Chapter Text
Lucy sat in the kitchen of 35 Portland Row, alone.
A half eaten piece of toast and a cup of tea long since grown cold were all there was to keep her company. That and the gnawing worry in her belly.
George had been gone all day at the Archives, trying to find a way to fix the mess they were in. He’d rung shortly before curfew to say that he was going to try to find Flo, that she might have something for him, but he should be back in plenty of time.
She had never needed to place so much blind faith in one person before and she hated it. But this was George, and this was exactly the kind of problem he was good at solving. If he couldn’t…
She watched the clock, every tick echoing the blood pulsing in her ears. The sun had set hours ago and George still wasn’t back. What if Flo had needed help with something? Or payment? What if he couldn’t find a cab? The longer she let it go, the riskier things became.
The clock struck three, the chime echoing through the empty house. A distant rattle from the basement answered.
She couldn’t wait any longer—she would just have to do it alone.
The knot in her stomach tightened as she opened the door to the basement with a faint creak. She could smell dust on the chill air as she descended, but little else. She felt there ought to be something more—blood or decay or even the earthy smell of gravedirt. But it was just concrete and laundry detergent and the oil they used to keep their chains from rusting.
It was dark but for a yellow glow from the street lamps outside and the lantern that she carried. She left the lights off—bright lights seemed to cause too much agitation. In her other hand, a silver rapier gleamed. She walked past the shelves of sealed Sources, ghostly tendrils swimming behind silverglass, and stopped in front of the door to the high security vault.
She took a deep breath. Then another. Her heart thudded heavily and she knew he would hear, knew she shouldn’t linger on the threshold, but with each time she came down here it grew harder to push past her fears and worries and step through.
She placed the lantern on the floor and slid back the heavy bolt. The door swung open on well-oiled hinges, a growing sliver of light arcing across the room beyond and falling on him…or what was left of him.
The creature watched her, irises glowing iridescent like a cat’s in the dark. He was kneeling on the floor, heavy chains padlocked around his wrists, leading back to iron rings set into the cement wall. Aside from the dark stains on his white collared shirt and the madness in his eyes, he looked the same as he’d always done: pale skin, dark ruffled hair, long elegant limbs.
Lockwood.
He looked up at her and snarled, anger and pain etched in the lines of his face, muscles tense with the promise of violence.
Lucy swallowed the sob that tried to rise in her throat at the sight of him, familiar and alien all at once. She wanted to throw herself at him, to grab the sides of his face and scream at him to come back to her. She wanted to tell him how much she needed him.
It was too late for that now. Instead, she held her rapier in front of her and put as much command in her voice as she could muster. “It’s feeding time,” she said, voice ringing clearly in the small space. “Stand up.”
He watched her for a long second, then between one blink and the next, he was standing, the chains pulling taut with a heavy clank. The tip of her sword was only an inch from his chest and his eyes were fixed on her like a hungry wolf’s.
“Good,” she said, swallowing down her nerves, “now stay still. I’d hate to cut off your head by accident.”
She moved forward cautiously, angling the blade up and across his throat. He stayed perfectly, preternaturally still as she held her left arm out, offering up her wrist. The moment she came within reach his head snapped forward, biting down.
Lucy grimaced, but didn’t cry out, focusing on holding her blade steady as his fangs sank into her flesh. He groaned softly, eyes fluttering closed in rapture as he drank from her.
They had discovered that the longer they let him go without sustenance, the more insane he became, pulling at the chains, scratching at his own flesh, growling and snapping at anyone who appeared. If they gave him a little every night, he was at least able to understand them, to follow simple directions. But he hadn’t spoken in the two weeks since they’d chained him up, hadn’t shown the least sign that he even remembered who they were.
Some vampires remembered who they were, maintained enough intelligence to be contained, useful even. Others went immediately and irrevocably insane from the bloodlust. These were hunted and destroyed with prejudice by DEPRAC.
George was convinced that there was something left of the Lockwood they knew, that there was some way to bring him back from the brink. Lucy hoped so. She didn’t think she could bear to start her life over. Again.
