Chapter 137

~~Author’s Note~~

Sex scenes will now be wrapped in ~♥♥♥~ and ~/♥♥♥~. This way readers can easily skim them if they’re not in the mood. Let me know what you think.

~~Beatrice~~

One month after the incident.

“She still hasn’t retrieved the book,” Jennifer said.

“Yeah, well, she might, might not. Doesn’t mean I’m gonna stop.”

Sighing, Jennifer nodded, and stepped up to her side. The two of them stood in the cave on the outskirts of Dolareido, where Elen dangled over Jacob’s ritual bowl, helpless. It was almost frustrating how the old woman didn’t seem to mind or care, frustrating and scary. Vampire immortality could be a pain in the ass, what with the Beast being a constant concern, the crazy torpor dreams, the ever growing blood lust, being made of tinder, and the worst, never being able to experience the sun again. Triss would happily accept all that, and even her shitty Nos deformities, if it meant she didn’t have to experience whatever Elen’s cursed immortality was.

If being a vampire was considered a curse, the fuck had happened to this witch? Christ, shit was fucking terrifying. Beatrice fiddled with dark magics and shit regularly now. How long before she stumbled onto a ritual that fucked her over like Elen? Maybe like, a vampire that was immune to fire and sunlight, but couldn’t feed anymore? She’d just get hungrier and hungrier, until all that remained was the Beast, raging inside her, demanding blood that it just couldn’t get. And Triss would be trapped in that hell, never able to quench her thirst, and never able to take control of her body from the Beast to at least kill herself.

Yeap, she had to be careful. Jacob told her a few horror stories already about some witches that attempted to make themselves stronger with some nasty dark deals. Crúac wasn’t like a vampire Disciplines, which called on the vampire’s vitae. Crúac was using vitae to reach out and touch something, something out there in the endlessness that surrounded them, and then that something responded to the intentions and desires of the witch that started the ritual. A third party. She had to respect that third party, whatever it was, because it didn’t always play nice.

Triss gave the old woman a small push on the leg, and she swung gently, not saying a word.

“If there’s anyone this could work for,” Jen said, “it’s Samantha. Her daughter...”

Nodding, Triss stepped deeper into the cave, and squatted in front of one of their failures. “Assuming it’s her daughter. Could be a shadow of her.”

“I suppose.”

“It’s not as if I know how ghosts work. But, even if it’s a shadow of her, if we put her in a working body, does it matter?”

A glance back showed Jen shaking her head.

“I can’t imagine it’d go very well. Have you not read Pet Sematary?”

Triss shivered, and covered the failure with a blanket. She had read Pet Sematary. Not a night went by she didn’t think about Julias coming back wrong, and cutting off her head or something.

“I’m not some grief-stricken dad, Jen. I’m a witch. You’re a witch. Jacob’s a witch. Hell, she’s a witch.” She gestured to the old woman dangling. “We’re not doing this blind.”

“No, but we are trusting this woman to do what we want.”

“Trusting? Black Blood’s been forcing her.” Sighing, Triss squatted down by another failure, the most recent one. A step in the right direction, but if the public saw it, they’d be outside with pitchforks, calling her Doctor Frankenstein.

“And you trust Black Blood?”

Triss laughed. No way she couldn’t with a question like that. “You know I don’t. But I trust Jacob.”

Jen raised a brow. “No you don’t.”

“No, I don’t, not completely, but I trust him enough. Hell, even if he’s fucking with me, he’s not gonna work against me, Jen. This could help him, too.”

“Minerva’s been dead for decades, Triss. He’s moved on. He’s got a girlfriend.”

Triss pulled the blanket over the latest failure, and rejoined her friend near Elen. Elen’s crazy magic prevented the corpses from rotting somehow, so they didn’t have to worry about flies or the smell. Even better, they got to reuse the parts, which was pretty much the nastiest thing Triss figured she’d ever do, ever, in her second life. But she did it.

“Yeah, I know. And that girlfriend of his really wants her daughter back.”

“So Jacob will help us, to help Samantha.” Jen sighed and nodded. “It would be nice. Every time I look at her, she seems happy, but you can see the horrible sadness underneath it.”

Silence hit them, and they let it sit for a bit. No need to say it. Triss and Sam had that sadness in common.

But fuck that depression shit. She was getting closer. Every night, she and Black Blood and the brain dead bitch got closer.

“You’re right,” Triss said, “but she’s been recovering, too. And hell, you saw her last night.”

