Need

WARNING: consensual violence

Idea:  Nosferatu... and others... are watching the new Tremere chantry house.  When Tremere spies return to report, Thorne learns of the mortals being watched in Berkeley. Time:  That next night after "Tortured".    

"Has he called yet?" Thorne Severan breathlessly asked his bodyguard and aide, the Gargoyle named Hunter, upon entering his office.

Hunter shook his great, gray head.  "No, Master, there have been no calls from the city.  How are you?"  The Gargoyle blurted out this last, gray eyes widening as he looked the Tremere primogen over from head to toe.  There was no apparent sign on the Kindred's body that he could see, of the torture he'd endured the night before.

Thorne, in fact, bounced energetically once on the balls of his feet.  "I feel really very good, if not great, Hunter," he replied with a wink.  "How about you?"

"I'm fine," the Gargoyle responded drily.  "Perhaps I should be inquiring about Davic?"

A peal of laughter was the answer.  Davic Ellysson, Thorne's favorite, was likely in bad shape, having been the happy recipient of Thorne's reaction to being tortured by... he still hadn't told them who is was yet... the night before.  Not that Davic minded the... attention.  He, as most Tremere here, considered it a privilege to so be used by Thorne Severan.

Hunter rolled his eyes at the Tremere. "There are a couple messages from outside the city, Master," he went on, indicating notes on the desk.  As his boss turned and sat behind the desk with a graceful fluid movement, the Gargoyle sighed.   He so loved the Tremere, especially this unusually beautiful and sensuous one.  Thorne was wearing his customary black tunic and pants, but this set was made of a silk.  He wore a silver lion's head brooch at the collar, one of his customary adornments.  His long, dark blond hair was like silk, too, falling partly over the left side of his face.

Thorne glanced at the messages quickly, then sighed.  "Just so there isn't any from Vienna," he commented.  A summons to the Tremere Inner Circle in Vienna, Austria, usually meant one was not going back home.  Ever.  It was a common fixture of dark Tremere humor, kind of like saying "hey, I could be dead right now".  He snagged the phone, dialed a number as Hunter returned to his own station outside the door.  He sent a mental rumble of affection the Gargoyle's way, getting a smile in return just as the door closed.

 "Price, this is Thorne," he said, tapping a pen on the desktop when the call was answered.

A husky, feminine voice replied quickly, "You just had to pick San Francisco, didn't you, Thorne?"

He grinned and leaned back in his chair.  "You know me, love a challenge..."

"Luna will have you for lunch," the butch Toreador primogen of Seattle shot back, her raspy voice cutting through his.  Price Madsen was something of a transgendered Kindred, preferring the edge between genders, and in fact, it was argued she had more equipment than her share.  She controlled the Toreador in the Pacific Northwest, the owner of several sports teams and the corporate sponsor for a collective of art galleries.  "I hope you taste good..."

Thorne laughed.  "Was that a wistful note I just heard?"

"If I didn't owe you several favors, I'd call up Lillie and tell her you're fair game," Price retorted, then made a rude sound.  "Fuck, Thorne, what kind of..."

He headed off her inquiry deftly.  "Uh-uh, never ask a Tremere his business," Thorne interrupted with a chuckle.  "Now, did you want to talk to me because you're curious about what I could want in Julian Luna's city - and don't think for a moment that I have any designs on his city whatsoever..."

"Thorne, I..."

"Or did you want to talk to me because you have something to tell me?"  He grew serious.  Despite his light tone, he was as concerned about the prospects for danger in this city as she was.

Another noise, but softer.  "I have something to tell you, yes.  A Brujah here owed me a favor, and just paid it off in a piece of information that might interest you."

It was Thorne's turn to make a rude noise.  "Considering the source, I should accept this?"

Price hastened to reassure him.  Though she enjoyed considerable power where she was, she'd found over the last few centuries that it served her well to respect this Tremere.  In particular, he'd done a lot for her when she was managing Beatle-wannabes in Liverpool in the 60's.  "Thorne, I know, it's a Brujah, but he's in the police department in Seattle.  I had him checked out.  Anyway, he claims that there's a police detective in Cascade... that's another city on the Sound, smaller than Seattle, there are surprisingly few Kindred there, I guess... ah, this detective seems to have an amazing arrest record.  You know, the kind that is something of an urban legend?"