His pale cheeks hollowed as he sucked, the bruises beneath his eyes turning the color of ripe plums as fresh blood entered his veins. He looked so beautiful even still, and it made Lucy’s heart hurt that he was so close and yet still a world away. She longed to reach out and caress his face, to run her hands through his hair, wild and shaggy and inviting.
Her vision blurred as she watched him, feeling wretched and alone and longing for him to look up at her and say her name. She’d been fighting through the pain and despair for weeks, but in this moment her grief was laid bare. She missed him with a terrible sharpness. She wanted him to come back to her more than she’d ever wanted anything in her life.
A cold, tingling feeling began to spread up her arm and she felt a sudden wave of dizziness. Shit. She’d been so distracted she hadn’t timed the feed. How much blood had she given him?
“Stop…” she croaked, the effort making her head spin.
He sucked harder.
“Stop! STOP!”
She wrenched her arm from his mouth, stumbling backwards. He cried out, straining against the chains, teeth flashing, blood dripping down his chin.
She still held her sword in front of her, but the tip weaved alarmingly. She stopped, steadying herself, trying to orient towards the exit…there it was, just to her left. She took one step toward it before a voice stopped her in her tracks.
“Lucy.”
She blinked, looking back at him. He’d sunk to his knees in the centre of the room, arms pulled behind him by the chains as he leaned towards her, dark eyes intent on her face. He was so pale he almost seemed to glow in the dark room.
“Lockwood?” she whispered.
“I need…” he said, voice raspy with disuse, but clearer than she’d heard it in a long time.
She took a step towards him, rapier half-raised. “What?”
“I need more. Please…it’s hard to…” He shivered, his eyes losing focus.
“I’m here, Lockwood, it’s me.” Lucy could feel wetness on her cheeks. “Tell me what you need.”
“I need you. Need your…” His eyes flickered down to her wrist and he licked his lips, his tongue already stained red with her blood.
Hope squeezed her heart even as anxiety fluttered in her belly. It was him, really him for the first time in weeks. If she let him take what he needed, would it bring him all the way back? If she didn’t, would he slip away again?
But she could already feel the dizzying after effects of the feed, the room swaying in her vision. If he took too much, if he fed too deeply, he would kill them both. DEPRAC would hunt him down and George…George would help them do it.
“I can’t,” she said finally. “I…I’ll bring George down before dawn. You can feed again…”
“Don’t want George,” he said, his voice low and gravelly. “George tastes of sweat and paper and fear, but you…” He stood, swaying slightly, the chains holding him back. He leaned as far forward as he could, seeming hypnotized by the blood dripping from her wrist. “You taste of longing, desire, hope, anger. Your blood is like honeyed wine compared to his.”
Lucy shivered at the dark edge to his voice, the hungry gleam in his eyes. Even knowing it would be catastrophic, she longed to go to him, to give him what he needed. But she had taken enough risks for one night.
“I’m sorry,” she said, taking a step toward the door. “Maybe when George comes ba–”
He let out a blood curdling howl, thrashing at the chains, making Lucy jump. She tried to run, but the blood loss stole her balance, the room tilting suddenly beneath her feet and she collided with the metal frame of the door. From behind her, she heard the squeal of twisting metal and her heart hammered in her chest like a caged animal at the noise.
One lucid thought cut through her panic: she would never be able to close the door in time.
She turned, raising her sword, but it was too late. It had been too late the moment she lost her focus and let him feed on her longer than she’d meant to, too late the moment he’d said her name.
One second she saw him, muscles taut beneath his shirt, face hidden in shadows as he pulled, pulled until the chain snapped like a thread. Then he was crashing into her, pushing her back against the wall, her sword falling from numb fingers to skitter across the floor.
His hands wrapped around her wrists and he brought her arms up over head, pinning her to the wall. His scent washed over her, stale sweat and dried blood and something dark and sweet like treacle.
