I’m your guard. – River’s POV

In this world, there’s nothing useful they can do with me, except make me their scapegoat.

But maybe that’s why you came along.

I fixed you the best I could, and you tried to help me along, too. Through all of our adventures, you taught me something delicate that I would have never understood from another person. You can help a soul onto their feet, but it’s them who have to start walking forward.

I wish that I could have said to you that I loved you more. But I know you never felt that way to me, so where was the point in that? We never stood a chance.

This may come off as odd, but I want to tell you something. It sounds weird, talking to a gravestone, but I can’t say it to your spirit. I know I can’t.

This world? It’s fucking sick, I hate it, and I hate acting like I really care. I don’t give a fuck about the world.

I care about the people; I care about you, Marley.

You made this world so much easier, made my life better, even if you laughed me down each time I ever tried to win you over. I know now I didn’t have a chance in your eyes. Out of everything we’ve done, Amora’s the best thing to come from it. She makes my life brighter, but it still hurts, seeing her growing to look just like you, just… with my eyes. And that kills me just as deeply as it makes me smile, Mars.

If I hadn’t met you, I would have never known what both heartbreak and loneliness can do to a man. For that pain, I”m actually grateful, because I can use that to help others going through what I have. The ache in my chest, even as I talk like this, to you… it reminds me that I still love you.

That it won’t go away because I can’t see you anymore. I’ll always love you, no matter what. Like I told you often when we were so much younger, so stupid and willing to get into trouble at any turn of the tide or twist of the dice…

Marley. I’m your loyal guard, and nothing will ever stop me from getting to you.

Not even death.

Wait for me, because I can’t leave until I know Amora’s safe. Our daughter needs one of us, and I’ll try my hardest to keep going until I know I don’t have to be here anymore.

Please, understand that you’re the one that can see through me without a second glance, and maybe it’s best you’re gone. A leader can’t be seen through, not like how you can see to my core. Nobody wants to live forever, Mars, I’m gonna tell you that much.

Be my guiding light when I can’t see through the darkness, Marley Rodriguez. Please.

You left me too soon.

Too godsdammed soon.

Tragically Sewn – Personal Rant

When the world attempts to destroy you, when you have nothing left, what options are really there? Who would you turn to, when you’re losing your mind and need that simple little kiss to your cheek, to hear somebody telling you that you’re safe, you’re okay, that you aren’t worthless? Sometimes, we don’t get that luxury. How can you pick yourself up, when the ground under you is shaking, and your balance is shit in the first place?

“You have to learn.”

Or, that’s what I’ve been told. The earthquakes will pass, the tears will stop, and eventually, you’ll see that there’s no demons under the bed. No, those things you fear aren’t hiding; they’re right beside you, waiting until they see the crack in the glass.

“Breathe; it’s just a memory.”

Not so easy.

“It’s in the past.”

Is that why I still wake up soaked in sweat and crying?

“Nobody’s gonna hurt you with me here.”

Then why the fuck did it ever happen in the first place?

Sometimes, the people you care for the most don’t understand. My case is with my old friend, but he doesn’t seem to grasp my state of mind when I’m having a down night. I trust him more than any other male, but that doesn’t mean I trust his words.

“It isn’t your fault.”

Fucking prove it.

“Why’re ya cryin’?”

Because you’re not here. Because I can’t feel you beside me like I once did. Cuz you aren’t seeing the much larger fractures, and because you’re a fucking idiot and I love you so much. You’re the reason I’m still here.

“Stand back up.”

I’m tryin’.

“You need to do this.”

I know.

“You know I”m here for you.”

I just wish you could grasp the reality of how much it hurts to never shut up your mind, to the point of needing sleeping medication and pain pills to finally knock out for a single night, only to still suffer from the night terrors that leave me breathless and triggered. Why can’t you see the ache in my eyes, see the way the burn rises through my veins, and how quickly I become numb to my environment?

“It will be better.”

I trust you. Even if I can’t hug you, I trust you. After all I’ve been through, I can honestly say that I trust you more than anybody else with the racing thoughts that you can sense. If only you could really understand the pain, too, my guardian.

If only the sadness would end.

Here I Go Again – Sabe X Alex

Sabriel Nox Jourdain; constant and casual flirt, half necromancer with the smile of a demon, and talented to no end when it came to his art. All true factors about the limey Brit, but there was one thing that Alexander Blaine Cussack didn’t know. Why was the smart-ass alcoholic challenging him to best him playing cards? And not even poker. It was fucking Uno. Someone like Sabriel, someone who was incredibly smart even when he was more than half tipsy, wanted to fucking play Uno with his flatmate and lover. It sounded like a total joke.

Well, til Sabriel tossed in the idea of whoever lost had to give the other a striptease.

And that was how Alex had wound up with a very arousing scene in front of him. Good gods, Sabriel wasn’t kidding when he said he once had been a stripper to earn a little more cash. Tattooing didn’t pay that much in early years, the brunette claimed. Trying to keep his mind straight as Sabe moved to the music blaring off of his phone and through those lovely speakers, all Alex could hear was the pounding of his own heart and the guitar riffs of the Eighties’ music that his lover adored to no end, and shit… Sabe knew how to work his hips to the beat.

It didn’t help that he too was more than a bit drunk. Groaning lowly as Sabriel’s belt was tossed onto the table and spilled the deck of cards, the taller raven moved to stand and press Sabriel against the cabinets. Shivering at the force, Sabriel laughed deeply and knocked back another shot before letting his spitfire lover pin his arms upward, licking his whiskey-covered lips. “What, you act like I did something to turn you on, Lexi…?” the tattooist all but purred, winking as he felt his fellow flatemate’s mouth moving to bite and suck on his ear lobe.

“Sabe…” Alex murmured, a low moan leaving him as his lover’s knee lightly brushed over his too-obvious arousal through those jeans. “Fuck… You really were a dancer, weren’t you?” The question made Sabriel laugh a little, offering his throat more.

“Aye… I loved those days. No idea who would offer to take me home for the right money… and tips were excellent. But tattooing is more interesting. Sex with drunken women gets very tedious, after all.” He paused, seeing Alex’s eyes narrow some before Sabe kissed at those lips lightly, “Very few men ever wanted a piece of me.”

“Then you have a willing participant right here, Sabbie,” Alex relaxed some, and returned the words with the ease of living with the brunette so long, the banter so easy on their tongues, “but the question is how much you can take of me.”

“Oh, Lexi, baby…I can take you.” Licking his lips, Sabriel moved to nip at Alex’s overly-sensitive neck, “Anytime, anywhere.”

“You’re fucking on.” The rumble of the music near them playing Motley Crue was so invigorating, and Sabriel didn’t even complain as his lover kissed him deeply, a shiver racing down his spine and his hands trying to grasp at anything. Being held high above his head, though, he was torn between aroused and annoyed. Control was one thing he loved in sex, but giving it up to Alex? That…was more difficult.

