “and now let’s leave him alone. He’ll show up when he shows up.”
“Hagano?”
“I didn’t mean the pizza man.”
“Let’s go to bed,” Marabeth said. “Unless you think I’m too forward.”
Jason stood up and she stood up taking his hand.
“You’re as forward as you need to be. After all. You’re the Queen.”
TOMORROW NIGHT THE CONCLUSION OF OUR LONG STORY
CharmedFan28
JUB Addict
I am liking how this story is concluding! I am sad to see it end though. Clotilde's story of little hood and her grandmother was interesting and informative indeed! That was excellent writing as usual and I look forward to the conclusion tomorrow!
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
I am sad to see it go. I know what I want to do with it, and the final version is going to be longer, and I know that I am not done with these characters. But for now this is what we have. Clotilde was an eye opener, and in the future, I hope to have more of her. In the future there's going to be more Chris and Lewis as well. Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy the rest of your day.
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
AND NOW, THE CONCLUSION OF THE BLOOD, AND THE CONCLUSION SO FAR OF THE ADVENTURE WE BEGAN IN THE OLD
That night as they were making love, Marabeth closed her eyes to everything. The old radiators made the place boil, and it seemed that over the weeks, the apartment on Birmingham Street had become even hotter. The winter breeze from the open window felt good on them.
She wrapped her legs about him, and ran her hands up and down his sides, clung to his back, moved so she could feel him deep inside. She closed her eyes and pulled his face to her, inhaled the fragrance of his hair. Moved with him. Feeling the gentle creaking of the bed, hearing the low groans of satisfaction in Jason’s throat.
And then she opened her eyes and nearly cried as she saw the shadow standing above them, the moon light on the muscular arm hairs, the the light shining on the white blond of his hair as he looked down in satisfaction.
Still making love to her, Jason said, “What is it? What’s happening?”
“He’s here,” Marabeth said.
They stopped, and for a moment Jason felt like something foreign in her.
“He’s here?” His eyes were shadows.
Marabeth nodded.
“Well, then let him come.”
Jason kissed her. “Let him come.”
As he kissed her fiercely, she pulled him to her, and they gathered up a speed, clinging to each other. Her eyes opened and closed as she saw Hagano leaning down almost to encase Jason, to gather him up, and then she knew he was entered him and for a moment, they were two and then Jason’s eyes looked on her, and she knew that Hagano was in him.
“I won’t run from you,” Marabeth said, feeling his hands on her shoulders, feeling him shift deeper into her. She knew Hagnao and Jason were in her at the same time, and as Jason had given himself to spirit, so did she.
“You will be Changed forever, now,” his voice spoke from Jason’s mouth, and Jason seemed older, his eyes deeper.
“You will be Changed, but so will he. Now that I am in him, now that I will Change him, he Gift will be in him, as it is in you, as it was in Pamela.”
“But what are you—?” her voice rose as he fucked her deeply.
“Changed too,” she concluded.
“Changed,” the Hagano that was Jason, that had once been Stedefeld, agreed, as he made love to her, “into him, and into you.”
She gave herself to the wildness, to the fury and now she felt the teeth in her, and she, in her rage, pushed her teeth into him and growled, and Marabeth’s body lengthened and strengthened and then she threw back her head and howled and the the red wolf who was Jason, who was Hagano, leapt through the room, out of the window and into the snowy night.
The snow was falling thick on the streets of Lassador and the street lights could scarcely be seen through them. There was little traffic, and as the two wolves galloped through the city they were joined by a black wolf with grey eyes, and two grey wolves. And Marabeth did not have to ask, because wolves did not speak the same way as men, not even when they were men, not even when they had the full power of their minds. There was Kris, in the exhilaration of the ride, and the slender silver wolf, this was Jenean. And there was Myron, and here was Peter, and galloping to them, the color of the sun, Jim.
They ran from the streets and into the trees, cutting through the woods and coming out into the hills, and now they were riding toward two great wolves, wolves, high as trees, and those two noble wolves turned back and look at them, and on the back of the first was Loreal Moreland, and on the back of the other was Lewis with Seth, and Lewis called out, “Let us ride!”
