“Trying to locate Aefre. I thought somehow that a blood-to-blood spell would work, but it isn’t,” he says flatly.
Well, it wouldn’t, Lincoln thinks. They aren’t of the same blood.
“I know what you are thinking, but I had to try. Fae to Fae, you know,” Vito says with a shrug and Lincoln bares his teeth and nods. He knows he had to try. They have all had to try something.
He gestures with his head that Vito should get back to it and reluctantly leaves his happy place. He can find another place to roam in. The grounds are big enough, even for him.
A particular scent catches his attention, and with a loud “ruff” he leaps off in the direction it has come from. He is excited to see her.
He approaches Constantine and his daughter with caution. The ancient Vampire is over-protective of his little girl and Lincoln still wonders what he thinks of this friendship that they have struck up, despite Arathia being only a few months old. He hears her giggle with glee when she sees him, and he also hears Constantine’s sigh as he turns around.
“You,” he says with annoyance.
Lincoln howls quietly at him, needing him to lower the girl so he can see her better. Ever since he connected with her in her mother’s womb, he has felt a link with her. He can’t explain it. He loves her. Not in a romantic sense, obviously, but in an avuncular way that will make him do anything for her and protect her with his life. He knows she feels it too and it makes him warm inside as Constantine relents and lowers his daughter so that Lincoln can ruffle her belly with his nose while she whacks him playfully on his big head with her tiny hands in delight.
“Enough,” Constantine orders and raises her again, away from his direct contact. Lincoln wants to jump up, but he doesn’t want to scare her, so he lets her father take her away again. “Whatever thing this is that you two have going on. It has to end,” Constantine grouses at him.
Lincoln shakes his head as if to say, “not going to happen.”
Constantine bares his fangs at him, but he doesn’t find him intimidating. If anything, Arathia will stop her father from trying to hurt him, if nothing else. He knows that, fully and completely.
“Go away now,” Constantine mutters to him and turns his back to stalk away.
Lincoln’s tail drops, but he knows he has already pushed his luck. He will see her again soon. He isn’t going anywhere.
He lets them wander off, back towards the castle and waits a beat before he follows. His plans for the evening have taken a turn. He had expected to roam the grounds and be at one with nature, hoping that he could forget about Aefre and her latest plight for a few moments, but all this encounter has done is rile him up. Arathia needs her mother back and they all have to find a way to make that happen.
Sooner rather than later.
Place Unknown, January 2015 - Aefre
My eyes have drooped, and my shoulders have followed suit. The tearing of the wounds on my back jolts me awake, which jostles the cuffs burning silently through my flesh on my wrists. I hiss, unable to stop myself and find all eyes on me.
“Boring you, are we?” the elderly Vampire asks, peering over his pince-nez at me, lowering his sheet of parchment that has about a million accusations of guilt written down on it. He has been whining on for who knows how long now and well, yeah. I was getting bored. Bored of being falsely accused. Bored of standing her like a fucking victim, bored of not being rescued. The list goes on and on, about as long as his stupid rolled up parchment.
I just glare at him, having already been whipped once for interrupting when it wasn’t my turn to speak several hours ago.
With a horrid smile, he glances back down and then continues with his list.
This can’t go on for much longer. It just can’t. I didn’t do anything to deserve this. Did I? I am hungry, tired, scared, in pain and I don’t know what is real anymore and what isn’t.
“And in conclusion…”
I perk up. This is the end of the trial. Too bad it also means the end of me. My shoulders sag again.
Dmitri bangs his gavel and announces, “The jury will now go away and deliberate…”
“No need,” the jury forewoman stands up immediately, interrupting him. “We have already reached our decision.”
I lick my lips. How is that fair? They didn’t even get a chance to discuss it or hear each other’s sides. What if some of them were on my side? I see Clem lean forward eagerly in her seat.
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Dmitri frowns, but allows the forewoman to read out her conclusion to my made-up trial.
“Guilty as charged on all accounts,” she says loudly and clearly, giving me a triumphant look that makes my blood run cold. She also has a vendetta against me but was not allowed to express it out of some sense of impartiality. I stood no chance in Hell of getting out of this.
The courtroom goes mad. Cheering and calling for my blood and head on a pike. I swallow loudly as I wonder if they will try and take my head, and what will happen if they do? Will it kill me, or will the blade bounce off the back of my neck and they will have to call in the executioner to hack away at me until it drops into the basket like a mauled, discarded melon? You think I am joking? Devon and I saw this happen once in France at the height of the guillotine. It was not a pretty sight, and that was back when we were less than civilized ourselves.