"Your point being, Price?"  Thorne pushed a button on his desktop to summon Hunter.  He signed to the Gargoyle, when he came in, to get him some breakfast.

"Well, I know you're interested in mortals who are unusual is all, Thorne.  And this detective is in San Francisco for about six months on some exchange program.  I just thought maybe he could be... you know... psychic or something.   Oh, and the word is that the guy is a major babe.  Like he got an overdose of really superior genes."

"Recruiting for the Tremere now, Price?" Thorne chuckled.

"Hey, we don't want him," the Toreador retorted.  "He's an ex-Army Ranger.  I mean, come on!"

"Sounds more like Brujah material," the Tremere murmured thoughtfully.  Hunter arrived with a tray, and his master snagged the cup of coffee off it before he had it set down.  Thorne took a sip, then set it down and gestured his thanks to the Gargoyle.  "Or Ventrue.  We're not exactly into the soldier types, either."

"Oh, come on, Thorne," Price replied, disgust in her voice.  "No one is foolish enough to only Embrace those true to type.  We need all sorts these days.  If I needed a bodyguard, I might go for him.  God, if he's that gorgeous... but I'm currently doing the lesbian thing these days, I guess.  He could be your type..."

Thorne laughed.  "You do know what I like!  Okay, when I get a slow moment, I'll have someone check this mortal out.  Could be amusing.  Thank you, my dear, for the tidbit, such as it is."

When the Toreador had hung up, Thorne replaced the receiver and sat back, coffee mug in hand.  He glanced over the rest of the tray - a piece of buttered toast and a glass of what could possibly pass for concentrated cranberry juice.  He put back the mug and picked up the glass, holding it under his nose.  It was, rather, "blood juice", a concoction of blood and very strong black currant tea.  Sighing, he drank it all down.

He was just enjoying a moment of savoring the juice when there was a knock on the door.  "Enter," he called to Hunter.  When he saw what was at the door, he put his glass down with a clatter.

The Gargoyle ushered in three of Thorne's Tremere spies and... a Nosferatu.  "Master," the first Tremere spoke up, bowing to the master of the chantry, "We were returning with a report when we found... this... outside the house."

The Nosferatu glared at Thorne, baring fangs.

Thorne grew deadly serious.  "Leave us," he said, mentally making it clear to his minions that he wished to be left alone with the Nosferatu.  Hunter lingered... until his master shot him a venomous glare.  He departed with a squeak.

"I am not afraid of you, wizard!" the Nosferatu growled in challenge when the door closed.

But the Tremere's demeanor had changed.  "No reason for you to be," Thorne said, crossing his arms over his chest.  He had a good six inches of height on the other, and a hell of a lot more years.  Though he could discern that the Nosferatu was tensed for a fight, he himself was completely relaxed.  This fellow Kindred had nothing on what Thorne faced the night before.  "Can you take a message to Daedalus for me?"

The Nosferatu hissed, expecting an attack, but the Tremere was only going to his desk.  "I am not a messenger," he retorted, but looked on curiously as Thorne rapidly typed something on his computer.

"That's okay, but I'm sure if you have a message from me, he'll want to receive it."  Thorne kept his voice normal, mild, even, careful to keep any hint of challenge out of it.  "You can even read this.  I just want Daedalus to know I appreciate his sending his followers to watch the outside of my house for me, but it really isn't necessary..."

The creature opened his mouth to hotly retort, but shut it again.  If he admitted to spying, the Tremere would be in their rights to hold him prisoner until Daedalus asked for him back.  So he kept still... but it amazed him that the Tremere would so blatantly offer him a way out.

"I like Daedalus," Thorne continued by way of conversation, typing at the same time.  "We last talked around the turn of the century, I believe.  He beat me rather badly at backgammon, I remember... anyway, I look forward to our next... encounter..."  He glanced up at the Kindred, his eyes narrowed and sultry.  "We have similar... interests... in a few areas."

The Nosferatu was completely nonplussed by now, and when Thorne put the printed out letter in his hand, he took it meekly, allowing the Tremere to lead him out by the elbow.