As he let his lover’s mouth claim his in a rough and needy kiss, Sabriel pressed into the taller man’s sweet warmth. Sabriel had to admit, being held like this, it was rather kinky. And he was more than happy once his lover dropped his wrists to explore his inked chest, and Sabe was left arching up into his lover’s mouth when Alex’s lips brushed over his stomach. Cursing quietly as Alex’s mouth made its’ way toward his too-tight pants, the halfling was left breathless.

Groaning soft words, the tattooist did the only thing he could do with himself; his hand went into those unruly black lochs of hair, and he let the man tease his arousal through his pants until the guy undid the front and pulled down the skinny jeans just enough. Moaning as Alex took him, the halfling arched up some without meaning to; his partner wasn’t pleased about being nearly choked, and it earned the brunette a glare.

They were definitely not the normal couple, but Alex and Sabriel worked in way they didn’t bother trying to question. Not many could handle Sabriel’s attitude, and if anyone knew the pain of being used and abused… it was these two.

There was a moment when Alex pulled back, and it made the tattooist tremble with need. “What’s-?” he started to ask, only to find Alex’s mouth on his in a heated motion. Moans swallowed in the deep kiss of tongues and saliva, the necromancer slowly led them from the counter to Sabe’s bedroom.

Once inside, the necromancer and the halfing shed their clothing, and in a matter of moments, Alex was pinning Sabe to the sheets and he had a grasp of his lover’s hair as they kissed deeply. Sabriel was the dominant one in the bedroom, that was always the clear point, but Sabe was not above letting Alex ride him, either. Groaning into the kiss, Sabriel trembled as the taller man grasped firmly at the lochs on the back of his head. Oh, shit.

When the taller man moved to pierce himself upon Sabriel’s arousal soaked in thick lube and liquid excitement, those fingers tightened, and pulling by accident, the half-witch yelped and bucked. Alex winced at the sudden pain, but his deep blue gaze went to his suddenly breathless lover. Ohhhh.

“Don’t you even dare,” Sabriel groaned lowly as his brown gaze met with blue, and when Alex merely smirked, Sabe knew that he’d be in a world of pleasurable pain before the night was done. The next tug of his thick lochs made Sabe arch again, but with a growl, he flipped them entirely, pressing his taller lover into the mattress and kissing him brutally.

The two were lost in the moment as the sound of their hips slapping echoed out together slowly, gaining traction as time passed, Alex giving Sabe’s lochs a good tug on occasion, and Sabriel would buck deeply with a strangled cry of pleasure. This was definitely a new bit of information he wouldn’t have pegged onto the half-witch, but Alex was so using this as a form of payback.

Nails slid down Sabe’s back, rough and unkind as Alex felt his lover shudder in desire. It felt so good to be taken like this, no inhibitions… just pure damn fucking that they needed to calm down, lest they ended up fighting like cats and dogs if one didn’t reach their completion. It was about now when Sabriel stopped thrusting and sat up, out of Alex’s reach for his hair, and eyed his closet. Always shut tight, the full-length mirror reflected them in their high stupor of sweat and desire. Flicking a finger, the halfling called forth a small bag, and it had Alex’s attention instantly.

“Are you fucking serious?” Alex barked; he was way too close to have Sabbie just…stop. But what irritated Alex was the white cat-face on the bag. And it was pink. Sabriel drew out a few similar silk sashes, and reaching forward, he ensnared Alex’s wrists.

“Just shut up a minute, yeah?” Sabriel retorted much too easily for the moment, “I won’t bloody ‘urt ya…” And when he had Alex’s hands tied together to his middle bed post, Sabe smirked and took out a simple black blindfold.

“What…?” Alex had started, but he went quiet as Sabe tied the fabric on. This was suddenly in very dangerous territory for his partner, but that was the point, Sabriel murmured into his ear. Alex instantly tensed, and the grasp of tight muscles on Sabe’s arousal was near painful. Kissing at the taller raven’s chest, Sabe moved slowly, letting himself get lost in the sensation, all the while he watched each tiny, minute tremble from the necromancer on display.

“It’s just me, alright…?” the brunette murmured, and slowly, he thrusted just a bit deeper, and when Alex suddenly gasped, he knew he’d hit his lover’s sweet spot. “I love you, ya wanker…” Kissing at Alex’s ear, Sabe shivered as he felt his lover easing. After everything, he trusted Alex with himself entirely. Moving from Alex’s walls, the older rebel slid a good bit of lubrication from a small bottle over his fingers, warming it up before he started stroking at Alex’s arousal. This made the younger man moan, and Sabriel gently moved himself over his lover.

“Sabe…? What are you do-?” Alex was cut off as he was suddenly kissed, and with a groan, Sabriel lowered himself slowly onto Alex’s arousal. It hurt, burned, and fuck…the stretch was something he was no longer adjusted to. But through the pain that came with it, Sabriel’s kiss grew from heated and needy to slow and delicate. He didn’t want the distraction to take away the sensations, and as he pressed down entirely, the tattooist whimpered softly in the kiss. “Sabriel…?” Alex asked softly, kissing at those lips softly, “Why…?” He was confused, but when he felt Sabe reach up and untie his wrists, the necromancer tore off the blindfold instantly. Taking in the sight of his lover, flustered and slowly rotating his hips over Alex’s cock to strike his sweet spot intentionally, Alex was at a lack of words.

Moving his hips with slow but desperate motions, Sabriel ground his hips at Alex’s own, his hands moving to grasp at the headboard of his bed, and by jove, he was happy that Alex sat up and pulled him closer. It was different to feel Alex within him, and as they moved and his knuckles grew white from holding onto the wood of his headboard, Sabriel was left as nothing but a writhing mess of need.

It was when Alex reached up and tugged him down into a searing hot kiss that the man finally lost his senses, because that little bastard not only clawed at his back, but his other hand tugged his hair hard. Sabriel came with a scream that was swallowed by his lover in the kiss, and moaning lowly as Sabe’s body clamped down onto his cock, Alex broke the kiss to yell out in pleasure. Arching up and trembling from the force, Alex moaned softly as he felt Sabriel roll off of him to curl into his side. Alex wanted to ask what that was all about, but Sabe murmured something into his ear that made the necromancer laugh tiredly.

“We need to play cards more often.”