And so, in the white snow, in the purple skied night, they did.
CODA
LOREAL
IN THE
HOUSE OF
KRUINH
I barely hear the song playing on the stereo in Kruinh’s living room, When I do I can’t imagine who the hell wrote this,
I met a liitle girl in
Knoxville, a town we all know well
And every Sunday evening, out in her home,
I'd dwell
We went to take an evening walk about
a mile from town
I picked a stick up off the ground and knocked
that fair girl down
And Kruinh says, “But you know it happened.”
“What?”
“All murder ballads are based on murders,” Kruinh says. “The truth is, there is no promise that everything will be better, but there is always a promise that you can sing about it.”
“Then will we all become songs?”
“No,” Kruinh says, smiling. “Not most of us, and the most fortunate of us will write the songs, and not be them.”
When I look at him, waiting for the old vampire to explain, he says, “Would you rather be the writer of the murder ballad or the girl who gets murdered?”
She fell down on her bended knees, for mercy she did cry
"Oh Willy dear, don't kill me here, I'm unprepared to die"
She never spoke another word, I only beat her more
Until the ground around me within her blood did flow
“I’m going back to school in a few days,” I say.
“But you’re coming back.”
Kruinh does not ask. He states it.
“You have attachments here,” he says. “You have things to find. You have people who love you.”
“I need to get my mind back.”
“I understand why,” Kruinh said.
Does he know? About Lawrence and about Dan, about how much I love one and hardly know the other. But there is a very real, or at least very common semester of college to finish before it’s all done, before I come back to take my place as the Maiden, to be loved by two blood drinkers, to come to know more the werewolves and to stand before the baby Laurie is bringing into this world. So much that was hidden and separated had been revealed, and so many stories are only half told. So I have to come back to this world.
I took her by her golden curls and I drug her round
and around throwing her into the river that flows
through Knoxville town
Go down, go down, you Knoxville girl with the dark
and rolling eyes
Go down, go down, you Knoxville girl, you can never
be my bride.
"And you will come back,” Kruinh says.
“It’s in your blood.”
AND YOU WILL COME BACK TOO. FOR NOW WE MUST PART FROM OUR FRIENDS FOR NOW, BUT NEVER FEAR, WE HAVEN'T SEEN THE LAST OF THE DUNHARROWS, THE STRAUSSES OR THE VAMPIRES
That night as they were making love, Marabeth closed her eyes to everything. The old radiators made the place boil, and it seemed that over the weeks, the apartment on Birmingham Street had become even hotter. The winter breeze from the open window felt good on them.
She wrapped her legs about him, and ran her hands up and down his sides, clung to his back, moved so she could feel him deep inside. She closed her eyes and pulled his face to her, inhaled the fragrance of his hair. Moved with him. Feeling the gentle creaking of the bed, hearing the low groans of satisfaction in Jason’s throat.
And then she opened her eyes and nearly cried as she saw the shadow standing above them, the moon light on the muscular arm hairs, the the light shining on the white blond of his hair as he looked down in satisfaction.
Still making love to her, Jason said, “What is it? What’s happening?”
“He’s here,” Marabeth said.
They stopped, and for a moment Jason felt like something foreign in her.
“He’s here?” His eyes were shadows.
Marabeth nodded.
“Well, then let him come.”
Jason kissed her. “Let him come.”
As he kissed her fiercely, she pulled him to her, and they gathered up a speed, clinging to each other. Her eyes opened and closed as she saw Hagano leaning down almost to encase Jason, to gather him up, and then she knew he was entered him and for a moment, they were two and then Jason’s eyes looked on her, and she knew that Hagano was in him.
“I won’t run from you,” Marabeth said, feeling his hands on her shoulders, feeling him shift deeper into her. She knew Hagnao and Jason were in her at the same time, and as Jason had given himself to spirit, so did she.
“You will be Changed forever, now,” his voice spoke from Jason’s mouth, and Jason seemed older, his eyes deeper.
“You will be Changed, but so will he. Now that I am in him, now that I will Change him, he Gift will be in him, as it is in you, as it was in Pamela.”
“But what are you—?” her voice rose as he fucked her deeply.
