Chapter 115

~~Jack~~

“Oh my god,” Jack said.

“Oh ... dear Lord,” Damien said.

“Now arriving, Mister Jack Terry, of the Invictus, and champion this evening. With him, Mister Damien Burksen, of the ... Lancea et Sanctum, and champion’s guard,” the ghoul in the tuxedo beside them called out. The crowd turned to them, clapped for a few moments, nodded their hands, and resumed socializing.

Somewhere along the line, Antoinette’s invite to the ball, which had included a ‘some skin but not too much’ message, had gotten mixed up. Or people read something from it that Jack didn’t really think was there, because he’d honestly thought everyone was going to dial down the sexiness factor for this ball. It was his mom’s first ball after all, and everyone knew that. And hell, there were some other new faces in the crowd too, freshly embraced Kindred from before the hunters had made their presence known. They’d yet to see a ball either, and he didn’t think they’d want their first experience to be ... this!

There was even more skin than last time.

Jack looked down at his handsome, gray suit, fancy and expensive as all hell, but far less sexual. Antoinette probably knew what he’d decide to wear would be woefully overdressing, and would delight in stripping him once she arrived. For the sake of saving time, he sighed, unbuttoned the jacket, and undid a few buttons of the shirt.

“Blending in?” Damien said.

“I guess. We stick out enough as is.”

“You’re right, I guess.” With a quiet groan, Damien also undid his jacket, and a few buttons. His suit was black, and decidedly sleeker, with thinner legs and sleeves meant to highlight his lean physique. A perfect suit for a Mekhet.

The two of the walked down the front stairs of the Black Hall, and onto the main floor where everyone was chatting. The grand stairs in the back led up to a balcony that circled the main floor from above, but no one was up there, not yet at least. There was a band up there though, or what looked like a small orchestra? A bunch of cellos and basses and whatnot, playing some relaxing classical music Jack didn’t recognize. The music would have fit proper ballroom dresses and tuxedos better, but something about everyone being Kindred added a certain atmosphere that demanded the ‘upper-class’ music. Quite the stereotype, that vampires loved pretending to be nobility. It was true.

Jessy wore what amounted to a bunch of horizontal leather straps, tied tight together around her body, with a lot of gaps between them. Each strap left a gap in the front, and a strap zigzagged through the ends where they stopped in the front, exposing enough of her body that nothing was left to the imagination. She had a fit figure, muscular without losing the hourglass physique, with surprisingly large breasts for someone so lean. She knew it too, and loved to show off; her breasts only had one strap across them, and it barely reached far enough across her bosom to cover the nipples. Their undersides were completely exposed.

Eric was on her arm, and the man was wearing black suit pants, and a black shirt that was slightly see-through. The first three buttons were undone, showing some of his chest, a silver necklace Jack was sure Jessy got for him, and he had a fancy silver watch on. Both of them looked like they should have been in a club, but he could see the clothes weren’t cheap; not that club clothes were cheap, but ballroom clothes were a step above, price-wise. Fine silks, embroidery on the hems, luxurious jewelry, they looked like they were wearing a million bucks, a particularly horny million bucks.

“Really?” Jack said, frowning at her.

“What?” She shrugged at him, turned a bit to aim her hip at him, and pointed at it. “I’m wearing a thong, see? Could have gone without.”

“I ... don’t think that dress is meant to be worn without underwear,” Damien said, eyebrow raised. It was true. Much as a lot of the dresses Jack expected to see tonight were probably worn without underwear, Jessy’s naked front would have meant her sex would have been completely exposed. Considering how small the thong was, it almost was.

“That’s what I did, last time I wore it. Though, I wore a pussy pastie with it then, so I guess—”

Eric elbowed her in the side. She elbowed him back. Jack choked on a laugh. God, those two.

Sighing, Jack looked around, and scoped for familiar faces. There was Maria again, wearing a proper, normal, ridiculously expensive, old fashioned white dress. No chance the disfigured Nos would show off her physique, not when she looked like a cracked, broken, wet corpse. Few Nosferatu came to the ball for that very reason. Michael, on the other hand, wore a white suit with shirt completely open, showing off huge muscles that almost bulged out of his chest and stomach. He may as well have had a tattoo saying ‘Kingpin’ written across his pectorals. He wasn’t wearing sunglasses, but it would have fit if he did.