Inside the door, Thorne paused, looking at the Nosferatu curiously.   "Um..."

"What?"

Thorne smiled. "What's your name?"

A growl.  "I am called Gestin."

"Gestin, I wonder if you might know... is there any particular mortal the Nosferatu might be watching these days for Julian Luna?  Say... perhaps a police detective from Washington state?"

The Nosferatu flinched.  How could the Tremere know about THAT?  "No, we don't spy on mortals for the Prince," Gestin replied with a bit of a snarl.

"Right," Thorne commented, opening the door.  He winked at the Kindred, who realized the Tremere knew he was lying.

Outside the room, three Tremere and one worried Gargoyle were ready to pounce on the spy, but Thorne spoke first, firmly and commandingly.  "The Nosferatu is free to go."

As the group gaped, Thorne took the first in hand, one young Tremere only eight years a vampire.  "Come, Lydon, I want some pleasuring while I receive your reports... come with me..."  His arm around the suddenly-excited neonate's waist, he led the others to the "drawing room", though more blood seemed to be "drawn" there than anything else.

The Nosferatu fled to his primogen.    

Lydon, a slim but muscled blond, responded eagerly to his primogen's kisses.  The other two, used to their lusty leader's appetites, did not attempt to ignore the passion of the others, getting in gropes to each other while they told of what they had been able to see of Julian Luna's city.  Thorne, while Lydon slid to his knees to use his mouth on him, asked question after question about the Kindred in San Francisco.  When, an hour later, he'd exhausted their memories, he'd directed them to open their minds to him.  Lydon was bidden to keep still... and Thorne Severan took images and impressions from the spies that they hadn't been able to express.

They'd heard nothing about police detectives from Washington.  So he gave them a few suggestions for the next time they went out: the San Francisco Police Department, and a certain Victorian mansion overlooking Richardson Bay.  On a whim, he added one more possibility, one much closer.  The big University of California at Berkeley.  Just because.

Satisfied, he waved them away, keeping Lydon at his feet.  Thorne sighed, and looked down at the slender blond.  "Oh, you are a feast, young one," he murmured, then pulled his cock from the other's mouth, bidding him to stand.  "But I am in need of more blood than sex."  He licked at the other's face.  Lydon sighed in pleasure.  "Did you know I was tortured last night, Lydon?"

"No, Master," the Tremere breathed in amazement.  "My blood is yours, Master."  He immediately arched his head back and to the side, exposing his throat to his master.

Thorne grasped his head by his hair, arching the throat taut.  He ran a finger down the smooth skin while the neonate trembled with desire against his body.  "Not yet... I need some things."  He let him go.  "Bring me a knife.  Oh, and prepare yourself.  Wear a plug."

Lydon fled, thrilled to have been chosen.  Thorne closed his eyes when he was alone, feeling the disquiet still swirling within him.  The door to the study opened, closed.  When he opened his eyes, Davic stood in front of him.

"Are you all right?" Thorne asked him mildly.  "The wounds seem to have closed."

"Sire, I'm worried about you," Davic said instead, ignoring the query.  "For the sake of the Clan and the Order, you need to tell one of us what is going on."

Thorne had already indulged in some minor knife play with Davic, letting out a little of the savagery that had been unleashed on his own person.  His child had gladly allowed it, not saying a word.  Even now, still weak, there was no remonstration against the Regent for so using him.  Davic, such a good childe... so concerned for HIM...   In response, he pulled Davic against him carefully and kissed him deeply.

But it hadn't been enough, not by a long shot.  The darkness still gripped the primogen, still burned in him.

Davic, to his surprise, pulled away first.  "Please, Thorne, my love, talk to me, tell me about it..."

Lydon slipped into the room, then, now wearing only a long black ritual robe, his feet bare, carrying a sheathed knife.  He stood aside, waiting.  Davic took it in, his eyes widening.  "No, Thorne..."

"I have to work off the darkness around my heart, Vic," Thorne murmured.  He released his childe and went to the neonate.  He took the knife from him, laid it aside, and began removing the robe from his body.

Davic, growing frightened again, grasped his shoulder.  "Thorne, we have other ways to do this... please do not hurt him..."

