Copyright © 2012: Letitia Van Herck. All Rights Reserved.
When Love Runs Red
Chapter Thirteen
A riot! Those two words shook the very order in Dante’s considerably busy schedule. At present he stood in the large mass of crowd, with a hundred or more guards, in a feverish attempt to stop the enraged riot getting out of hand. The putrid stale odour of sweat and liquor wafted through the air and clogged up Dante’s nose. Had he not been used to it he was sure he would have heaved. The people in this part of the capital were overcome with poverty, living in tiny one bedroom huts and living of scraps off the street. They were bitter and ruthless and hated the Queen for their unfortunate circumstances. This was partly the reason she had royal guards, to put a stop to any riff raff that surfaced. It worked to a certain degree, minus the evident fact it cost a considerable amount of money to do so. The Queen was painfully paranoid and he didn’t blame her, not when she had lost everything and given up all she had left utterly in order to gain it all back. Some would say she was possessed with the idea of power.
"Death to the Queen!" was roared by a collective pack of drunken rioters whom smashed through a shop window. This was followed by screams as young women went scattering out the shop looking aghast. It was an exceptionally bad event this time; they had set fire to shops, carts but thankfully not houses. They were rebelling against the system as they stole. It had been going through much of the night and now well into the day. Despite their best efforts it was proving to be difficult to find an end to the madness; for they had arrested half a dozen citizens and the riot still seemed to continue with an angry force. Dante hated to conduct direct contact with the citizens for he always felt like he was betraying them in some way. He let out a low grunt as he jogged up to the drunkards, grabbed them by the back of their collar's and with graceful manoeuvre brought them onto their backs within less than a werewolf’s hearts beat. They grumbled, as he slammed their faces into the floor. Two other guards appeared then; lifting them up and dragging them away to a dingy dark cell no less.
It was becoming quiet apparent the riot would last a fare number of days; much to Dante’s great distaste. Weary he ran a hand through his hair; the strands sleeking back. He scowled then his green eyes turning sinister at the scene before him. It was apocalyptic madness, with fire and blood and carnage sprouting from every corner and consuming the air till it was thick and heavy in ones lungs.
A woman’s scream had Dante’s senses come to life. With brooding eyes he scanned the crowd looking for the supposing victim. He was against the abuse of women, for they were such delicate creatures whom were the great bearer of new life. They were not to be harmed but pampered and cared for like women should; treated by men with care and timid hands. He thought of Charlotte then with her porcelain doll skin, and lips so red they resembled the finest of wines, and eyes a brilliant amber. A heavy sigh escaped his lips right before his gaze fell upon the holder of the devilish screams. The woman was young and terrified to the point of madness. Four men gripped her arms and shoulders trying to drag her, with no much success, to an alley adjacent to them.
Dante felt his jaw tick in frustration at the whole ordeal, and he could do naught but think of Charlotte being gripped by those men, being forcibly dragged away. A sick churning started in his stomach as his own imagination wreaked havoc inside him. He almost shook now in anger as he raced through the frantic crowd of rioters and citizens. Fear sat heavily in the air like a stale odour and it all but made Dante wince. He continued onwards; his set purpose at the time to help the woman, to who was now being thrashed around like a rag doll. The long thick strands of black hair that must have previously been kept in a tight bun had come lose. Her eyes were wide and teary; her cheeks were flushed from fear. The men were tattered and cruel, their features harsh and unflattering and hands rough upon her skin.
As Dante drew nearer she screamed out, her eyes fixating firmly onto him. He nodded a silent promise as he all but lunched at the man nearest. He fell with a mighty thud and a grunt as Dante slammed into him. Resting his boot upon the now fallen man he kept him in place as he glared firmly at the others. They exchanged looks with each other, before releasing the girl and making a dash into the dark alley. A guard rushed over then, bowing low to Dante before dealing with the man still lain beneath his boot.
The next course of action was to deal with the woman. She lay in a heap on the floor; tears streaming her flushed face and her fangs extended in pure fear. He bent down besides her and offered her his steady hand but she was uncertain; her eyes darting about in untamed fear. He pulled his hand away hesitant to not heighten her hysteria and instead met her gaze levelly and muttered comforting words.
"All shall be fine, do not worry, for they have left and you are safe now," he ushered with a gentle smile. Her tears stopped in their cascade. She blinked as she gazed upon him, before a feminine blush tainted her cheeks. He all but winced at the reaction but kept his face passive of emotion. It was not that she was an unattractive maiden, for she was. She had dark straight hair and gentle blue eyes, red lips too and fare skin; that all sat upon strong a smooth face. Yet he could only admire her beauty; nothing more. There was no initial attraction towards her and no desire or maddening protectiveness.