She tried to scream, but couldn’t find her voice. She struggled against him, knowing it was futile. Even in his weakened state he was far stronger than her mortal frame. He could snap her like a twig.
He turned his head and gave a long, slow lick from her elbow to where he held her wrist, lapping up the blood running down from her wound. It had begun to hurt, throbbing from the exertion, but the caresses of his tongue numbed it, taking the pain and leaving only a tingling chill.
“If you hurt me, they’ll kill you,” she said, fighting the rising tide of panic.
He turned to look at her, and though they were both in shadow, she could see him perfectly. His cheekbones stood out starkly in his pale, elegant face, sooty lashes framing dark, glittering eyes.
It was eerily, achingly beautiful.
Her breath caught in her chest at the sight, the panic that had been trying to choke her freezing, crystallizing into something beyond fear, beyond pain.
“I just need a little more…” he rasped.
His tongue flicked out again, catching a tear on her cheek, then caressing her temple, her jaw, tasting the sweat beading there. His whole body pressed against hers, all hard planes and angles beneath his tattered shirt. He was warmer than the cement at her back, but not by much.
Still, something inside her turned hot and sticky at the feel of it, filling up her belly, her lungs, til she could hardly breathe. Her nipples hardened against his chest, straining at the cup of her bra. There was a time she would have given anything to have him this close to her. But now…
His head dropped to nuzzle at her throat and instead of fear, she felt a rising flood of molten need.
A part of her mind knew what this was. Vampires were like ghosts, affecting the emotions of the living. But unlike simple ghost-fear, vampires could have all kinds of effects, turning a person languid and vulnerable, or wild with need. Most died without ever knowing what had happened but some…some enjoyed it. Some became addicted to it, seeking out vampires who would feed on them again and again.
Lucy whimpered, struggling to keep her sanity afloat, to think of a way out of this. But his teeth grazed her skin and her wits scattered like salt across the earth. She wanted this, wanted him.
“Lockwood,” she moaned softly. “Take…take it…”
She tilted her chin up, exposing her throat to him. He could tear into her in a heartbeat and she wouldn’t even feel it, would drown in the pleasure of his bite.
She couldn’t bring herself to care any longer. She was so tired of running from death.
Suddenly Lockwood released her, his hands sliding down her arms, splaying out over her ribcage, making her shiver. Then he was sliding down her body, to land on his knees, his face pressed to her lower belly.
Through the haze of blood-loss and hormones Lucy felt him nuzzling at the hem of her shirt, down the front of her skirt until his nose was pressed against the crook of her thighs, scenting, seeking…
His nose rubbed against her centre through the fabric and Lucy felt like she’d been hit with a live wire, her body arching away from the wall.
“Lockwood!” she gasped.
His hands wrapped firmly around her hips, keeping her from falling over. He pushed her skirt roughly up and out of the way, mouthing at her through her tights, stoking the fires of need, until her whole body was aflame with it.
“More,” he growled, his deep baritone reverberating through her body.
The truth was that she had always wanted him, always nurtured a secret, bright flame in her heart. But now, with every nerve in her body burning to be closer to him she couldn't want anything else.
“What—whatever you need,” she whispered.
She barely felt it when he ripped through her tights, but she could feel how soaked her knickers were. He pulled at the gusset with his teeth and bit clean through it.
Then his tongue was on her, lapping at her, drinking from her. Not blood, only the hot slickness that seeped from her with every swipe. He groaned in pleasure and Lucy’s head thumped against the wall behind her as she let out a high keening wail. It was so much and yet she needed more, the ecstasy building up, up, up, seemingly without end.
Her hips rocked into his mouth of their own accord. She tried to spread her legs wider, and he responded instantly, grabbing one knee and pushing it up and out, holding her up, holding her open as he took from her—as he gave to her.
He pressed his tongue flat against her clit and that finally broke the dam inside her, a flood of pure sensation gushing from her body as her soul shattered into pieces.
She had one last hazy memory of falling, falling, strong hands wrapping around her so hard it hurt, and then nothing. If this was death, she didn’t feel it.