Chapter Text
They don’t look at each other. Not as they walk into the woods, not as Nicte uses her Work to let Sarah see the bus tucked into a clearing of trees, not as they sit side by side as Scylla drives them to the nearest safehouse that isn’t full of Spree (something tells Tally the Spree wouldn’t be that happy to see Sarah alive, so alive ).
Sarah’s hand is clasped in hers, warm skin against a calloused yet gentle palm. Those blue eyes don’t glance in her direction, but their bond, that golden thread stretched taut between them, their bond is tight with choked emotion.
Abigail and Raelle watch Sarah warily, just as Nicte avoids her all together. Adil stays at Abigail’s side. Khalida looks tired, like the child that she physically is, and Tally holds back a coo as the girl leans into her brother’s side, eyes fluttering closed in the blanket of sleep.
This safehouse is owned by an older couple, graduated military, and the silence that falls when Tally and Sarah step off the bus, hand in hand, covered in blood, blue-white Mycelium eyes, the silence that falls is almost suffocating.
It’s not until they’re alone, alone in the room that their hosts have provided with wide eyes and awe in their voices, that they truly lock eyes again.
There’s a beat of silence, and Tally feels it physically against her skin. Her sight is oddly quiet as she stares into that familiar face, that jawline, those cheekbones, those blue piercing eyes.
The air vibrates with something close to Work when Sarah takes a breath before she speaks.
“Near the end,” Sarah rasps, and there’s something in her eyes that sends a shiver of dread up Tally’s spine, “Near the end, I was tired. There were too many chains, too much rope tying me down, shackling me to life. In the end, all I wanted was to rest.”
What can Tally say to that? What could anyone say to that? Nicte would shoot out a snide comment, sarcasm rich on her tongue, but Tally just tightens her grip on Sarah’s hand, just moves closer until they’re sharing breath once more.
Sarah isn’t as wild as she was when she called down her lightning, but the beat of her heart tells Tally that could change at any moment, that Sarah could bury her teeth in her enemy and shake with all her might just as soon as she gently holds Tally’s hand, looks into big brown eyes. It’s beautiful, and Tally wouldn’t have her any other way, but it hurts . It hurts so badly to see this woman in front of her once more, to feel that leaping pulse through their points of contact, soft skin.
It all comes out in a gasping breath.
“I killed you.” Tally tries for a watery smile, but it comes out more of a grimace, and Sarah’s free hand comes up so her thumb sweeps across Tally’s cheek, caressing bloody skin. “I’m the reason you died, Sarah, and I cannot even pretend to understand why you haven’t struck me down because of it.”
“Oh, Tally, dove,” Sarah’s eyes shine with unshed tears. “It was never your fault. Without you, I would still be miserable, a puppet of the civilian government, relying on their every whim. You, sweetheart, you saved me.”
Tally chokes out a sob, letting her forehead fall to rest against Sarah’s.
“Dove, listen to me,” Sarah’s tone forces her eyes open, forces her to meet the blue eyes in front of her. “I am so, so proud of you, Tally Craven.”
And fuck. That’s what ruins her.
Tally collapses fully into Sarah’s arms, pressing her face against Sarah’s neck, and sobs into that soft Mycelial cloak still wrapped around strong shoulders. The wracking sobs shake them both, but Sarah doesn’t let go. She clings tighter.
Somewhere in the crash of their bodies, in the tears covering Sarah’s neck, Tally’s hands grip Sarah’s shirt, gripping and pulling and clenching her fingers into fabric until she’s so close to the woman that she’s not sure where she ends and Sarah begins, and something inside her snaps together, complete for the first time in so long.
There’s gold around them, she can see it in the air even with her eyes closed, that golden light so vibrant in her sight.
Sarah’s side of their bond is pulsing with warmth, comfort, sadness, understanding , and Tally can’t take it, can’t take this emotion pushing at her, something like love, can’t keep holding this woman without telling her everything.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, wet, into a muscular shoulder. Apologies fall from her lips so easily now, now that she’s in Sarah’s arms. “I’m so sorry, Sarah, fuck , I wish I could go back, wish I never swung that scourge when you turned your back to me. I’m so, so sorry, Sarah. So sorry.”
Sarah just tightens her grip, lets her arms pull Tally up until her legs are wrapped around Sarah’s waist, arms locked around her neck.
Tally’s covered in blood, she knows she is, but that doesn’t stop her from holding onto Sarah with all her strength.
“It’s okay, Tally,” Sarah says in that rough voice, close to tears, and Tally tries to take solace in that, in the honesty that pours through their bond now that Sarah’s free from her chains of her title. “Everything’s okay, darling. It’ll be alright, I promise.”
And Tally believes her.
They end up in the bathroom, carefully pulling off clothes until only blood and skin remain. It’s not uncomfortable, not like it should be, not awkward like it would have been if it was anyone but Sarah Alder, anyone but this woman who pulled herself from death only by the bond they share.