Gerard appeared then, more than a little flustered and rather tired looking. He approached Dante though with a powerful determination.
"Gerard see that this woman is taken somewhere safe, she has just been attacked so be courteous," Dante said rising to his feet. The woman looked startled at his abrupt movement but once her gaze fell upon the rather flustered young Gerard, warmth came over her. Not checking to see if Gerard would see that she was well, he sprinted off in the direction of the attackers. He had come to the resolve they would pay for their brutish behaviour towards the young woman. For it was without justice that they should be pardoned of punishment.
The alley was much like any other alley with high brick walls surrounding each side, that was contaminated with filth and dirt and sewage. It reeked of waste and was enough to make his stomach churn. Wrinkling his nose he continued his pursuit. It was odd of course that the attackers were no where to be seen but it only concluded there was a passage somewhere that aided their escape. Dante wanted to grunt in annoyance, but he remained silent in case of any prying ears. Carefully he stalked to the end of the alley and like predicted there was rather blatant planks of wood covering up and a tight and narrow passage. His fangs extending slightly from anger and annoyance at the stupidity before he removed the planks silently and with ease.
The passage was dark and considerably small, proving difficult for Dante to pass through it without almost getting stuck. The rough bricks scraped against his skin leaving scratch marks and dirt in its wake. He winced at the subtle pain, but he would not turn back. He soon escaped the trapped enclosure with a grunt; he ran his hands down his trousers before glowering at the scene before him. He found himself within a square impacted space; perhaps someone’s garden. It was an odd out of sorts space but it was not what had him hissing in annoyance. Standing in the centre of the enclosed space was the attackers, looking rather smug as a werewolf stood behind them. It teeth were hanging outside its gums, its eyes a scarlet red as it gazed upon Dante. The wolf was out for blood. His blood.
Perfectly posed Dante glowered at the wolf; that in turn let out a low rumbling growl that vibrated from its throat. The men all rather plain in appearance and with dirt stricken faces seemed all too pleased to have cornered him, as they should have been. Did it mean they would win? Hardly for Dante was a skilled and feared fighter for a reason. Yet he had just fallen into a trap. He mentally scolded himself for his stupidity; his valiant attempt for justice had clouded his judgement.
"Ambassador Dante, what a pleasant surprise," the man centred in the middle cackled. He had sandy blonde hair, brown muddy eyes and a cruel scar running across his left eye.
"Not a surprise at all. Quite clever of you to trick me like this. But sorry if I find it hard to believe you were the mastermind behind this trap, and sorry if I find it hard to be intimidated by a fool," Dante said coolly, gripping his belt where his sword was stashed. The man turned red in anger, but instead of lashing out like Dante had first hoped he simply shrugged.
"After this you shall be dead by the hands of said fools," he man hissed low his fangs extended. He drew his sword then, and his companions in turn followed. They charged at him; forming a perfect formation. Drawing his own sword he began to block each swing of their swords. The ring of metal against metal sounded in the air, and though Dante’s muscle soon started to burn he was beginning to have an upper hand. He lunged forward, his sword almost plunging into the leader’s stomach; he dodged however with a mighty grin. Just than the wolf howled and lunched at Dante; knocking him to ground. Cackles could be sounded around him; no doubt his other attackers.
The werewolf’s mouth hung open above him; its large white teeth trying to bite into him. He managed to block its lunges with his sword but barely. With a low hiss he raised his sword as the wolf pinned against his shoulder and went to bite at his throat, with one graceful stab he pierced the sword through the wolfs mouth till it reached his skull. Blood spurted from the stab wound as the wolf howled in terrible pain and tumbled upon him. Its mattered grey fur and heavy dead body pressed against his with a painful amount of weight.
Grunting Dante pushed it off him with a thud. Gracefully he rose to his feet before pursuing his other attacker who blanched and dodged his sword with now hasty attacks. They had obviously not believed he would survive a werewolf attack when in truth he had battled and won against scarier werewolves in his time. It didn’t take long for Dante to slice open the dark haired short stocky attacker's throat open who had dodged his blows like a terrified child. He then began to descend upon the other dark haired taller attacker. He was by no means anymore graceful from shock perhaps and as Dante stabbed the man in the heart, he let out a cool smile.
Confidence radiated off him, and though his muscles ached from the whole ordeal he was more than certain he was going to win. But it had been unwise of him to be so valiant, to be so cocky for he paid for it in turn. The bragging and yet triumph feeling that rose inside him, but he never showed, was dimmed to a small feeble flame when he spun around. He had thought he was prepared to face the blonde leader, but as soon as he had turned the ice cold metal of his blade had met with Dante’s stomach. He growled as the metal sunk low, and icy fire coursed through his body and chilled his teeth. He winced as his body burned. The pain did however also unleashed the anger.