The witches hadn’t arrived yet, but he knew it’d be a sight when they did, considering Jennifer and Othello were bound to show off. A bunch of the werewolves had already arrived though, and Jack smiled as he noticed they were wearing fancier clothes than he’d ever seen them in. Well, the Invictus were doing their best to seduce the Uratha into their employ. Money for expensive suits and dresses wasn’t exactly the best way to spend a fortune, but then again, this way the werewolves were getting more involved with the city and its vampires. Even Avery was there, wearing a tight one-piece white dress that reached halfway down her thigh, long sleeves with shoulders, and the classic boob window. Very mature, and it fit her mature visage well.

Jack did a double take when his eyes landed on Natasha. Holy shit. It was already hard to look at her without thinking sexual thoughts, with everything he’d learned and seen. But now, she was wearing a dress with a tiny black halter top connected to a tiny skirt. If she’d been wearing a small towel, it’d have covered more. Yep, those were the sides of her small breasts, and the entirety of her back, and her ridiculously small waist and stomach, and thin, lean legs.

She was talking with Caleb and Noah, while her boyfriends were talking with Avery. Probably trying to, again, explain themselves and their foolhardy trip into the Hisil with Eric that Tash told him about. Jack wasn’t in a position to judge, but Avery was, and Jack smiled as he watched the tiny woman glare and frown up at the two huge men. Neither of them were wearing suit jackets, but they had the pants, and their partly open shirts had some colors streaking across them in slick patterns, a cross between classy suit shirt, and something you’d find at a night club. Undoubtedly picked out by Antoinette, or Jessy.

“She looks so fuckable, doesn’t she?” Jessy said, following his gaze. “God damn, just imagine that tiny thing on your dick. Bet you can barely fit a finger in there.”

Eric grabbed his girlfriend by both shoulders and pulled her away from Jack. “Jessy, I swear.”

“Sorry! Sorry. I’m just so excited!” She bounced in place, one arm hooked behind Eric’s back. “It feels so fucking good to get back to this shit, you know? Even the fucking Carthians are here, and not being assholes for once.”

Right, the Carthians. Jack looked around and spotted a bunch of them. Joe, Mike, Tilly with her wolf boyfriend Mason, Marcus, Kathy, Jody, Debby, those he recognized, but there were many more he didn’t know by name. And of course, the man himself, Garry. They’d definitely dressed up for the occasion, though a trained eye could see the difference between an expensive, tailored suit, and an expensive, stolen one. Still, they looked good, and it was obvious they were making an attempt to play nice. Considering how much trouble they’d been causing the Invictus lately, border skirmishes, and Terra Den getting in Xnomina’s way, their playing nice here felt insincere. The Danse Macabre was a persistent pain in the ass.

“Where’s Fiona?” Eric said.

“She...” Damien scratched the back of his neck as he looked to the werewolf. “I don’t know if she’s coming. She wanted to, but after Mark was caught spying on the Prince, Azamel might not want her here.”

“Then again,” Jack said, “Fiona is Fiona. She might just sneak out.” The girl did have that ‘sneak out for the party’ sort of vibe to her. “Mom here yet?”

Jessy shook her head. “Nope. Natasha says she’s going to show up with Antoinette. And you know the host has to be fashionably late.” Her following eye roll made Jack laugh. Yeah, Jack didn’t really get things like that either, the social back and forth of impression, something outside the Danse Macabre that kine engaged in as well. If he got an invitation for a late night party, and it said it started at eight, he’d show up at eight. He knew he’d be the only one to do that, but being clear with the instructions on invitations was important, damn it.

“Jack.”

Jack winced, looking away from the source of sound so hopefully she wouldn’t see it. But when he turned around and looked Clara in the eyes, he knew she had. Meeting her gaze got a similar reaction from her, a borderline wince, but she forced herself to keep looking at him, only a single moment spared to admire his suit.

He spared more than a single moment admiring her and her dress, though. The Uratha and Carthians loved to wear clothes that were closer to casual, and hints of that still came through in their evening wear. Clara, on the other hand, was wearing something far closer to what an Invictus would wear: a fancy dress that screamed money, and sex. It took every ounce of effort he could muster to not let his jaw drop, but he knew it had anyway, if only a little.