Jen and Triss both sighed dreamily. Yeah, Jacob had fucked Samantha in the middle of the cave where everyone could see. Othello had been in the entrance of his alcove, fucking Madison’s ass like usual, and Samantha had apparently spent a couple seconds too long gawking. So Jacob grabbed her, stripped her, handcuffed her hands behind her, and fucked her standing. Which of course led to fucking her on her knees, when she couldn’t stand anymore. It was so good, even Aaron stopped reading to take a peek.

Jennifer laughed, and cradled her cheek with a palm. “Her crush on Othello only grows.”

“Don’t think I don’t know you had something to do with that.”

Jen daintily pressed one of her hands against her chest, and she gasped. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Ha! She told me you told her stories about the things you and Othello used to do, sharing ghouls and stuff.”

Her friend chuckled and shrugged. “I was merely explaining to her that, despite his obvious anal fetish, Othello is a talented lover who pleases his ghouls immensely, especially Madison.”

Triss snorted on a laugh. Far as she knew, Jen had never slept with Othello, but they’d done basically everything else with a ghoul or three between them, back in the day before Jen and Triss were a thing.

“If Jacob were any other dude, you know he’d be super jealous of Othello, with the way Samantha looks at him.”

“But not Jacob. The man is...”

Triss grinned and dragged a claw along some of her teeth. “So confident and secure in himself, it’s fucking hot.”

Yeap, Jacob was hot. Triss had never thought of him like that before, but after seeing him with Samantha, she couldn’t not think of him like that. The fledgling Daeva had completely changed Triss’s mind about the man’s appeal. The salt and pepper hair, the ripped, lean body, the sheer ridiculous confidence, it was too damn good.

She’d never fuck him. No way she could picture herself doing that, not after everything they’d been through, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t appreciate his hotness, and enjoy it by proxy with Samantha.

Jen laughed. “I was going to say talented and open-minded. Samantha is certainly satisfied, sexually speaking, and considering how relaxed and playful Jacob is—”

“Sexually speaking.”

Jen’s grin only grew. “Sexually speaking, I imagine Samantha will be seeing more of Othello, from much closer.”

Yeap, that was definitely a possibility. Othello had been in the circle for forever, and him and Jacob had an easygoing friendship. If Samantha had a problem with Othello, Jacob wouldn’t push her, but it was obvious the girl had a thing for the big guy. And for Madison. And for Triss and Jen, for that matter.

“Alright, pinky swear time,” Triss said, and she held out a hand to Jen.

“Over?”

“Over Samantha. If, for whatever reason, we find ourselves naked and with Samantha on us, or you know, vice versa, I pinky swear to ... to um ... Fuck, I don’t know. You set the limits.”

“Oh, I understand.” Jen stepped in closer, and put her hands on Triss’s hips. So much for pinky swearing. “She’ll never be what you are to me, Triss, but if you’re comfortable with it, I wouldn’t mind getting to touch the Daeva a bit.”

“Touching. Ok, sure, touching is acceptable. But no kissing.”

“Assuredly not! Jacob won’t let Othello kiss her, or us, and I would never. Kissing is...” She leaned in, and kissed Triss, nice and slow. Which was pretty strange, considering they were in a cave with corpses and an old witch for a prisoner, but they’d been at this for months now. “Kissing is intimate.”

“Very intimate,” Triss said, nodding, and returned the kiss. “Well, kissing on the mouth. Kissing other body parts should be fine, right?”

“Right, of course.”

They laughed. This was silly, and dumb, and kind of exciting. Samantha’s attitude was just so damn contagious. She really got into things, and rode whatever wavelength the room had going. Definitely not Jack, and yet, had a bit of Jack in her, something that got everyone relaxed, disarmed, and feeling more open and stuff.

No wonder Jacob was into her. Elders were ancient, and all Kindred pretty much universally agreed elders were kinda fucked in the head, too. Being super old could do that, but it was also cause elders took long torpors when their blood lust got out of control. Decades of sleeping, crazy torpor dreams, yeah, that shit did strange things to their minds. So if the crazy elders found some Kindred that managed to spark something in them, made them feel happy, those Kindred were special. Jack was special, and apparently so was his mom.

She was also gorgeous, and very fuckable. The lean but soft body, the handful breasts, the cougar hips and ass, the wavy brown hair to her ears and shoulders, the green eyes. No wonder Jacob couldn’t keep his hands off her. The squeals and mewls, the ‘oh please don’t oh pretty please’ doe eyes she gave, despite obviously boiling with horniness, it’d drive any Kindred to the brink.