He did not know what controlled him next; if it was blind madness or stupidity but he had stepped forward into the blade. The blonde gave him a look of poor horror as Dante raised his sword and sliced the attacker’s arm off. The man gave a terrible scream and clamped to the floor. His tethered hand stayed attached firmly on the sword in Dante’s stomach but the attacker twitched on the floor; hollow gasps of pain rising from his lungs. Blood spurted from his arm and flew into the air; only to land in a puddle on the ground.
With shaking arms and legs Dante gripped the sword buried deep within his stomach and yanked it out; horrified as blood poured from his stomach. His legs shook and body ached. His legs went slack beneath him as the blood would not cease to pour from his body. Falling to the floor he coughed up more blood as his vision turned to red blotches. His hands were gripped into fists and he all but begged for the pain to cease. It didn’t and instead his body gave way. His arms trembling they collapsed beneath him and with a terrible rasp he sank into nothing. He just implored this wasn’t the end.
Stanley was going to butcher his brother. If not today it would certainly be at some point soon. He was the infuriation that had him grumbling to himself most nights that had that brutal hatred and terrible anger rise upon him like an enraged storm. He had been relatively calm before his brother had announced himself into his home. He had been at utter bliss watching the young Frey nibble on her food, her large observing eyes watching him with curious adoration.
She had been rather flustered coming to his home on that first day, and he had expected her to retreat to one of the rooms he had offered her. Had she been any other girl he was sure she would have, but not his dear Frey. To his shock and horror she had come to his chamber that night, ready for him to take her. He had been mortified as she had nervously slipped into his bed; her face flushed and her eyes wide. He hadn’t let her proceed. Something inside him had burned him to continue, for he was not dead and she was indeed beautiful. But what little honour and tenderness he had, had stopped him. She had been ashamed and dashed from the room.
Frey hadn’t spoken a word to him since and it had pained him to see her so ashamed. He had wanted to tell her as to why he did not take her into his bed that night. Wanted to tell her he could not and would not force her when she was not ready. He had neither love nor consideration for werewolf lore and when he finally did decide to bed her it would be because it was right and she was ready in her heart and mind. She wasn’t like the occasional prostitute he had used, no she was pure and good and wholesome.
He had just said goodnight to Frey, who he noticed slept considerably a lot, when his brother had entered his home. He had no desire of telling Michael of his mate, for he feared what he would or consider doing to her if he knew. For now she would be his darling secret and he would treasure it. His good mood however had been shattered from that point onwards. Michael had glided into Stanley’s office a sly smirk on his face which made Stanley fearful.
"What have you done brother?" Stanley asked curtly as his brother leaned lazily against his desk. Dressed in a black tailored suit and holding a cane he looked like any noble man, only he wasn’t. He was the finest sleaze Stanley had ever come across.
"I may have just eliminated our dear friend Sir Dante," Michael announced tapping at his cane. Stanley became aware how still he had gone, had he been watching himself he would have questioned his very livelihood. The initial shock did not last very long and soon Stanley was bellowing in rage.
"Are you insane brother?" he roared, "I never question your judgement for you are just sleaze enough to be of some use but this is madness. Killing Dante was far too risky, for your sake I hope he lives,"
"Your plan is to remove the Queen! What better way to do so than remove her most powerful force," Michael growled back. Stanley clenched his fists. Dante’s death would be the end of their plan. All the careful planning they had done would be demolished instantly for the Queen would go on a rampage.
"No brother! Killing the Queen’s most trusted alley, the very person I know she would even consider to call her friend would ruin everything. Did you not consider that by killing him you would send the Queen on a rampage? She would turn the kingdom inside out and kill those we are trying to protect. She will find us brother!" Stanley hissed. Michael’s face went grim, considering what had just been said. He winced then.
"Perhaps you are right," Michael said after some time, rising from his desk, "But what’s done is done. Time will tell if he lives but I doubt it very much. The wound delivered to him was quite deep if I recall."
Stanley ground his teeth at his brother’s insolence. He would certainly kill him eventually. He was too much of a risk alive; he was reckless and though older, was poor in judgement. It was not always necessary to kill like his brother believed.
"You seem tense brother. When did you last feed?" Michael asked tapping his cane against the floor. The incisive tapping played at Stanley’s nerves, making a headache form. His brother was right; it had been a fare about of time since he had fed. His fangs extended long and hard and a throbbing parched feeling built in his throat.