The dress was black, like most of the dresses tonight. Strapless, the one-piece sat very, very, very low on her chest, no shoulders or sleeves, and wrapped super tight to her body. Any lower and the nipples of her handful breasts would have peeked out. The bottom of the dress was only just low enough to cover her sex, and it hugged her fit physique tight enough that he could see every curve and indentation of her muscular ass. Her box-braids were tied together in something like a ponytail, and she had it pulled over her shoulder.

It would have been a simple, tight, black dress wrapped around her like a towel, except for all the cuts along it that exposed so much more of her skin. Her dress had cuts arranged in V shapes along her front, very specific and precise cuts that had to have been made for her, a strange combination of erotic and sleek professional. Most of her breasts were left completely exposed saved for her nipples, and her flat stomach was on display as well, showing off her subtle abs.

And she was wearing jewelry. Large diamond earrings? Whatever they were, they weren’t subtle. And a necklace! He never, in a million years, figured someone like Clara would wear a necklace like this, large, glittering, and what looked like more diamonds. For the life of him, he couldn’t help but stare at it, and how the large thing sat between her breasts against her amazing tan skin. He’d seen those breasts bare before, and damn it, his mind forced him to picture them adorned with the jewelery.

He didn’t say anything. She didn’t say anything. They looked at each other for a while, and only when Damien, Jessy, and Eric left, did Jack realize they were just staring at each other. Jack spared a glance for Damien, only for the man to give him a small grin as he disappeared into the crowd. Traitor.

He tried to speak first. “Did ... did you, uh...”

Clara chuckled, but it was quiet, and awkward. “No, I didn’t buy the dress, or steal it. Marcus set me up.” Marcus, a Ventrue of the Carthians. ‘Set me up’ meant he’d used Dominate to insure she was well dressed. Carthians could make money if they had to, but their covenant wasn’t set up to take advantage of it. “I thought he was crazy, but he insisted people were going to be ... uh, under dressed, I guess?”

“You mean half naked.” He did his best to not stare at her breasts again as he said it. But, damn, just saying the word naked demanded he look down at her body for a second time.

Which was her plan, of course. He looked down, and she smiled. He forced his eyes back up to her, and she smiled again, this time with a grin smirk. Yeah, she knew she looked amazing, and she was enjoying making him squirm.

Why did women love making him squirm?

“Ha, yeah. And I guess I am pretty much half naked.”

“Seems to be the theme for the party,” he said, gesturing to his own shirt and the buttons he’d undone. His chest was exposed, and while he was a small guy, there was a fair amount of chiseled definition there.

“I wanted to talk to you,” she said.

“Did you? I got the impression you’d want to avoid me.”

“What? Why—”

Now wasn’t the time for this topic, but he was just stupid enough to bring it up anyway. “I saw the look on your face, Clara, after the incident. And I remember everything that happened during it, too.”

She looked down, then around, before motioning for him to walk with her. He did, stepping out of the center of the ballroom floor, and heading over toward the wall close to the grand stairs that led up to the second floor.

“The look on my face?” she said, once they had a few feet between them and everyone else, with the music band closer to block out their voices.

“The look I saw on everyone’s face, really. The curse scared everyone, and disgusted them, including you.”

“Yes ... yes it did.” Sighing, she leaned back against the white marble, a dragon carved into its surface, and she let her shoulders sag. “I guess I wanted to see if you were ok.”

And that’s why you dressed to kill? To ask me if I was alright?

“I’m f—”

“You’re not fine, Jack. You saw the look on my face, but I saw the look on yours.” She leaned in closer to him, half squinting, half dripping with sympathy. “It’s lurking around in there, isn’t it? Inside you.”

He froze for a moment. Shit, he shouldn’t have, but that was enough for her to nod and lean back a bit. He’d confirmed her suspicion without saying a word.

“I can manage it, Clara.”

“Can you? That thing was twisted and cruel, Jack.”

“It just wanted to kill the hunters.”

“Did it? It gave the impression it would have happily, and literally skull fucked one of them if given the chance.”