Cleansing Fire – River POV (AU Storyline)

Life isn’t measurable in our own time. The belief that we leave this rock to come home again is the comfort we need when faced with death. In the race to survive, to stop the people above us from ruling with an iron fist… I made sure that those who’d been imprisoned for no reason except living and having an honest opinion were safe and out of harm’s way the best I could. But it had cost me more than I wanted. I was aware of what I was getting into years ago, but frankly…I preferred this route. I was the cause of the rebel uprising, and I needed to go. If I didn’t, they’d all lose grasp upon what holds this beautiful city together; built with love and hope, this place was now a cage and a dangerous place where you couldn’t even sleep comfortably, knowing someone could be watching. Couldn’t kiss your lover without someone getting it down. I should have hid my two-sided cutlass better, but the blade was the only thing that saved my ass so many times…

Gods, it’s hot; heat always made me sick. But today, it feels so fake… like it was manufactured for this. To make this view over them all more sickening to them. The wood below my feet is burning hot, the air so dry it hurts to breathe. I can’t close my eyes. Not now. Where are they? Those disgusting pieces of filth who ruled over our once beloved city. My eyes finally caught them, and gods…I still couldn’t keep eye contact with my sibling. She always knew I was going to be trouble, but I bet she’d never guess she would be executing her baby brother in front of everyone like a sacrificial lamb for the lions. 

“…To be hung for treason against our lords and protectors…” I could hear them droning, and honestly, I was tuning it out. I had to find her. She was out there, in the sea of people, some I knew and others I didn’t. But the whole way, I kept my head raised and dared not let their words affect me in my last moments. Ugh… Put a sock in it and just kill me. 

I can’t take this. I can’t die scared. Look, big sis; look at what you stand for. I really hope to see you in hell, because heaven sure as fuck wouldn’t take me after everything I’ve done and the people I’ve hurt, and being your brother is punishment enough for ten different hells.

“Alastar River Haggard, do you have any last words?” The executioner was so close, I felt sick thinking about it, but looking over the crowd with steady but furious eyes, I watched Ren for a brief moment before I spoke. I had chosen these words years ago, but now…it felt too final. It would have no meaning to most people, but I was not born to be accepted. I was born to run, born to defend and protect. And by the Gods, I would, even with my last breath.

“… Hail the overlords, may you all greet me in eternity; long live the phoenix, born from the river of fire.”

Be angry, dear sister, kill me faster; fuel her. Ren, my dear love… make me proud. I didn’t choose you to let you fall to the ground in a clutter of flames. You will rise, and I wanted to see my once-promised wife give me a reason to fight. Guess you’ll have to do that alone now. Kick their asses for me, and do me a last favour?

Spit on their graves.

Fae “King” Tobias

There’s a world you wouldn’t believe existed. I know I wouldn’t, if it weren’t for the fact I was born there. But by no means, do I want you to visit, sightsee, or even seek out where I came from. I’m not like most people. They don’t see me for what I am, thankfully, but then again, it can get annoying when I don’t realise they can’t see it. Let me paint you a picture.

I am a politician, a man of my word; I cannot lie. I enjoy nature and the sunlight; I despise the damn rebellion going on underneath our very feet, and I hate when people make us into something we are not. Is every master beating his slaves into submission and demanding them to be theirs for life, destroying everything the person stood for? Gods, no. I sure as hell am not like that. Sure, I betrayed what was once my land, my people, but they had no right to control what I said or did. Where I stand now, I am well-versed and not someone to anger. After all, nobody wants to lose their precious sight, now do they?

I am a man of the earth, a soul of old times and less danger. I never fancied a certain person or drew a human to our midst, to only entrap them and keep them as a pet. I was never like /them/. I wanted freedom, I wanted to taste the salt of the Earth far from home, and I wanted control. I would fucking have it, too.

Stole their beloved girl; they had pushed me for the last time. I was not meant to be stuck in the Seelie Courts for my entire life; I was a man of not only power, but of bloodline. So rare are the men, I was cherished and lavished. I was sick of it very quickly. I ventured away quite a bit as a child, but as I aged, they grew tougher on me, wanted me to stay hidden and be /good/.

They were barking up the wrong damn tree.

I was ready to destroy everything they loved when I finally lost my grip, and I blinded each and every one of those fucking Fae for long enough to steal away myself and their high-class daughter. She would prove useful, and they’d never follow us. Not all the way to the outskirts of Haven City, a place that I found very interesting and heard of through word of mouth.

Rebellion thrumming under her paws, Haven city was like a raccoon, digging for the remnants of what it once was in the trash cans of the king. Here, on the outskirts, were were safer.

Or so I thought.

A rebel had broken into my home the other night. He was young, stupid, and had no idea who he’d just pissed off by not only coming into a Fae master’s territory, but he deserved the blinding he received. Now chained and bound, he’s not going anywhere. I was curious as to what different breeds of rebels existed, and apparently my fellow demons were a popular species in the fight for their…ugh, equality shit.

In a powerful place, alongside the stronger and more influential masters, I’m at home here. I’m at home, surrounded by my pets and lowers, my trees and my artwork. Here, I am the king of my land, and I rule with no competition. That rebel would come to fear me, even if it took his entire life to do so. I have plenty of time to test my theories and games.

Enjoy the ride, pretty boy.

Fear the Fae, fear Tobias Clarence Jiles, the Fae of the Seelie Court and son of no-one, whom bows to not a single soul, save the one woman who knows my name; my equal but also pet, friend, however as much a plaything. I may not be a true king, but here, I shall be treated as such, and I give no will to a single worthless, slimy human. Give me no reason to strike, and I shall not kill.

Do not bite the hand that feeds, my dear puppets.

Seeds Of Light – Jourdain Family

“I don’t understand why you can’t be more like your brother, Sabryal,” drawled a thickly British English woman’s tone, “you really don’t act like a Jourdain at all.” Frowning down from her place at the dinner table toward a brunette little boy holding onto his plush toy snake. He was petting the tail, biting his lip as he refused to eat his dinner. Calix, across from him, merely ate in silence. Their father wasn’t home yet, and usually, this was the bad time of day to be without their kind and soft-spoken dad. Sabriel looked up from his blue toy snake, his brown eyes seeking out his older brother’s. Callie didn’t say anything as he wiped his mouth on a napkin, only able to give his brother a sympathetic gaze.

“You aren’t getting anything else tonight,” their mother snapped as she sent a warning glare to Sabriel, “I’m done playing, son.” Sabbie’s gaze dropped instantly, and he held the snake closer to his chest. When looking down to the floor, his eyes fell upon a yawning kitten, its form a bit muddied up and glowing. He smiled a little, and reaching out to pet its head, he heard his mother clear her throat. Their father was a necromancer, whilst their mother was a mere witch of a high-class family…or something like that.

“When’s Papa coming home?” Sabriel asked softly, looking up toward his mother with soft but wary eyes, “I wanted to show him-“

“Noxxie,” Calix suddenly spoke up, “now’s not the time to talk about that. We’re in the middle of dinner.” His tone was soft and shy, but held the undertones that could alert his younger brother to not speak about what he was about to. Their mother didn’t approve of the necromancer in their blood, saying that they were just all crazy, and at times, sent her boys to a therapist.