“Changed too,” she concluded.
“Changed,” the Hagano that was Jason, that had once been Stedefeld, agreed, as he made love to her, “into him, and into you.”
She gave herself to the wildness, to the fury and now she felt the teeth in her, and she, in her rage, pushed her teeth into him and growled, and Marabeth’s body lengthened and strengthened and then she threw back her head and howled and the the red wolf who was Jason, who was Hagano, leapt through the room, out of the window and into the snowy night.
The snow was falling thick on the streets of Lassador and the street lights could scarcely be seen through them. There was little traffic, and as the two wolves galloped through the city they were joined by a black wolf with grey eyes, and two grey wolves. And Marabeth did not have to ask, because wolves did not speak the same way as men, not even when they were men, not even when they had the full power of their minds. There was Kris, in the exhilaration of the ride, and the slender silver wolf, this was Jenean. And there was Myron, and here was Peter, and galloping to them, the color of the sun, Jim.
They ran from the streets and into the trees, cutting through the woods and coming out into the hills, and now they were riding toward two great wolves, wolves, high as trees, and those two noble wolves turned back and look at them, and on the back of the first was Loreal Moreland, and on the back of the other was Lewis with Seth, and Lewis called out, “Let us ride!”
And so, in the white snow, in the purple skied night, they did.
CODA
LOREAL
IN THE
HOUSE OF
KRUINH
I barely hear the song playing on the stereo in Kruinh’s living room, When I do I can’t imagine who the hell wrote this,
I met a liitle girl in
Knoxville, a town we all know well
And every Sunday evening, out in her home,
I'd dwell
We went to take an evening walk about
a mile from town
I picked a stick up off the ground and knocked
that fair girl down
And Kruinh says, “But you know it happened.”
“What?”
“All murder ballads are based on murders,” Kruinh says. “The truth is, there is no promise that everything will be better, but there is always a promise that you can sing about it.”
“Then will we all become songs?”
“No,” Kruinh says, smiling. “Not most of us, and the most fortunate of us will write the songs, and not be them.”
When I look at him, waiting for the old vampire to explain, he says, “Would you rather be the writer of the murder ballad or the girl who gets murdered?”
She fell down on her bended knees, for mercy she did cry
"Oh Willy dear, don't kill me here, I'm unprepared to die"
She never spoke another word, I only beat her more
Until the ground around me within her blood did flow
“I’m going back to school in a few days,” I say.
“But you’re coming back.”
Kruinh does not ask. He states it.
“You have attachments here,” he says. “You have things to find. You have people who love you.”
“I need to get my mind back.”
“I understand why,” Kruinh said.
Does he know? About Lawrence and about Dan, about how much I love one and hardly know the other. But there is a very real, or at least very common semester of college to finish before it’s all done, before I come back to take my place as the Maiden, to be loved by two blood drinkers, to come to know more the werewolves and to stand before the baby Laurie is bringing into this world. So much that was hidden and separated had been revealed, and so many stories are only half told. So I have to come back to this world.
I took her by her golden curls and I drug her round
and around throwing her into the river that flows
through Knoxville town
Go down, go down, you Knoxville girl with the dark
and rolling eyes
Go down, go down, you Knoxville girl, you can never
be my bride.
"And you will come back,” Kruinh says.
“It’s in your blood.”
AND YOU WILL COME BACK TOO. FOR NOW WE MUST PART FROM OUR FRIENDS FOR NOW, BUT NEVER FEAR, WE HAVEN'T SEEN THE LAST OF THE DUNHARROWS, THE STRAUSSES OR THE VAMPIRES
CharmedFan28
JUB Addict
That was an excellent conclusion! I am sad that this story is ending but glad we haven't seen the last of the characters. Thanks for posting this and I look forward to more Rossford and more other stories from you.
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
I'm sad they're gone too, especially since I have known that I am going to change the ending and it will probably be more involved and lead into future stories, but I don't have the time or availability to change it now, so this will have to do for now. But I seriously, seriously, seriously, am not done with these people. I'm so glad you took the ride with me. This is the most different thing I've done yet, and I didn't know if it would work.