The grotesque image of him doing something like that to someone’s head made his throat clench up, and he shook his head as he looked to the crowd. “Yeah, it’s twisted. But it wants what I want ... wanted, to defeat the hunters.”

She turned as well, looking to the crowd mingling as she stepped in a little closer, until her shoulder touched his. “For now.”

“For now,” he said. “And when it doesn’t, I’ll shut it down.”

“Jack, this thing is strong enough to singlehandedly mow down a dozen hunters, and fight a monster that kicked my ass, twice. You’re barely over two-years embraced. Do you actually think you could shut this thing down if it really wanted to get out?”

Shut up. You’re just a tag along. I’m the real Jack, and you’re a shadow. If you could take me over permanently, you would have.

Getting in the way of what? There a secret you’re not sharing with me?

You said you wouldn’t ruin things.

I didn’t enjoy that, you sick fuck. I—

“I can see it right now,” Clara said. Jack snapped his head up to her, and she pulled back an inch, meeting his gaze. There it was again, that expression on her face, fear. “You’re fighting with it right now.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“You’re not fine, Jack. Christ, does Damien know about this, or the Prince? Do they know this thing’s inside you, fighting to get out?”

He clenched his fists at his side, and kept his glare on the crowd. People walking past were soon avoiding him, and anyone who did glance at him was quick to look away. God damn it.

“No, they don’t know.” They probably suspected, but until he straight up told them the curse was actively talking in his head, he doubted they’d come to that conclusion. Clara had managed to though, so maybe they would, too.

“You don’t think you’re being overconfident, Jack? Thinking that you can handle this problem on your own?”

He looked down as her words brought up a nagging feeling from his gut. Ventrue hubris, sneaking his way into his life again, and again, and again.

“I ... I’ll tell them. Damien’s already looking for a way to shut this curse down, like someone else in the Second Estate did for Susanna, centuries ago. And Antoinette, I’ll ... I’ll...”

Clara frowned at him, and gave his shoulder a nudge. “You really hate the idea of appearing weak in front of her, don’t you?”

“It’s not that. I appear weak in front of her all the time.”

“Do you? Because I get the impression you probably just lower your manly-man wall, be emotional with her, and think of that as being weak.”

He ground his teeth together. “That’s ... not what I meant.”

“Uh huh, sure it isn’t. What I meant, Jack, is are you willing to look her in the eye, and say ‘I can’t handle this and I need help’?”

“She knows about the curse, and—”

“Dodging the question.”

He frowned at her, but it didn’t last. He knew what she was getting at, that he had a hard time lowering his guard about some things. His life as a Kindred had been unusually brutal, and he’d shared that with Antoinette readily. Now, he had something he thought he could handle, and he wasn’t sharing it with his love. Antoinette was smart enough to guess he was holding something back, and she was trusting him to bring it up when he felt comfortable speaking about it. Clara, on the other hand, was content to approach him directly, and call him out.

Maybe he could use a little bit of that directness?

“I’ll hold on,” he said. “I’ll keep it under control, until Damien and I can figure out a way to deal with it. I’ll tell her about it, too, but I’ll deal with it.”

“Whatever you say.” She folded her arms across her chest, and nodded out toward the crowd. “Well, you did save the day. Now everyone gets to party and fuck, all thanks to you.”

He winced again, this time a lot more obviously. “No no, no fucking. I don’t see any naked kine being Kissed and fucked.”

“Yet. You don’t see kine being Kissed and fucked, yet. I remember the last party.”

“My mom’s coming to this party!”

“Well, she’s going to get an eyeful, I’m sure.”

He shuddered at the idea. Yeah, it was dumb that he’d embraced the sexuality of Kindred life, but couldn’t imagine his mom doing it. And not fair of him. He wanted his mom to move on, and he wasn’t helping.

“So ... how is your sister?”

Jack stepped over to the white marble wall by the stairs again, and leaned against it. Clara joined him a moment later.

“Better, now that I’ve told her about Angela. But she’s still a ghost. She’s so unstable, talking to her is dangerous.”

“Must be rough. I can’t imagine how I’d have handled it if I ever ran into my brother.”

“You were close?”