Jen was obviously thinking the same thoughts, and they grinned at each other before kissing again.

And then reality came snapping back, and Triss stepped away as she looked around. Room full of corpses. Right, not the time to be thinking about sex.

“We—”

Feet on stone shut her up, and both vampires turned to the entrance of the cave as people approached. People? Jacob coming made sense, if he was gonna pay a visit, but Othello and Aaron didn’t visit; preferred to leave her to it and not interfere. Then who the fuck?

A pale man stuck his head in first.

“Aaron?” she said. “Um, the fuck?”

Aaron stepped into the cave, wearing a small frown. The Gangrel sighed, shaking his head, and gestured to the man walking in behind him. Triss figured it’d be Othello, but her Beast said otherwise. Othello was a hundred-year-old Daeva, and her Beast would instantly recognize the older vampire’s aura. This aura wasn’t his, but whoever the fuck it was, it was big.

“Sándor!” Jennifer said, and she let out a little purr as she dragged a single finger along her collar. “What a wonderful surprise.”

The man met Jen’s gaze, cold and neutral, and he stepped deeper into the cave.

“Sorry Triss,” Aaron said. “Sándor here ran into me, and insisted.”

“Insisted?” Triss asked. “You mean forced you to show him the location of this cave?”

Her friend sighed and nodded. “Yes.”

“That seems hardly necessary,” Jen said, getting a little closer to the Begotten. “You could have just asked.”

Sándor shook his head. “If I’d done that, you would have brought me elsewhere. Or covered up this.” He waved a hand to Elen, still dangling from the hook Jacob had hooked her onto all those months ago, and to the several corpses in the back of the cave covered by blankets.

Beatrice blinked at him, then at Jen, then back at him. “Aaron, you can go.”

“You sure? If you need—”

“We’ll be fine.”

Aaron glanced between her and Jen a few times, double checking, but after Sándor stepped aside, the Gangrel nodded, and left. Which left the two vampires alone with the crazy strong Begotten, in a room that might as well have been a set for a horror movie.

“Kinda getting some judgmental vibes, Sándor,” Triss said. “Gonna be honest with you up front, so maybe we can skip some bullshit. I don’t really care what you have to say about any of this.”

As usual, the man’s face showed nothing. The stoic thing could be really sexy sometimes, especially on a dude like Sándor who’d obviously earned it, but right now, it was very much not. Right now it made her want to punch him.

Sándor stepped forward, and walked around Elen, slow steps with hands on his jean pockets. “She’s catatonic?”

“She gets like that sometimes,” Triss said, shrugging. “I got ways of making her talk.” Or rather, Black Blood did, but not like she was gonna tell him that.

The man stopped by the corpses, and like he’d been practicing his poker face his whole life, his expression stayed neutral. He knew they were bodies, cause Triss didn’t bother trying to hide their shapes, just cover them up so they didn’t creep her out so much. No one liked seeing half-mangled faces crossed with the faces of other people.

“This woman ... has caused me a lot of pain.” He looked at the dangling flesh witch, and a crack of a frown broke his stone face.

“Yeah, and I get that you—”

He shook his head. “She was a tool. The wielder is dead. Still, looking at her, I...” Sighing, he grabbed one of his shoulders and rotated it a few times. Nervous twitch? “The curse she used on me was powerful, and intricate. I’m worried about someone else using her to do it again, or similar binding rituals on other paranormals.”

“Well, don’t worry, I’m not using her to cast any curses.”

“And Jacob?”

“Jacob’s dumped her on my lap. He’s...” Groaning, she stepped up to Sándor and gave him a gentle shove on the chest, enough to force him to take a step back from the prisoner. “He’s not involved. This is all on me.”

He raised a brow, and looked past her at Jen.

The Ventrue smiled and shrugged. “I’m moral support.”

Triss smiled at her. Yeah, moral support. Sounded dumb, until anyone thought about it for more than two seconds. Damn right she needed some fucking moral support.

Sándor didn’t laugh, or smirk, not even a chuckle; he understood. He nodded, and looked back at the old woman.

“I’m not sure how useful she’ll be to you without her tools.”

“Well, Prince has all the tools, so we’re making do.” For now.

He looked at the bodies, again without a frown or anything. “Any progress?”