“But, Callie,” Sabbie squeaked, “I wanna show Papa what I learned!!” This made their mother glare between them both.

“What did you learn, Sabryal? A new ability?” The little boy winced at her sudden cold but prying tone, and he peeked toward her shyly.

“I…I learned how to summon up-” The boy was cut off as the back door opened and their father stepped inside from out of the snowy weather. Sabriel hopped up quickly, going toward his father’s chilly embrace. Laughing as his father picked him up and hugged him close, the blue eyes of his father went onto his family. His level tone was soothing, but as Sabe spoke to his father excitedly, he spotted a woman following his father. He suddenly frowned and looked up at his Papa, confusion lacing his gaze. “Daddy, who’s that lady?” He pointed beside them, and the father merely smiled.

“What lady, Sabryal?” the wife asked with a narrowed gaze, “There’s no one here.” Calix had been taking a drink from his glass of orange juice when he sputtered a laugh, covering his mouth as he coughed. Regaining himself, the cyro peeked toward their father. The woman was young, maybe in her early teens, her eyes a bright blue but her form a bit… off. Calix had noticed some time ago, but had learned not to ask questions of that sort with their mother in the room. She was highly possessive, and last time Cal had mentioned a woman around his father, he’d gotten slapped and his parents argued that entire night down in the foyer.

“Oh, Lumos, it’s alright,” Sabriel heard his dad’s gentle voice murmur in his ear, “I know what you mean.” Smiling at his wife, the necromancer went to sit down, putting his boy on his lap and chuckling at Calix’s grin. It was rare to see his older son smiling; the boy was becoming more reclusive and a bit more like him. It bothered the man, but Marcello was never one to judge. He loved his family, even when his lover tended to get a bit…hard on the boys. He had not liked the idea of Sabriel’s middle name being darkness, and it was his nickname for his youngest son to be called Lumos. Kissing Sabe on the head, he listened as his boy started going on a rant about being able to make his toy snake dance if he used the shadows around him at night. This was the only safe time they could talk like this, because the boy’s mother wasn’t going to start a fight in front of both of her boys. If it were just Calix, she didn’t care, but Sabriel was the one she was trying to mold after herself.

After dinner, Marcello let his son take him into the den in front of the fireplace; he knew how much Sabriel loved making the flames move and play. But Calix, as always, just stood in the doorway with sad eyes. Their mother going to clean herself up, it left the necromancers alone for a while. Giggling as he showed his father how he moved the toy awkwardly, Marcello chuckled and smiled. Calix watched on for a while before he moved to go upstairs, waving lightly at the woman Sabe had pointed out. If his baby brother only /knew/…

Their sister wasn’t willing to leave their sides, careful with her baby brothers, and even death wouldn’t keep her from staying close. Even if she stuck closer to her father, she didn’t like how their mother treated Sabriel or Calix. It was her anger at the teenager that had caused all of this. Calix spoke softly as he paused on the stairwell, watching the teenager with pained eyes, “…I wish you hadn’t committed suicide, Winnie. I miss you.”

Cracks In The West – Rebels Snippet – Early Years

“Vir’,” rumbled a low voice as deep blue orbs watched the shaky raven in question, “don’t do this.” The girl between them was crying, scared, nary above the age of three. Virgil was frozen in place as the girl stood in front of the man the Angels were after, Darren’s eyes locked onto the reality that his friend was holding his gun at the toddler. Virgil was shaking, but the girl refused to move. Her father lay dead behind her, not that it occurred to her entirely, crying as she tried to rouse her papa.
“Vir’,” Darren rumbled again, “please. She’s a babé,” Gods, he needed Virgil to lower his weapon. The teenager was scared stiff, but the heat in his veins was high. They had not expected a child to be in the house. Masters generally didn’t have families… But sometimes, they did.

“…Ki-Kid… leave,” Virgil choked out weakly; his eyes held a war that challenged his morals. But the sound that broke between them all was a single gunshot from behind both Darren and Virgil’s backs.

“KHAYRAT!!!” shouted the leader halfling, watching as the gun fell from Virgil’s hold and the teenager dropped to his knees. Oh…shit. Looking behind them with fear in his deep blue eyes, Darren Harlott watched the a slim, sturdy figure come into view.

“Get away from her!! Right. Fucking. Now.” The voice that breached the air waves was hard and dangerous, and judging from the size of her gun, she was not the slave they’d come to rescue.

Virgil choked as he tried to recover, coughing out blood; Darren’s gaze met that of a wild, steely one. As Virgil shakily stood back up slowly, he saw what looked to be the angriest young woman he’d ever laid eyes upon. Steady as she aimed at Virgil’s heart, he paused; what was that look in her eyes? The swirl of a small galaxy, a roar of time…

“You’re a demon.” His voice was cracked and dry, but her eyes narrowed some at him. Darren shot his younger friend a look.

“Virge, you are not helping,” Darren said slowly, “not at all.”

“Shut up,” the young woman growled lowly as Virgil watched her eyes. He moved to stand tall, his chest bleeding somewhat heavily; she had military training, no doubt.

“I will not warn you again, Angels.” Her voice settled between seething and danger, a few layers of venom below that. Darren grabbed Virgil’s shoulder, forcing the raven to turn; they had no choice to flee, and the flashing lights outside were more than enough incentive to go. Lowering her gun once the pair were gone from sight, the young woman turned and pocketed her gun, leaving the child to cry over the loss of her parent.

“We’ll meet again, Angels, but on my terms.” Alcyn Foxx was not always friendly, especially when it came to child endangerment, and as she fled by rooftop, she could see Virgil and Darren hiding nearby. She’d gotten one hell of a hit on that kid, and it made her smirk to herself. Not bad.
Then again, nobody touched the slaves on the West Side without her permission. Sometimes, slaves were actually loved and wanted. This had been such a case. Taking pleasure in watching Darren fuss over his bleeding new pet, she shook her head before heading toward the Broken Palace. That kid was gonna be trouble.

In the Broken Palace – Meet the West Side Rebellion!

“Brandy?” Where was that kid? As Alcyn moved to look around the tween’s bedroom for the boy, she couldn’t help but curse as she nearly tripped over one of his pillows. Kid never fucking slept on his bed. Sighing as she picked it up and tossed it onto the mattress, she noticed the blonde settled in the corner of the room, his back pressed to the corner to have an eye open all around, Alcyn couldn’t help but smile fondly. His white hood was up over his head, his arms wrapped around his knees that were pressed to his chest. His blown out jeans were a bit muddy-he’d been out lately. 

“Brandy?” she asked again, moving to kneel down in front of him, adjusting her shoulder bag some, “Hey… Hey, you okay?” Slowly, deep green eyes revealed themselves to her from under the hood, his lip caught between two sharp fangs.