“Pretty damn close, yeah.” The life left her eyes as she looked down, but it came back to her as she recovered. Not only recovered, but scooped up a glass of wine from a passing waiter heading toward her pack, and downed it. She downed a second, gave the waiter the two empty glasses, and took a third.

“You’re going to get sick,” he said.

“I’ll be fine. Just ... you kinda stirred up some bad memories. My fault, I know, bringing up your sister. But unlike you, I can use some nice alcohol to—”

“Now arriving, the Circle of the Crone, and elder Jacob. With him, Beatrice Damor, Jennifer Denver, Aaron Jones, and Othello Manu, champion’s guards during the assault on the hunters.”

The crowd looked to watch the witches enter the ball. Or, two witches, three warlocks? He still wasn’t clear on that.

Jacob was wearing a gray suit, something with the modern flair Invictus fashion demanded, but at the same time, it had enough old school flair that it reminded Jack of something worn by maybe a Roman soldier? Or even older, like, Greek? The suit jacket had something like a toga flap to it, and a sash. It would have looked ridiculous, if not for how seamlessly it was blended together.

Did the elder have a tailor? The idea of the eyeless bastard with his own tailor made Jack laugh.

Othello and Aaron wore tuxedos, though Jennifer obviously had a hand in picking them, because they left a fair amount of the chest exposed, no tie or bow tie, with jacket unbuttoned and under shirt unbuttoned to the pants. Clothes you could only get away with if you had the body for it.

Jennifer and Beatrice wore similar dresses, both in black. They were long enough to go past the knee, but each skirt was barely anything more than strips of black fabric, circling and connecting like rope. The ropes connected in the back, and crisscrossed in the front along the sternum, with thin slices of fabric just enough to cup the inner edges of their breasts and hide their nipples, barely, before tying around the neck, with a black choker. The only difference between the two women were the patterns in the dresses, the way the rope-like construction left slits of flesh exposed. Beatrice went for gaps that looked a lot more visceral and fleshy, harsh, uneven diagonal slashes. The message was clear: sexy witch. Jennifer’s dress, which must have been made from the same starting point, had her straps all arranged in even patterns that crisscrossed along her whole body. The message was very clear: two sexy witches, different but similar. Considering they had similar hair and height, it was definitely an image. Anyone with a twins fantasy would be looking their way a lot tonight.

Zigzag, crisscross, Jack noticed that pattern in a lot of women’s dresses. He didn’t know shit about fashion, but it did seem to be a recurring theme. The kine were dressed more formally, with tuxedos and classy suits, or beautiful — if dark — gowns. They looked good, and tasty. The Kindred on the other hand, were dressed to kill. Apparently, only Damien and Jack hadn’t managed to put that together, but it was easy enough to undo a few buttons. Not so easy for a woman to put a dozen strategic gaps in her dress to show skin without actually going naked.

Then again, as Jack looked around, he noticed a few of the Kindred took his cue, and undid some buttons. Not their own buttons, they’d already been undone. They were undoing some of the buttons of the kine they’d brought with them, exposing the chests of their male kine they’d undoubtedly spent months grooming into fit, lean, strong sources of food.

Yeap. There was going to be a Kissing buffet tonight. Damn it.

“Oh. And arriving with the Circle, is ... Sándor Pavel, Begotten,” the announcer said.

That surprised Jack. It shouldn’t have, considering how obvious it was Jen was manipulating Sándor into being her friend. But for her to bring the man, literally on her arm, was a pretty huge a statement to the other covenants. She had dibs. Of course, in the Danse Macabre, dibs meant shit all, and everyone was undoubtedly going to try and manipulate the man into their good graces. She was smart to get there first.

As the witches walked down the white stairs and onto the main floor, people gave them plenty of space. Much as everyone was giving Jack room out of fear of his rumored curse, they knew Jack, knew Julias, and knew the Prince. He’d become an anomaly for them, someone they used to be able to predict and trust, but not anymore, not quite. The witches, on the other hand, were entirely the latter. No one trusted them, especially Jacob. Now they had a Begotten with them, a nightmare monster, and one everyone knew was a deadly beast who’d been a slave to the hunters. To say that people gave them their space as they stepped onto the ballroom floor was an understatement.