She tilted her head as she eyed him. The ole stink eye, to see if he’d react. But Sándor’s poker face was perfect, and he looked between her and the corpses as he waited for her answer.

“A little. That’s why we’re reusing some bodies. We only kill kine who deserve it, but even with how big Dolareido is, it’s not like we can just burn through hundreds of assholes.”

“A struggle all Begotten understand. The more we hunt, the more nightmares we spread, the greater chance a ... hero, like Jeremiah, finds us.” He stared up at the dangling old woman for a while, before another frown managed to pierce his poker face. “I could help.”

Ok, talk about a one-eighty.

“Uh, you didn’t sound like you wanted to help a second ago.”

“You’re committed. I’ll tell you about Elen, what I’ve seen her do, and what she did to me. If you want.”

She eyed him some more, squinting one eye and scanning. Lying? Not lying? He had a great poker face, or maybe that was just his resting gargoyle face. Either way, unless Samantha pulled through and got her hands on that book, Triss was forced to crawl, when a little more info, a little help, could turn that into a walk or run.

“That sounds like a painful discussion,” Jennifer said. “Are you sure?”

“I am, and it will be painful. But, there is an ancient tradition men and women use to defeat painful memories,” he said. The two vampires looked at each other, eyebrow raised, before blinking at him. And, holy shit, the man managed a small smile. “Alcohol.”

Jennifer suggested Bloodlust. Beatrice suggested her old catacombs. Sándor went with the catacombs.

“South Hill Cemetery,” Triss said, and she sighed a classic, nostalgic sorta sigh as she gestured around. “For two fucking decades, I used this catacomb as my hangout spot. Nearby kine thought it was haunted.”

“Twenty years,” he said, vodka in one hand, candle in the other. “Long time.”

“If I’d known,” Jen said, “that she just needed someone to come along and be nice to her, I would have have.”

“Yeah well, I was a bitch, and didn’t want anyone’s help.” She took them down a level where it was dark, and she sat down in her usual corner. Fuck, been months since she’d sat in this corner, back when she learned Julias died. “Don’t ... don’t suppose there’s anyway I can get drunk?”

“If only.” Jennifer sighed, and sat down next to her, close enough to touch knees. With the two of them in jeans and t-shirts, it wasn’t a problem to sit in dirt and dust, and they got cozy with their backs against the shelves of coffins. A few skulls sat around, exposed and sitting pretty on the shelves next to the big corpse boxes, and Sándor blinked at them several times.

“Why are there exposed bones?”

“The elders of Dolareido,” Jennifer said, “have classic tastes, if perhaps a little colored by fantasy. This”—she gestured around them—”is what happens when vampires many centuries old remember the past with fondness.”

“I like it,” Triss said. “They think it’s like, Gothic or whatever, but to me it’s metal as fuck.”

Sándor nodded, and sat down across from them. Much as catacombs looked huge in movies, they were actually pretty damn small usually. Dug caves that didn’t go very deep didn’t have the luxury of being huge. So him sitting across from them nearly put him in touching distance, and he crossed his legs at the ankle, same as Triss, as he set the bottle down on the cold stone in front of him.

“I have seen catacombs like this, centuries ago.” Nodding, he popped open the bottle, and took a sip. Not like he could share or anything, so no glasses. To his credit, the man gulped down a mouthful, and didn’t so much as twitch. It’d been a long fucking time since Triss had had a drink, but fuck, you didn’t go around swigging vodka like it was beer.

“You remember those years?” Jennifer asked. “Vampires have to sleep, after the blood lust gets too strong. Years, usually a decade or two or three, until the blood lust settles. And in torpor, the dreams—”

Sándor lifted a hand, gently interrupting as he nodded. “I once served as a vampire’s guard while she slept. Thirty years. I know how much torpor can change you, and ... blur the memories.”

“Thirty years of guarding someone?” Triss said. “Holy fuck. How much did they pay you?”

After a small smile she almost didn’t catch, the man took another swig. If it burned, he didn’t show it. “I owed them my life. Thirty years of living, sleeping, and working in their home, above where they slept, seemed like a good trade. And I’m good at sitting around.”

“But ... if you know what torpor can do to vampires, I’m guessing this story doesn’t end well?”

He shook his head, and took another drink. If he was human, she’d tell him to slow down before he puked all over her old catacombs. Or hurt himself.

“She woke up ... paranoid. Very. I had to leave. This was centuries ago.”

“And you remember the details?”