“Surviving,” she heard him mutter, “and you?” A bit blunt, at least he always got the point across. Allie guessed he’d been sleeping.

“I’m okay. Micah and Lucille just got back. We’re having dinner in a little bit, if you’re hungry.” Breindel’s eyes locked to her own blue ones, and she already knew his answer. He never ate with them, but she understood. He was a powerful demon with no way to control himself except locking it all away and under his innocent gaze.

He’d been so weak and frail when she had met him; just sitting outside of a bar in the daytime, fingering an eighteenth-century shaving razor. It had scared her at first; what could possess a boy his age to run that blade over his finger like it were ice-cream?

She’d found out the hard way. In the alleyway nearby there was a dead hunter, and the blood on the edge of that razor wasn’t from the tween. His name was Breindel, meaning blessing, but he sure didn’t feel like one. His brother and guardian had been taken from him, snagged by a hunter, and as Allie sat down beside him and got him to talk to her, she realised what had gone down since. He’d been running for a good month, and if it weren’t for the fact he was a budding incubi, she guessed Brandy wouldn’t have made it.

But here, in his bedroom at the Broken Palace, their place of sanctuary, he had gained some weight back and had even helped them out a few times. It wasn’t until he licked the blood from his lips that she noticed it was there. “Don’t bite your lip,” she scolded softly, “it’s not a good habit to keep.” It made Brandy chuckle at her, the sound very light and airy.

“I’m fine.” Aye, he was a stubborn thing. “Plus, don’t you have to go check on the others more than me?”

“Most of us aren’t your age, Brand.” She felt bad he was so young to be here. And unless they found Brandy’s brother safe and sound, he would probably grow up here, too.

“I’ve noticed,” he retorted softly, looking up at her again as he heard her standing up, “but it’s alright. Nobody ever said I was looking for a playmate.” He was a quick-witted kid, but part of Allie wondered if it was just a ploy. Offering her hand to him, she smiled warmly.

“It’s only dinner. Won’t you join us tonight, honey?” When she spoke with that soft accent he couldn’t actually pinpoint, he really didn’t have the heart to decline. Shyly taking her hand, she helped him to his feet, feeling his shoulder-length mane of messy blonde hair tease at his neck.

“Only dinner,” he repeated softly, his electric green eyes meeting her soft blue ones. She wished the boy would smile, just once, but then again, sometimes the best things needed time. Leading the way toward the kitchen, she passed a few of her members; Micah was leaning over a chair, grinning mischievously at her sister. Lucille and Micah were close, both necromancers, but they had different mothers. Alcyn could have never guessed that. Then, there was Chase, rubbing his upper arm from nervousness. He was a drug addict trying to recover, and he wasn’t exactly…well, bright, but he was sweet, and he knew his way around medical equipment. There was also Dizzy, their own little curious slave-turned-rebel who was probably the closest to Brandy’s age. The kid barely ever spoke, but she was one of the only girls here who knew how to take down a raging werewolf.

There were plenty of others, too, but as they gathered, she couldn’t name them all yet; they had newbies all the time. Some stayed, others went on their way. Moving to sit down beside the quiet Brandy, she patted his thigh gently. “It’s okay; nobody here will ever hurt you.” She knew of why he was so nervous around other males; poor thing needed time to heal from that hunter’s advancement. The guy refused to leave Brandy alone, but he never seemed to make a move to actually take Brandy in. Whether it was low-level friendship or just curiosity, it did worry her either way.

She looked up toward Micah as the girl moved to lean onto Allie’s chair now. “What’s new?” the leader asked softly, “Excited for tonight?”

“Oh, always!” the necromancer chirped, “But don’t get me wrong….I think I may be a little busy.”

“Hm?” Allie’s curiosity was peaked. “Why?”

“We snagged a slave from that big establishment. She’s got two little pups, and they’re really, /really/ cute!!” Allie blinked at the other woman before she sighed heavily.

“…Really?”

“Yes! You should see them! They’re the cutest little Draks I’ve ever seen! Pink feet, pink noses, brown eyes and…” Well, after that, the rebel tuned out her overjoyed soldier. It was only when she saw the wolfess herself, the skinny thing carrying one of these “cutest pups ever” in her mouth did she actually speak up.

“Hey…Hey, Brandy. Do her a favour and hold ‘er little one a minute? I want to go talk with her.” The wolfess’ dark brown orbs found the green-eyed incubi, and slowly, she moved to put the puppy onto his lap. Alcyn had only said it because she wanted to see his reaction as she moved to put some distance between her and the young blonde.

Looking down at the very small puppy in his lap, he slid one arm to keep it from wriggling away. It hadn’t even opened its eyes yet, and as a shaky hand stroked through the golden-white fur, the tween bit his lip. It was strange to be holding something so small and delicate… Green eyes went to the mother wolf, but she was limping away into the hallway again. Looking back down at the puppy, Brandy jumped in surprise as it sneezed against his wrist. 

Micah and Lucille shared a smile before they sat on either side of Brandy, giggling over the puppy on his lap and gently telling him how to let the puppy suckle his finger. He froze as the small fluff-ball attached onto his pinkie, sucking and waving its tiny little front paws experimentally. Moving the pup into his arms like he would a regular newborn, he cradled the ball of fluff, mindful of those teeny little stubs that would be wings when the baby aged. He didn’t look away from the baby until Micah pulled his hood down around his neck, and that earned her a half-hearted glare.

“Oh, you’re fine,” she blew him off, “don’t worry about it. It’s a baby, it won’t laugh at you.” Sighing softly, Brandy’s gaze went back to the baby pup, stroking its belly softly. A little girl, he now recognised, but as he rested her against him, he didn’t notice Alcyn’s warm gaze.

“Well?” murmured Lucille beside the leader, “What do you think?”

“I think he’ll be good for us in the long run, providing I don’t find him with my gun again. Next time I’m gonna slap him for it.”

“What, is he stupid?” Lucille asked, peeking over to Allie, “I won’t even touch that thing. It’s so damn heavy!”

“No, he’s just tormented, Luey. Every rebel has their demons…his, however, are himself. We’ll have to contact Dhaval and see if he can help Brandy hone his powers.”

“Yeah…I guess so, huh?” Lucille hummed as she leaned against the leader, “He would make a cute daddy one day.”

“For once, Luey, I agree with you entirely.” 

Burning River Rises – Beginning Of The War for Haven City – Rebels Universe

Why did always have to be like this? This silence, a painful reminder that was truly deafening, would never leave the man be. Sure, everyone did things they regret at one point or another, but this was new territory for a man with no experience with handling a world too insane to even grasp. The music was his escape, but right now he felt blind.