But, much as they were giving them their room, they were all looking, and more than a few people were looking with hungry eyes. Yeah, the witches cleaned up good. And Sándor, now that Jack got to see him in a proper, fitted suit, was definitely a handsome man. A bit tall, with a lean, muscular figure, and enough width to his shoulders to give him an imposing mass; highlighted by the suit, of course. Jennifer knew what she was doing. A lot of the women in the crowd, who’d backed up to give the newcomers room, set their eyes on him, taking in the sight and presence of the monster, and how good he looked.

People probably knew by now that Damien occasionally fed on Fiona, and that it was a powerful experience. Sándor was a taunting fruit dangling from a forbidden tree, for the Kindred eying him hungrily. And, kine or Kindred, women wanted what they couldn’t have, as if forbidden was tantalizing icing on a cake, and not a deadly decree.

Time to get to work. It kinda was his job to have everyone getting along. That job wasn’t meant to focus on the covenants, but with Sándor in their group, it was a good idea he get involved anyway. He walked up to them, and Clara followed.

“Sándor,” he said. “I’m glad you came.”

“Are you?” he said coldly. It would have been offensive if he’d been looking at Jack, but he was looking around, doing his best to absorb the sight of almost two hundred Kindred and nearly a hundred kine all looking at him. He was distracted, and uncomfortable.

“Yeah, I am. There’s a lot of people here who need to know Begotten aren’t terrifying nightmare monsters ... er, well, you know what I mean.” As Jack talked, Othello and Aaron walked off. Aaron found a Mekhet Jack knew, and began a conversation. Maybe about a book, given what Jack knew of the man. Othello, on the other hand, walked over to Isabella, of all people, and started talking. The beauty was wearing a corset and a gown, surprisingly making her one of the more clothed vampires in the Black Hall, though the corset had pushed her breasts together and up to the point they looked like balloons ready to pop.

Isabella was a lesbian, as far as Jack knew. Othello really wasn’t the smartest man. Except, maybe he was? He wasn’t alone. He’d brought a woman with him, not a vampire, a ghoul maybe, a black woman with very short curly hair. And she was wrapped in a black sheet, a fancy sheet that someone probably lied about and sold as a dress. One tug and the dress would come right off her, probably as planned. Whoever the ghoul was, Isabella and Hella both looked at her with the same eyes Jack saw on a lot of the women looking at Sándor.

“Jack, my dear,” Jennifer said, coming straight up to him. Her eyes slid away, fell on Clara, and looked her up and down a couple times. “Oh my, Clara. Dare I say, damn.”

Jack rolled his eyes, but he did look to Clara to see how she responded to the compliment. The werewolf grinned, a small and sly thing. Probably trying to figure out if Jennifer was manipulating her, or being sincere. Jack could see the sincerity in his fellow Ventrue’s eyes, but to Clara, it probably seemed a little too forward. But that was Jennifer being Jennifer, Ventrue being Ventrue.

“Thank you. I figured, after the last ball, I’d be better off dressing ... uh, less?”

Jennifer nodded, smile growing bright. “Exactly! I had to convince Sándor here, and the tailor, that the party would require some skin.”

The begotten frowned slightly. “The invitation—”

Jennifer cut him off with a small wave. “You’re new to Dolareido, and don’t know the subtext of things, or people’s proclivities. You’ll learn.”

“You’re looking great too,” Clara said. “Tits not hanging out this time.”

“Yes, well, I don’t plan to get frisky with the kine tonight.” And with that, she leaned in close to Triss, and nudged her cheek against her friend’s for a moment. Cheek against crocodile teeth.

Jack expected Triss to pull away in friendly annoyance. She didn’t. She didn’t exactly reciprocate with her own cheek rub, but that was just Triss being Triss. There was a twinkle in her eye, a touch of happiness Jack hadn’t expected to see. Angela’s death had fucked with Triss, Jack knew that much. Half of him had expected her to suffer another session of depression, like she’d suffered after Julias died, but based on what Jack was seeing, Jen hadn’t let her.

On the surface, Jen seemed like nothing more than a typical Ventrue manipulator, content to use her intelligence and beauty to control conversations and get her way. But, if that’d been all there was to her, Julias and Triss wouldn’t have let her get so close. Even knowing that, he still hadn’t expect her to be able to help Triss. Dumb of him to think like that.