“Better than a vampire would. But, not really, no. Blurs, buried, lost.” He frowned at the bottle in his hands, and set it on the stone. “It’s better to forget a lot of things.”

The two women nodded. No getting around it, some memories were better lost. She never wanted to forget Julias, not ever, but she wasn’t stupid enough to think she was in the right headspace right now. Maybe in a hundred years, the best thing for her would be to forget him?

Or revive him, have him back, and spend century after century with the man she loved.

“Elen,” Sándor continued, “cut off the skin of my back, my human back, and carved a curse into it. She placed it on a stone in my lair, and gained control of me and my Horror.”

Triss winced and sucked in a breath. “I saw that, yeah. She use her book to do that?”

“A book, with a lot of rituals in it. And a knife. I don’t know where she got the book, but the knife was something she created.”

The two vampires exchanged looks again. They didn’t want to ask, but they had to.

So Triss took the plunge. “How did she make it?”

“Sacrificed a child.”

Triss threw up her hands. “My fucking god! Every step, every mother fucking step, is just one giant road of nasty shit, isn’t it? Why the fuck is this so hard? Why the fuck is everything about this always just ‘oh look you want to resurrect someone? Better be willing to literally kill babies to do it’ sorta shit!?”

Sándor watched her, a hint of a smile on his face, before he held up the bottle as if clinking her own, and took another drink.

“The Prince took the knife, didn’t she?” he said.

“She ... did, yeah, with the book.”

“Then, if you can get the book, perhaps you can also get the knife?” He took another drink, a sip this time, and met her eyes. “Or you could kill an innocent.”

Triss glared at him. “Julias loved the kine. Fucking loved them. First date I ever went with him on, it was obvious just how much he envied them, cause they lived in the moment, and vampires like him couldn’t help but plan plan plan. Danse Macabre shit, you know? When he got the mansion, he got thralls using Dominate so he wouldn’t have to use the Vinculum except for just a few special circumstances. He was one of the few vampires in the damn city that thought kine were more than blood bags. Last thing I’m going to do, is sacrifice a fucking child, so I can see him again. Do I look like someone willing to walk right into some shitty Greek tragedy to you?”

Sándor didn’t look away, the whole rant. And when she was done, he laughed; dude was definitely getting drunk for him to actually laugh.

“He sounds like he was a great man,” he said, and he drank again. “Not a night goes by I don’t hate myself for what I did, helping kill him.”

Ah shit, the vodka was making him say the stuff he probably shouldn’t. She dumped a fucking rant on him, about how awesome Julias was. Fucker was the reason Julias was dead! Except, not really, and they both knew it, but fuck, he probably felt guilty as all fucking hell, all the fucking time, and fucking fuck she fucking just fucking went the fuck on...

She crawled over to him, sat beside him, and Blushed Life. Before he could say anything, she grabbed the bottle, and took a swig.

“Holy fuck this burns. Oh my fucking god, I forgot what alcohol tastes like. Why the fuck would anyone drink this?” Whatever. She took another drink.

He blinked at her, and the bottle in her hands. “You’re going to puke that up later.”

“Yeah, well, I hear Daeva do this sometimes. Blush, eat and drink human food, and puke it up later. Thought maybe I might be able to get a little drunk off it while faking life.”

Jennifer smiled at her, but didn’t join her. “Count me out. I’ll be the designated driver ... And, I do believe the Blush won’t allow you to absorb the food, Triss. You won’t get drunk.”

“Shit.” What a fucking waste. She handed the bottle back. “Well, if you get really drunk, can I have a drink of you, Sándor? I saw what Fiona’s blood did to Damien. Dude looked really...”

“Horny,” Jennifer said, nodding.

“Well, yeah, that, but kinda tipsy, I guess? It was weird.”

Sándor chuckled again. It was a nice sound, coming from the usually closed off guy.

“I’ve never had a vampire feed on me, I don’t believe. Maybe hundreds of years ago, but I’ve been avoiding people, in general, for some time since crossing the ocean. Before then, vampires and monsters had a ... difficult relationship. Superstition and whatnot.”

“You were nightmare monsters,” Jennifer said. “I can imagine there were issues.”

“Yes. But here in Dolareido, there’s a strange peace. And it’s ... good. I was scared of it at first, but Azamel’s shown me what Dolareido can be like. Fiona as well. She’s in deep for that Damien fellow.” He raised his bottle high before taking another drink. “I owe him, too. And you.” He nodded to Triss.