Where was she? Marley, his partner, was nowhere again. Hell, they worked together, but she rarely came by. The world felt cold as he picked up his phone, the message that was open seemed like a badly planned joke.

/”We need you at work, there’s been a compromising accident you need to know about. Thank you and stop by to see the director when you have a spare moment.
-V.”/

Virgil texted calmly at all times, but when someone was dead or nearly there, that was the instant call to arms. River was silent as he read the message again and again, too stunned to react. The only ones on the mission were Marley, Sardonyx, a newbie called Parsley, and Virgil.

Who was dead?

Gods, don’t be Marley. Don’t be Marley. His eyes slid to the baby sleeping in her bassinet near his old, rugged red sofa. It was so faded, it looked pink, but it still held up, and it kind of matched Amora’s basket. Marley was a strong, creative soul who had quite the fast mouth on her. The baby was only here because Marley hadn’t wanted to leave the babe with her girlfriend for the night. Babies were rather loud, but then again, Amora preferred to listen when someone talked.

“Don’t leave me with her, Bobby… She needs all of us.” Gods, thinking about this was making him cry. He barely registered the tears until he licked his lips and tasted salt. “Fucking stupid, rash, igit…” He dared not look at his phone again, even as it buzzed with Virgil’s name across.

—

A tidal wave, powerful as it was destructive, beautiful as it was killer. That was what this was. Standing in his leader’s living room, Ala was silent. Virgil was on the sofa with a young woman’s head on his lap, the rebel’s lightly shaking hands petting the mess of short, spiked brunette hair. It was odd to see the man so gentle, so at ease, but Al could smell the tears. The woman was barely breathing, her jacket torn to near shreds on her right side, blood marking her flesh like a fresh tattoo, too tender to touch, but shining brilliantly in the low light. Swallowing hard as he passed others to get to the couch, he ignored the looks from both Sabriel and Peregrine. River couldn’t speak, his throat too tight. He watched as Virgil pulled her up closer, and the demon’s lips were on hers for a brief moment, parting her lips as he breathed into her mouth. She was fading fast if he was transferring soul to her. No. This had to be a bad dream.

Blue-grey eyes were locked on her wounds now, desperate to wish them away. Was she still breathing? Was her life still here? “Rivvie,” the leader breathed in such a delicate way as sharp ocean eyes slid to Ala’s, “she asked for you.” Rivvie. He hadn’t heard that name in years. Swallowing hard again, he didn’t look up as his leader stood slowly. Taking his place with a delicacy he didn’t even know he had, River sat slowly, cradling the woman’s head on his lap. She was bleeding badly, but there was little Virgil could have done. The woman was barely hanging on, her skin somewhat cold as he pressed a palm to her cheek. She’d been crying, she was in pain.

“Hey… Hey, Bobbie,” he murmured, swallowing hard once more, his voice sounding so much more cracked than he had thought it would, “you still owe me the drum lay for the new track, baby.” Her eyes were still closed, her hands trembling as Alastar stroked the bloodied hair from her face. Her jeans were a bit torn, but it was her side that scared him. Her shirt had been removed, probably by Zebastien or Virgil, but he could see the wounds. A large dog or guardian werewolf, maybe… He couldn’t tell. She was fading fast, but he could have sworn she smiled at his joke. “I don’t want you to go, Mars… Come on. Open your eyes, please…?” Fuck, he was starting to cry. He’d never noticed how much of a petite thing she really was until she was lying here, bloody and shivering just enough to help him see she was trying. Drummers never could stay still, and for the first time in his life, he wanted to absolutely murder the man or beast who’d torn her apart. Slowly, he pulled her closer, pressing his forehead against hers. He wanted her to slap him for calling her Bobbie. Wanted to hear her curse him out! But…he had a cold dread in his gut.

Cruelty. That was what this was. The wound had meant to inflict severe, debilitating pain, to weaken the woman. She was never the fastest or the smarted person in the Angels, but she was the peacemaker under the gruff and loud exterior. As much as she yelled, she had also been the kindest to the wolf. Taking a shuddering breath, he pressed his lips to hers, as Virgil had, but breathed into her mouth harder than the leader. He was desperate for her to survive, to make it just a few more minutes. He could heal, could withstand silver and holy water, but for the very first time in his memory, he felt entirely fucking useless. His breath could heal her, if he tried hard enough, dammit, but she wasn’t responding to him.

Virgil stood in the doorway, his face wet and his throat tight. She was his best man, in more ways than he could describe. Burning River Haggard was trying so hard, and although her side was stitching slowly, her heartbeat seemed so weak. Looking at Sabriel, Virgil silently asked his question.

Sabriel only looked over, his head to watch his old friend with his deep brown gaze, then turned back to the bleeding woman and the crying man holding her form. Maybe she’d make it, but it didn’t look good. She was part witch as Sabriel was, but there was no necromancer, no demon, nor wolf in her veins. Humanity was not an advantage in the Angels, and it was proving a point from her and her alone.

As the crowd thinned, men and women leaving the wolf and witch be, only Sabriel and Virgil stood planted in their place. Blood was her major loss now, but… “Alastar, I don’t know if she can even hear you,” the demon murmured just loud enough for the wolf to hear him.

“Yes, she can, but I… I don’t know…how to heal her.” River was still crying, but he sounded confident in at least one way. “You could save her, Khay, she… Y-you could change her.” Alastar and Virgil met gazes, though they both went silent.

Was it worth the try?

—

 

Marley Rodriguez and Alastar Haggard; sometimes lovers, best friends, band mates, and musical enthusiasm galore. The only difference between them was their policy on their place in the rebellion. Marley would hunt and track a master who raped and harmed young girls, silencing them if she found them. Alastar, on the other hand, believed death to not be his place to grant. Ending a life was not his jurisdiction, nor anyone else’s. But for the first time, as he held the injured drummer in his lap, cradling her head on his shoulder, he decided on manslaughter. The woman wss barely hanging on, and while he stroked her cheek, fresh tears slid down her pale cheek, pulling his eyes from her hand lightly clasping his belt. She needed a grounder, something hard and cold, to know her best friend was still here.

Blue-grey eyes watched her cheek grow wetter, his rage was slowly growing with each spent tear and every soft whimper his expelled. Her lips were so dark in colour, he could tell it was merely the blood on her gentle flesh. She had been coughing or in the very least, regurgitating blood. The healing wounds on her side and stomach did look deep enough to cause that level of damage. Virgil’s kiss had probably been bloodied as well, but the wolf said not a word. How did he say it? How could he have let this happen to her? Marley was his best friend, his semi-lover, the woman who had given him a child. His life had never been the same since the night the wet and tired rocker pulled him into an alley, her old acoustic guitar on her back and her drum sticks slid messily into her jeans belt loops.