What was just as frightening was the expression on Lydon's face.  The young blond Tremere was calm and composed, even exalted, eager to submit to the Dark in his master's heart, ready to be used and carved like a roast.  When the robe was off him, he turned around and bent over, presenting his ass to Thorne to inspect.  Thorne smiled and inspected the plug in the neonate's anus, a large one.

"We walk in Darkness, Vic, my darling," Thorne murmured.  He gave Lydon a playful slap on the ass, then directed him to sit at his feet and wait.  "He will heal... just as I have..."

Davic narrowed his eyes at him.  He thought he knew his sire better than that.  Thorne was physically healed, but this... whatever... had done something else, he was sure.  "PLEASE talk to me... or Selsor, or Del.  Or call Julian, tell him what has happened - it may threaten his city as well..."

The grey-blue eyes snapped with sudden anger.  "I will NOT.  And you are not going to interfere with me."  A flick of his will.  "Are you, Davic?"

His second shook his head, stunned.  "No, Sire, forgive me, Sire..."  His will gave way before the superior power of the other... as always.

Thorne sent his childe away, frowning.  This time he locked the door.  He paused, thinking for a moment how he would like to invite Julian to return to Lacroix's lair with him, share the fun with him of staking the ancient evil in his own backyard.  He would like that very much.

He hoped Julian would accept.  He also hoped Julian would be amenable to fucking him.  Thorne considered it a private bit of masochistic pleasure to be fucked insensible by the Prince of the City.  He would like that very much.  And he did NOT have any designs on Julian's city.

Sighing, he began to take off his clothes.  "Are you afraid, Lydon, my dear?" he asked in a conversational tone.

The response was prompt.  "Cut me, Master."

"Oh, I'll do that," Thorne sighed.  Should he tell Lydon to resist him, tell him to pretend fear?  [I was willing, too,] he thought, remembering.  But his assent had a goal.  Well, so did Lydon's... please the Master.

Stripped, he pulled Lydon up and dragged him over to a cabinet, which he unlocked.  He glanced at the young Tremere; the neonate was pliant, ready to be used.  Thorne retrieved titanium handcuffs and locked them on Lydon's wrists at the hollow of his back.  He added a collar - something to hang on to - and a ball gag, though the ball was steel.  After a moment, a blindfold was added as well.  Then he kicked the man to his knees, and roughly placed him, ass in the air.

Sighing, Thorne removed the anal plug.  He could feel the neonate trembling with desire and anticipation beneath his hands as he moved them over the other's ass, feeling him.  He pulled the ass cheeks wide, watched for a moment as Lydon worked his sphincter muscle, making it contract and relax, indicating his readiness.  Thorne so loved a good, ready ass.

"Show me you want it," Thorne snapped, slapping him hard on the ass.

Lydon complied, groaning around the steel ball stuffed in his mouth, splaying his legs wider and raising his hips to make his ass more vulnerable, writhing a bit in his restraints.

Thorne smiled.  Then he rammed his cock hard into the other's anus.    

Selsor herself answered the chantry door an hour later.  "Oh, damn, it's you," she murmured, and opened the door wide.  "Please, Daedalus, come in..."

The Nosferatu primogen stepped inside and glanced around.  "Would your Master be free for a ... discussion?" he inquired, then cocked his head, listening.

There were unmistakable sounds of... well, there was screaming and slapping noises and pounding on the floor coming from not far away.  Daedalus glanced at the Tremere.  "He's not free, is he?"

Selsor shrugged.  "I can always ask... come this way..."

Daedalus, frowning, followed the wizardess to a locked door down the hallway.  Selsor did not knock, but closed her eyes for a moment, and he understood she was trying to make mental contact.

The sounds ceased.  Within, Thorne, covered with blood, stood panting, his fist still holding the collar around the neck of the body at his feet.  He looked down at Lydon, who had mercifully been unconscious for the last fifteen minutes.  Immediately he dropped the knife and took the broken and bleeding body in his arms, sitting on the floor with him.  He was grateful for the interruption, for it had broken the black fugue that had come over him.  Tenderly he kissed the bloody cheek.

[Give me a half hour, please, Sely,] Thorne replied.  He stood and carried the body to the bathroom adjoining the study.  [Send Vic and Del with blood for Lydon.]