"If you wish I could bring in a personal acquaintance of mine to assist," his brother said an icy smile tugging at his lips. Stanley shuddered at the thought. He had no desire for any favours from his brother. In fact if he could he would rid himself of his brother for good, as it almost burned him with distaste at the thought of being any relation to the wickedness that was his brother.
"I can see to it myself brother," Stanley muttered, running a hand shakily through his hair. His brother’s face darkened as he gave Stanley a droll stare.
"One day brother, you will accept my helpful gestures before I run out of kindness," was the last thing his brother hissed before leaving his home. Stanley hadn’t thought much of the threat at the time.
Charlotte Elizabeth Watson had only seen the devastating effects of death twice in her life. The first time was when she was ten years of age and playing in the garden behind her family’s manor. It had been a warm day, the gentle rays of sun streaking the earth like an angels love. She hadn’t many friends then and still hadn’t gained any after. Her only friends had been the strange being she had conjured in her mind; it had been a woman with flowing long hair and a warm smile. She had glowed and floated above her, always muttering wise words that she had often hoped her own mother would.
On that particular sunny day Charlotte had been imaging she was a Queen marching her army to war against the goblins that lived at the end of her garden- or so she had believed. While marching she had stumbled upon a wounded and dying baby bird resting on the floor. She had stopped mid-declaration that the goblins would burn in hell for their sins against the faeries and bent before the bird. It had been a Robin, its wing tattered and bleeding and its legs ripped from its small body.
Charlotte had felt nauseous then; tears had streamed down from her eyes as she had stroked the birds wings and prayed to God for its soul. She remembered her imaginary friend had muttered calming words then, some of which she had forgotten up until the moment she had seen soldiers carrying a bleeding Dante through the castle. Her heart had all but stopped beating.
That was the second time she had encountered the harshness of death. She had been certain he would die. Blood had coated him, his stomach sliced open. Unwell she had gripped the wall, the books on the biology of vampires and werewolves she had been holding falling to the floor. She felt weak and her legs had begun to shake. She had been so exhilarated for she had spent most of the day learning new things about the world she had stumbled upon but it had all been demolished within an instant. She clutched her throat, her lips parting to let out a whimper. She caught sight of Gerard next, who looked grim. He had strolled up to her and began to speak. What he said she couldn’t recall for her mind had been a jumbled haze.
"He cannot Die," she remembered muttering. Her hands shaking she had instinctively stepped forward, full intent on following his bleeding body, "If God has any mercy he cannot die,"
"Lady Watson you cannot follow him," Gerard said hastily stepping in front of her.
"Please do not stop me. I have to," she blubbered her hands shaking, "Please,"
Her heart ached for him. How cruel was a world that love could hurt as much as heal. She could not comprehend a world without Dante, he was cold and monotone but her soul ached for him. Shutting her eyes she let Gerard lead her away. She could do nothing to help him she knew, her presence would only hinder any chance of recovery he may have had. Her soul and heart crying for her not to leave she dragged herself away.
The walk back to her chambers hadn’t seemed as long as it should have, for it was in those moments of utter despair your mind fogged out all sense of time or reality. When reality had regained to a somewhat more understandable presence she had found herself alone and on her knees. She stared up at the heaven, her eyes still streaming with tears.
Her mother had always said God would help those who prayed. That God was merciful and all loving. She had always believed he was, but now as she knelt on the floor muttering silent incoherent prayers to God it was time to prove if it was true. Her prayers rose up like a tyrant of songs, and she had continued like that till the familiar blue of the nightly moon had cast long shadows across the wooden floors. As the glow formed around her it was then her imaginary friend's words had come echoing back to her, like a mothers soothing kiss.
Death plaques those undeserving, but miracles are graced upon those who are truly kind.
It had been back when she was ten years of age that the heavens had heard those very words and that little robin’s wings had mended; its body glowing as it healed. It was then she had been graced with her first encounter of death and likewise her first miracle. Though seeing Dante bleeding was her second encounter she shamefully hoped it too would be the second miracle she would see.
Miracles are graced upon those who are truly kind…
There was no doubt in her mind he was just that: truly kind. And so she continued to pray until her body grew tired and eyes grew weary, as she fell asleep. Though she was sure she never stopped praying even then.
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Authors Note:
Question time! For my amusement! ^^
So are you team Dante or team Stanley?
Team Frey and Stanley or team Charlotte and Dante?
What do you think will happen next?
What do you think of Michael?
And finally…who is your favourite character so far?
Leave your answers in the comment box bellow. Remember the first three people to vote and comment will get a mention in the next chapter in the author note thing AND a mention in a private message woo! Thank you for the support so far! <3
~Letitia