She spoke of getting away from an abusive father, her desire to prove herself as a worthy musical artist, and how she needed him to shut up before he was snagged by the hunter he had never even noticed. Her messy hair was cut oddly, at an angle, and her eyes had been red from crying, but she’d still taken the risk to pull him from the jaws of danger. He owed her, and the next time he came across her, she pulled him into the bathroom at the club and kissed him like there was no tomorrow. She begged him to take her virginity before her abusive father did. Her bruised ribs and tender hips showed the advances clearly, and it wasn’t much of a stretch to say that he had been not only mystified by her, but aware that the woman with dark eyes and a terrible temper had a reason to fear men.

Holding the woman in his arms against his chest, he was silent as her breathing slowed, grew weaker; looking at her with a pair of wet eyes and a tight airway, the wolf softly kissed her lips, ignoring the blood coming from her nose and her rough cough from the movement blocking her slight bit of air she was taking.

Watching the wolf and witch from the doorway, the rebel leader was silently praying to anything that could be listening, that his stronghearted woman would pull through. Her voice was gone, her only alertness to the world was her soft crying and breathy whimpers. As she held onto River, Virgil honestly wanted to turn away, too hurt to watch his best man die.

“I… Rivvie, baby, why don’t you let me…-” the leader started, only to be cut off by River’s broken voice, strained and harshest it had ever been upon the demon’s ears.

“No. If I walk away from her, and she dies, I will never…never forgive myself.” As oceans met cloudy blue skies, Virgil realized the depth of those words on a level he had never grasped before.

“You…” he breathed, “You love her with your entire being, don’t you, Rivvie?” he asked slowly, “I… I’m sorry.” Gods, Virgil could never imagine losing Zebastien, or even wanting to think about the idea of… “Why didn’t you ever…? Why’d you let her go?”

“Because that’s what you do. You live, love, and let go, or you become… Something else.” His reply sounded so hollow to the leader’s ears, but Virgil dropped it, moving to sit down beside the wolf. It took a long time to coax Ala to let Virgil take her from his shaky grasp, and as Ala stood and he felt the demon’s eyes go away from him and onto the witch, Alastar River Haggard took off at a run, in his hand the rebel leader’s silver glock.

The only thing that echoed in his mind was to commit manslaughter on the beast that had made his only real friend pass away in his arms.

—

“She’s dead because… Of you.” River was shaking as the rain trailed over his face and every inch of skin not covered in either denim or leather. Virgil’s coat was on his bare chest, his eyes raging like the thunderstorm above. He didn’t care at all, his hands shaking from the chilly wind. The storm was expected, but as he walked slowly down the alley and his boots tore into the gravel below, he all but snarled his words.

“You killed her.” It was hollow, deep, and so unlike his normal, soft tone that always held a crack as he talked. His eyes were a roaring beast in themselves, and as he walked slowly toward the shape of a grey-brown wolf, he took note of the fabric still in the jaws and the smell of witch blood. There was no chance that this was coincidentally just a random dog. Hell, it wasn’t even a dog! As the quiet Burning River Haggard stalked ever closer, he could slowly see the flush of blood over the beast’s sides.

And the lack of sudden agitation signaled this was not a male. She was like him, but more than likely bred as a fighter and guard dog more than a mining, cart-pulling wolf. Where he had free will, he doubted that this whining, pathetic mess of a wolfess had much thought. Glaring toward her, he watched as her wings came up in a display of agitated defense, her head going low to the ground. There was nothing forgiving in River’s thunderous eyes, not an ounce of care as he aimed the silver handgun at her skull.

He fired three times.

The wolf was not dead. River would do this slowly, intentionally, and the sound of thunder above would drive off the idea of gunshots. Standing over the bleeding wolf as she flailed, trying so hard to get to her feet even though the silver kept her from using her paws, Alastar spoke with a low, cracked voice, hollow with silent rage. “She bled to death because of you.” Glaring down, he kicked her in the left ribs and her wing, hearing the crack of those air-filled bones.

“You poisoned her veins, and she was in pain until her last… Fucking… Breath.” Gods, how he wanted to rip her apart, and he had three hours to do so, because once the rain finished its, so would he. The violent, unending rush of unrestrained anger would not hit climax for some time, and until then, River had three clips worth of bullets, and each one would grant this drakwolf more and more pain. She would die by his hands, not the tip of the silver glock. “My baby now has to live hearing stories of her mother… You have no idea who you’ve crossed. But you will now.”

—

Gods, it felt so cold in here. Virgil slowly woke to the faint glow of dawn leaking through the windows, groaning as he came to. It was the cool weight on his lap that made him look down, and his heart stopped as he did. There, the only woman he respected with utmost care, was in his tight hold. On her belly lay a stuffed dinosaur, and curled beside them was the young boy Virgil and his husband Zeb had adopted, Lucas. Little Lucky was sleeping with his cheek on his daddy’s arm, unable to recognize that Marley was no longer with them. For the first time in the rebel leader’s long and rough life, tears filled his eyes with no hesitation. Letting them freely fall, he watched the boy and the woman, her face relaxed, but there was still a stream of dark, coagulated blood down the edge of her lips. Venomous bite had done her in, and there was no chance to save her, not with a bite that severe. The woman had fought hard, and her hand still held his in a hard grip, but there was no breath coming, no flutter of a beat in her chest. She was gone, her drumbeat no longer just a song.

How long was he watching her face, crying in painful silence? He only rose his eyes when he heard the creak of the floorboards, knowing too well the weight. It was surprising to watch the wolf he had known for so many years walk in the door, setting down not only his own personal weapon but his coat and something in his hand was still bleeding. River was no longer crying, his eyes seemingly hollowed as he set two fangs, one cracked up the middle, onto the table along with the glock. River spoke slowly, softly, “Use the venom, make a cure… So we never go through this again, Khayrat.”

“… We will. I think you should go home, Rivvie… Get cleaned up.” Was that his voice? Even to his ears, Virgil didn’t sound like himself. River slowly let his eyes go to Lucas, then onto Marley’s still form.

“…Don’t let her get hurt, Khay,” was his quiet, broken reply as he turned to leave, “I can’t lose anything else.” All he had was Amora and his Pops, but he needed to face his daughter alone. Marley, the woman he had been so curious about, had lost her life for someone else to gain theirs back. This was no longer about setting them free. “…It’s time for war.”

—

 

“War? What do you mean by that?” Caine asked curiously as he strummed with boredom at his old acoustic guitar. It was held together mostly by duct tape, an obvious Marley touch. The brunette was looking over from his spot on Sabriel’s kitchen counter, watching as Alastar got his ANGELS tattoo retouched. Jaxith and his brother were settled around the wolf and necromancer, though Tyrus Yahir seemed more quiet today. Must have had a bad trip from his drug use earlier. It explained why Jaxith was rather pissy, his brown orbs watching Sabriel’s hand move in a slow, careful array of strokes. Ala looked up at Caine, but kept his words short and quiet.