[Yes.  I'll meet you in the Blue Room shortly.]

She turned to the Nosferatu.  "Thorne is... indisposed for the moment, but would be happy to meet with you in a half hour in the parlor, if you wouldn't mind waiting."

Daedalus could smell Kindred blood.  "Was this a... disciplinary matter?"

Selsor tensed.  "No, sir."  She, too, was aware of the thick, sweet smell of blood in the air.  "There was a... need... that has evidently been taken care of.  Please do not concern yourself.  I assure you, no Kindred blood was spilled without assent by its owner.  Follow me."

Curious, Daedalus followed her.

Exactly a half hour later, Thorne appeared in the parlor, looking flushed, but clean though his hair was still wet.  He nodded to Selsor, giving her a mental reassurance as she left.  He greeted Daedalus with an extended hand.  "Daedalus, it is a pleasure to see you again," he murmured, waving for the Nosferatu to return to his seat.

Daedalus shook his hand like it was likely laced with poison.   "Severan, I don't know that I was aware of your interest in bloodsport."

Thorne's expression froze.  "Only when... there is need.  I had a volunteer, of course."   He sat opposite the Nosferatu primogen, tensed for... whatever.  If he could get past Daedalus, he would have a chance to get acceptance from Julian.  He realized he should have expected this preliminary visit.

"Yes, I hear your followers all have a high degree of... dedication."  His cultured, smooth voice dripped with irony.  He'd heard of Thorne's habit of blood-bonding his followers, an unusual practice for the Tremere Clan.

"We're... a family," Thorne replied mildly.  He wasn't about to be drawn into an argument or discussion about his practices, especially when they neither threatened Daedalus's Clan or the city.

"Apparently," Daedalus retorted, then leaned forward.  "Tell me, Severan, what are you doing here?"

Thorne was ready for this one.  "Surviving like the rest of you, Daedalus.  Just surviving.  Finding a new home for our research facilities.  With Luna's blessing, we have it."

The Nosferatu's brow was raised at the frank answer, and the mention of the Prince.  "I've read your letters."

"I treated Gestin well," Thorne put in.

That caught the other primogen off guard.  "Yes... you did.  Thank you."  He settled back in his chair, crossing his long legs.  "So, you're prepared to submit to Julian Luna as Prince.  And I suppose your line is that you have no designs on his position..."

"Why the hell would I want to be Prince?" Thorne interrupted.  "If you've read the letters, then you know I could be Tremere Pontifex here.  But I do not want that, Daedalus.  That sort of power does not interest me."

"Ah... then you want to manipulate from without," Daedalus replied smoothly.  "Typical Tremere."

"And it's typical Nosferatu to be suspicious of us, no matter what we say," Thorne shot back.  "Or is that half-Ventrue, which you must be by now?"  He was guessing that Daedalus and Julian might have taken a step toward a blood bond themselves.  Why else the visit, so that Daedalus could look to the Prince's interests, if they weren't close?

Daedalus showed fangs.  "Be careful where you say things like that, Tremere," the Nosferatu growled menacingly.

"Be careful whom you suspect, Nosferatu," Thorne countered.  "Be careful you do not refuse the help of those who would be your friends."

The other primogen looked at him long, subsiding.  Then he asked, "What was the need?"

Thorne sighed.  "Something... I will need to discuss with the Conclave here before long.  I would like to talk to Julian about it first."

Daedalus's eyes widened, but he nodded, accepting.  Smoothly he arose to his feet.  "Julian should be contacting you very soon, Tremere."  This time, when they shook hands, there was a firmness from the Nosferatu, a measure of respect. It would have to suffice for now.

Thorne held onto his hand a little longer. [I can be a good friend,] he whispered into the other's mind.

Daedalus gazed into his eyes, wondering, then after a pause replied in same.  [Perhaps in time...]  He squeezed Thorne's hand a bit, then released him.

It was a start.    

When the Nosferatu had departed, Thorne called Selsor to him.  "How is he?"

She looked into his eyes, reading his demeanor.  Finally she replied.  "Recovering."

"Bring him and Davic to my room," Thorne ordered, starting off in that direction.