“Ah, that what this is about?” she said, gesturing to the bottle. “Paying us back? Cause I don’t think anyone really feels that way. We wanted Jeremiah and Angela dead. Freeing you ended up being easier than killing you.”

“Regardless.” He took another drink. “Azamel’s helped me calm down, and ... yes, if you wanted a drink of me, I wouldn’t say no.”

Jennifer rubbed her hands together, and slid over a bit so she sat on Sándor’s other side, opposite of Triss. In the past, Sándor would have ignored her, or moved, but now he gave the girl a small smile, and took a sip of his drink. It was hard to tell how depressed he was. Sad, yes, but how sad, how drunk, how stoic, Triss couldn’t figure out. It was all blending together in his calm, solid face, the sort of face a ship captain might use if he was staring out to sea in self reflection, or some shit.

“Might take you up on that,” Triss said.

He nodded. “Fiona says it does intoxicate Damien, in a fashion, but also gives him some ... hunger.”

“Hunger?” Jennifer asked.

“The vampire says it’s hard to define, according to Fiona. But he ... loses control, and ravages the girl. Thoroughly.”

Triss and Jen shared a few confused blinks. Hunger equals ravaging?

Jen was the first to laugh. “That explains why Damien fucked her in public.”

“K, well, maybe not, then,” Triss said. Of course Jen gave her an evil glare, so Triss just shrugged at her, a ‘maybe’ shrug. Now was not the time to try and get into Sándor’s pants.

He nodded, took another drink, and leaned back against the coffin behind him as he looked up at nothing.

“Elen can take objects,” he said, “and imbue them with ... power. I don’t know this power. It’s not something us creatures of the dream understand. Vampires might understand it better. There’s power, in flesh, and life, something visceral, and it’s only found in the physical world.”

Triss shrugged. “I’ve noticed, but I don’t have any fucking clue if vampires can do that shit. We drink blood, and when it’s fresh, it’s ... definitely more powerful. There’s something in it that has power, and we convert it into shit vamps can use.”

They all nodded, like it was a shared school lesson they were trying to learn. It was a part of their life, but it’s not like any of them truly understood it. Vampires, drinking blood, fancy magical powers? Sure, an everynight thing, but none of them knew how or why it worked, not even Jacob.

“The world’s a crazy place,” Triss said eventually.

Everyone nodded again. Yeap, they’d been thinking the same thing.

“Sándor,” Jennifer said, “do you ... want to talk, about what happened to you?”

Before the poor guy could say anything, Triss waved a harsh hand at her friend.

“Leave the dude alone. We’re talking about the now, and the shit we’re trying to do. No need to bring up that ... that shit.” Or Julias, for that matter.

Sándor managed another small smile for her, but set the bottle down and shrugged. “I don’t normally drink. Even before Margaret, I didn’t drink. It’s not a good idea for Begotten with hungers like mine.”

So Margaret was his wife’s name. Very old school.

Jen gestured to the bottle. “But you’re drinking now?”

“Azamel’s helped me find ways to sate my hunger, so it’s under control. Mostly. And...” He shrugged, grip still on the bottle’s neck, and he tipped it side to side, gently sloshing the contents around. “You know what I’ve gone through, in a sense. But at the same time, you’re willing to do something I’m not. I wanted to know why.”

“Ha! Why? Cause I’m a fucking idiot, that’s why.” She took the bottle from him and gulped down some more. Burned the whole way down, and she coughed a few dozen times. “Cause I can’t let anything go. Cause I can’t let him go.”

She handed him the bottle, and he took another drink. Poor guy was going to wake up wishing he was dead, at this rate.

“You must have loved him, dearly.”

“Fucking right I did. He really helped me out of a dark spot, and I did the same for him. We had a great relationship. We loved each other! I...” She groaned and flopped onto her side on the dirty stone floor. Not in a ‘oh god I’m gonna cry’ kinda way. More like a ‘ugh fuck Mondays’ sorta way. “The fuck is the point in being a witch, if I can’t use it to bring back the man I loved, you know?”

Silence again, until Sándor sighed, and tapped her hip with the bottle.

“Aaron told me you were becoming quite happy in the Circle? Jennifer seems to think so, according to him.”

“I ... I am,” Triss said. “I really am, no joke.”

Jennifer laughed, reached across Sándor’s lap, and poked Triss in the ass. So of course Triss had to sit back up and slap her hand away.

“I like to think she is,” the damn slut said.