“I mean that it isn’t just raiding anymore, Luck. We’re gonna start hitting harder, stirring it up… We need to make an impact.” The wolf could see the confusion grace the teenager’s eyes. “… Virgil has sent out a call to arms for us all… He even left to talk with our Southers. If you don’t think ya could handle all out war, Lucker, you should skip town like Ty and Jax.” The quiet, slightly drugged master looked over, a nod met with a deep purple gaze toward Caine.

“But why are we going to war? Virgil said he never wants to be the cause of mass death.”

“Caine… We have to, to keep others from dying,” murmured Sabriel as he clicked off his gun, his eyes going toward the doorway, silently still trying to get his strength from his lover. Alex’s eyes were pained, but frankly, everyone seemed to be.

“Who died, then?” Caine asked slowly, not liking how River instantly flinched and the fact Sabriel stood, going to put away his tools. He passed his liquor cabinet, not giving it a single glance, pausing in his footsteps to lightly kiss Alex’s cheek. The tattooist shared a weak smile with his taller lover, thankful that he didn’t have to say anything right now. As he headed to his bedroom, Alex followed, clearly worried about his lover’s state of mind. Sabe was not adjusted to the idea of seeing his beloved rebel family as ghosts, and it had all but broken his spirit when he saw Marley’s soul fade.

Silence echoed too loudly in the kitchen, and River took a deep breath before he spoke. “…Bobbie passed away yesterday, Caine.”

Broken Angel – River Captured.

Soft, ragged breaths left the parted mouth of a dark-haired raven, his eyes closed to the world as he tried to regain himself. Covering his bleeding chest with his one good arm, the rebel shakily got back onto his wobbly feet. “Is…that all ya got?” he taunted, his jaw trembling something fierce, “I ain’t scared o’ nobody, especially a master like you!” Okay, so maybe he had more of his dad’s attitude in him than he thought; but this man who stood over River by a good two feet was intimidating. That, and the man had already stripped the rebel of his gun and hidden wrist knife. River was not a fighter; pacifist to the end, he would take the blows and never move to strike back. That was one reason why he was the only person Virgil trusted to be the guardsman to watch over them when the raids were going down. 

River had gotten himself captured, but the slaves had been freed. As he swallowed the buildup of crimson in his mouth, he let his eyes open. Pale-grey and blue orbs stared down the master, Riv’s tattooed skin glistening with sweat. His shirt was torn all to hell, his jeans shredded on one leg, and his thigh was cut deeply. In the master’s hold was that fucking same knife River had used for defense for years on his wrist. When the master had pinned him down, the blade had sunk nearly down to bone. Draks were not built strong enough to last. They were bred to survive a good twenty years at most, then be sold for their pelts. Bones were so fragile, all it would really take was a good slam to break their wings hidden underneath their human skin. As River held his arm against his chest, to try to slow the bleeding from a deep gash near his heart, he bared his fangs at the master.

“You should know your place, Burner,” the man semi-growled in return, having taken his time to actually answer that snarl, “you got away from us once. Look at you now. You even desecrated your pale skin. With what? Names?” The Drakwolf felt his jaws trembling from anger, and his feet backed him up a few inches. The master slowly walked toward him, the British tone in his voice much too thick for Riv to feel comfortable with. 

“They’re… They’re people.” People he loved as much as siblings, even though most he had never even met. 

“People, huh?” As the master approached, his eyes caught the small but definitive ANGEL hidden though some pieces of thick, golden clockwork inked onto the wolf’s skin. River was a barely-muscled man, his eyes often focused on other things, and usually, he never spoke. But this was a different circumstance than just sitting at the bar. “Why don’t you tell me who these people /are/, Burner?” the master spoke with a deep growl, “Let me kill them just like I’m gonna hang you.”

Without thought, the rebel spit at the master’s face, the crimson mixed with it as it hit the taller man right in the eye. River stepped back, growling in warning as he lowered his head; he would get hurt for that, but nobody would take down his family. Band names, lyrics, artists, and even some signatures littered his flesh, all hidden through his clockwork and flames. Backing up until his back grace the horrendous feeling of the wall of the basement, River’s eyes watched the incubi stalking toward him. Perfect. He was fucked.

“How dare you,” the master growled, “even fucking think of touching me?” Braith Kobain had once been a friend, but here, this Brit was a dangerous soul with anger nobody could match, except for the very wolf glaring at him with pale-grey and blue eyes. River was passive-aggressive, and it didn’t take much to actually make him snap. 

“If you want me to fuckin’ touch ya, bring it on,” came Riv’s reply, “I ain’t scared of ya.” Bluffing was not helping this, but as Braith came closer, he swallowed harshly. Welp, he was fucked.

The wolf felt the breath gush from his lungs as Braith struck him hard in his chest, forcing a strained yelp from River’s throat. Once he had stumbled to the floor, the wolf had no chance; a steel-toed boot came in contact with his jaw, and the force knocked his head back into the wall. Oh, gods… 

…

“Huh?” mumbled the wolf as he slowly came to, his jaw aching something fierce, “what…?” Oh. Oh no. Looking around, he recognized the basement, but all he could smell was blood. Wincing at the heavy scent, he tried to get up, only to feel the pressure of something on his back, right in the center of his wings. 

“Feeling any better, Burner?” River knew that voice, but his memory was hazy, a bit broken up, and as he tried to look upward, he felt the room instantly spinning. “Careful…you have quite the concussion, pet.”

Oh, goodie.

“Not growling at me anymore?” River could not tell his back was bare. Had the master removed it? Shit. So that was why his back was aching so much. He wanted to growl, to turn and snap at the master’s foot, but each intake of air alone hurt so deeply… From here, Braith could see the tattoo on River’s back. Drakwolves were sensitive beings, but this one was nearly double the average age, and Braith had never seen a Drak who had his incredibly tender back tattooed up to show off their wings. “This must have cost you a lot,” he mentioned as he pressed his foot down a little more, making the wolf’s wings press upward at his skin, “but the artist was really talented.” Artist…?

Oh. Sabe. Shaking it off, River tried to kill the haze from his system, but was finding it incredibly hard.

“Guess you don’t take well to heroin, do you, wolf?”

Oh, hell, no.

River twisted at those words, moving to throw the master off his back, and his claws shot out to snag some flesh; well. they would have, if it weren’t for the factor that he was ultimately high, and as he had moved the master merely backed up. “Oh, relax…” Braith murmured, “it’s just a big dose to make you more willing.”

If only Riv could think straight long enough to register those words. The only he could murmur out was a simple sentence before he collapsed back onto the concrete floor.

“Don’t call me Burner...it’s River.”