Her eyes widened.  "He may not want to see you..."

"Bring them."

She stared after Thorne's departing back.  "Yes, Master..."    

Davic came alone.  Thorne beat back his first impulse, which was to throw himself at Davic's feet and ask for forgiveness.  "Where is Lydon," he asked softly instead, meeting his childe's eyes fully.

"He will be here in a couple minutes," Davic murmured, then lifted his chin and met his sire's gaze.  "Please forgive me, Sire, for questioning you."

Thorne nodded, accepting the formal apology.  As Clan leader here, he must maintain the hierarchy, the "pyramid" of Tremere organization that was their hallmark.  He could not afford not to, not even with his lover.  Davic was also Tremere.  His questioning of Thorne earlier had been in the presence of a neonate, which made it inexcusable.  "I forgive you, my childe," Thorne whispered, but he was still studying his lover's face, searching for further trouble.

There was... a little.  "Sire, I..." Davic began, unsure, then his words rushed out. "Sire, you did not do... that... to me.  The extreme lengths..."

The door to the chamber opened, and Lydon entered, a long white robe covering the still red angry scars, though the wounds had all mostly closed by now, thanks to the immediate attention Davic and Del had given him when Thorne turned him over to them, that and a lot of blood ingested.  Even his face was deeply marred, but his bearing was erect, his approach to his torturer firm.  "Master," he breathed with a secretive smile at Thorne, who held out a hand to him.  Lydon took the hand, glanced at Davic.

Thorne met Davic's wondering gaze a last time and turned his attention to the young neonate, drawing him close.  "Lydon, how do you feel?"  He kissed him on the cheek then looked his face over, examining the wounds.

The neonate was still looking at Davic, but now turned his attention completely to his master.  "When you left me, Master," the young Tremere said, his voice still hoarse from screaming, "I was completely your creature.  Now I am still your creature, yours to pleasure and yours to harm, but I am also Tremere, now more than ever.  I am Order of the Knife, and my blood is yours."  His face, marred but still beautiful, shone with an exalted light that bewildered Davic.

But not Thorne, who gazed at the neonate with pride, his face taking on a similar light.  "He knows, Vic, what you do not see... that in serving my need he serves Tremere, he enhances us all.  This could have been blood ritual and his service would have been no more honored.  No... this was blood ritual, in a way..."

Davic shook his head in denial, still not understanding.  He was two hundred years Tremere, but still did not know his master, did not see as Thorne saw.  Thorne, giving himself to be tortured so that he may procure a simple blood sample... Thorne slicing up the body of one of his own to purge himself of the fire of what had been done to his own body... Davic did not understand.  It was an innocence of heart that he had somehow kept with him from his mortal days, and a bit of what Thorne loved in him.

"And I loved it," Lydon was saying, something of a fey grin on his face, his eyes all seduction still, though Davic wondered if the blond Tremere was seducing him or Thorne.  "I can't WAIT to repeat it..."

"That's sick," Davic blurted out, unthinking, recoiling.

"That's Tremere," Lydon snapped back in a sudden snarl.  "Why don't you know that?  You're older than me! I wanted this!"

"Children, please," Thorne sighed, his arm around Lydon's waist.  "It's not sick and it's not Tremere.  It's Kindred.  We are Kindred and by our nature we do these things..."  He looked at Davic, who sighed and nodded - still not understanding - and then at Lydon who subsided, nestling in closer to his master's side.  He petted the cheek of the neonate, tracing the lines of fading scars.  "Lydon, rest in my bed tonight, my sweet... I will join you there at dawn."  He kissed him and let him go.

"Master," Lydon nodded, acquiescent, but a gleam in his eye remained as he thought of having more of his master in the morning.

Thorne then went to his childe, took him in his arms.  "Vic, please, for the love you bear me, just let this go.  Someday you will see..."

"Are you going to torture him again?" Davic asked him softly, tears of red in his eyes.

"No," Thorne replied emphatically, disappointed that his lover needed to ask.  "The need is gone.  Can't you feel that in me, Vic?"

Davic searched his master's eyes, aching to see, then placed his hand over the other's breast, feeling his heart.  Thorne's heart beat very slow - four beats a minute - a Kindred sign of calmness.  "Yes," he replied finally, bowing his head.  "I feel your peace."  He found suddenly that he could smile.  

There was one more thing for Thorne Severan to do before the dawn.  Flying to an outcropping of rock that jutted out into the Bay, Thorne settled and morphed back into his normal form, then turned and faced a peninsula that separated the San Francisco Bay from Richardson Bay.  On that point, the Victorian house of Lucien Lacroix.

Thorne turned his attention toward the house, his black tunic flapping around him in the Bay night breezes like wings.  [You never broke me, Lacroix,] he thought, darkness clouding his handsome features for a moment again.  [And whether you like it or not, the eyes of Tremere will be watching you now.  And, more...]

He had enough power in him this night for one magicking.  It was the real reason he needed to drink long from both Davic and Lydon, to push ahead his own recovery so that he could perform blood ritual again.  This was going to be a very simple magick, only a Level 3 thaumaturgy, but it was what he needed to try to garner one more shred of information about the non-Kindred vampires inhabiting that house.

The ritual called for the ears of a bat, but Thorne was a long way from relying on things to magick with.  Instead, he had a single flake of blood from Lacroix to use.  Withdrawing a ritual dagger from his sleeve, Thorne cut a slice into his palm, then let his blood trickle into a small, glass tube.  When it was half full, the flow had stopped of itself.  He licked his palm clean, then laid the knife on a rock, its bloody tip pointing toward the house across the bay.  Into the glass tube he added the flake of Lacroix's blood.

It was time.  Thorne closed his eyes and held the blood-filled tube before him.  His empty hand curved sinuously into a ritual gesture.  He froze like that for a couple minutes, rendering himself completely still, his heart nearly stopping.  Then... he gathered energy.

He opened his eyes.  They were transformed to silver, but he'd already transferred energy for sight over to another sense.  Indeed, he only maintained enough of his sense of touch to stand upright and keep his balance, his entire sensory powers shunted into one, extended, enhanced the one until it became immense.  The ritual was called Cast Thine Hearing.  But it did not allow him to hear across the Bay.  There were buoys making their cadenced soundings, nocturnal seabirds cawing, the sound of the slap of water against rocks, but Thorne was unable to hear any of that.

Instead, he heard with the ears of Lucien Lacroix...    

SOUND: fingers against cloth, softly brushing;  A voice.  "Father, did you ever regret you made me?"

SOUND: Laughter, and Thorne nearly lost his concentration entirely. "Not even then, my Nicholas.  I always entertained my hopes for you... and it warms my heart still to think how those hopes have come true.  You are back at my side..."  A rustle of cloth, then a distinctive noise of kissing.

Then Thorne released the magickal connection and steadied himself, waiting until a bout of dizziness passed.  Though the magick was not very complicated or at a high Level, Thorne felt drained.  What Lacroix had done to him had only been one night past.  [It is all I can do for now, Julian,] he thought to himself, making a decision to call the Prince on the morrow.  [But this you need to know about, my Prince...]

Sagging down to sit on the ground, he then realized he had no more energy to shape-shift and fly.  And that dawn was a couple hours away.  Fortunately, his swimming skills were not going to have to be tested.  A dark shape blocked out the light of the moon.  A Gargoyle landed.

"Master," Hunter breathed, going to one knee beside the Tremere leader. "I don't believe I mentioned to you today that I love you, have I?"

Thorne wearily peered up at him and smiled.  "No, not today, my big pet.  Take me home, please, Hunter?"

The large grey creature scooped up the long figure of the wizard in his arms and stood.  He kissed the brow of the Tremere, smiled, and launched himself into the sky with his burden.    

Davic met Hunter at the door of the chantry and took over the sleeping form of his sire himself.  He took him to Thorne's private chamber.  Laying him beside the sleeping neonate, Lydon, Davic stripped him of his clothes and tucked him into bed.

Looking down on his sire, the neonate's head pillowed on his shoulder -and not a mark on either of them now, he noticed - Davic smiled, thinking how they looked like two angels, one blond and the other a darker blonde with long flowing hair.  Sighing he undressed and joined them, settling in on Thorne's other side.

The dawn awoke.  

The End