Under the spray, Sarah wipes blood from Tally’s pale skin, always touching her in some way.
They don’t have sex, they’re not ready for that, they’re not ready to be that entwined, that vulnerable, especially not after the battle they just returned from. Instead, Sarah washes Tally’s hair with gentle touches, and Tally returns the favor in kind.
They end up in the king size bed, under the heavy sheets, Tally’s face in Sarah’s neck, Sarah’s teeth scraping against Tally’s chords.
They’re connected, connected by more than their shared trauma and the old, weakened Biddy bond. The gold Work in the air around them proves that, proves that they’re held together by their very atoms, pulled to each other with every breath.
“I think…” Tally wets her lips, swallows hard, presses her eyes closed as she breathes out, “I think I’m in love with you, Sarah.”
It’s a terrifying thought, something both new and old, a thought that stops her heart in her chest just as Sarah’s teeth stutter over her skin, her wild instincts pausing at this declaration.
How did they get to this? Sure, Tally had a crush on General Alder, then Alder, then Sarah after the Biddy bond, then General Alder once more after so many betrayals, so many lies. Her sisters teased her mercilessly at the heart eyes she gave, at the sadness in her smile after Alder’s death that struck her and never left.
But this? Love?
It came suddenly, naturally, all in one go and as slow as the chasing tide. She loved Sarah in the set of her jaw as she slit a Camarilla agent’s throat, she loved this woman in every look they shared in Fort Salem, every glare burning holes into the other. They fell in love consumed by anger, the need to protect, the need for truth.
Yes, Tally thinks, she would die for this woman, but she would betray her just the same, kill in her name, bring the truth to light even if it destroys everything she knows.
Tally’s different now, she understands the importance of secrecy, of decisions made in war, but there’s still that part of her shining through that needs to know, aches for it.
But that’s not important now, not with this hitch in Sarah’s breathing, the slow drag of teeth against skin, somehow so gentle and loving even as sharp teeth threaten to clamp down on her chords.
“Hm,” Sarah hums, noses at her neck with a lazy smile, “I think I’m in love with you too, Tally love.”
There’s something shy about that lazy smile, something vulnerable, and it brings tears to Tally’s eyes.
“What happens now?” she can’t help but ask. She needs to know, can’t continue this dance, this game, if she won’t be able to hold this woman in her arms for the rest of her life.
“Well,” Sarah shifts underneath Tally’s weight until they’re face to face, “whatever you want, dove.”
Really? Is it that easy? It can’t be, she refuses to accept it, not after everything they’ve been through.
It must show on her face, as Sarah’s ice blue eyes soften and her forehead bumps Tally’s with such gentle care that the tears are back once more.
“We win the war,” she says. “Then we can do whatever we want. We are bonded, my love, nobody can ever take you from me again.”
Tally smiles, tears falling so easily against Sarah’s face, “We could get a little cabin in the Cession, raise a dog, sing for the crops to grow, brew our own whiskey.”
“Or,” Sarah suggests gently, so gently, “if you wish, you can go back to the military, claim your rightful place under Magda, refine your sight until you are known throughout the world, held in reverence among Knowers.”
It sounds good, so good, that she has to suck in a shaky breath.
“You would come with me? After everything that happened?”
“Always, lovely.” It’s said with a grim smile, determination hardening those stone blue eyes. “You are worth every pain wrought against me.”
She can’t help it, she sobs into Sarah once more. She sobs harder as Sarah presses soft kisses to the crown of her head, brushes back red hair until she can set her tongue to Tally’s neck once more, lightly scraping with teeth in a way that shouldn’t feel so comforting, shouldn’t make her relax instead of tense with arousal, but nothing’s ever been normal with them, why start now?
Goddess, how does she still have enough liquid in her body to cry? It feels like she’s been crying for years now, ages. She mutters as much into the bare skin of Sarah’s collarbone, getting a breathy chuckle in reply.
“You’re tired, lovely,” she rasps, and oh Tally loves her voice, loves these pet names she’s chosen to call her. “You’ve been fighting for so long without rest, but now you’re safe. It’s natural to cry, trust me, I know.”
It’s hard to picture General Alder crying, but then Tally remembers a teary-eyed General crying at Nicte’s execution with a line of blood down her cheek, and she reminds herself that Sarah is allowed to cry, Sarah, no longer the General, no longer emotionless with a too-long life forced upon her.
“Sleep now, Tally, I will keep us safe for tonight.”
It’s only just sunset, not really night, but Tally is helpless against the pull of sleep, especially in Sarah’s arms.
Sarah Elizabeth Alder was born a beast in human form, and now she is free once more.
Here, holding the girl who she loves so much, too much , she can breathe freely without the constraints of seven other minds tied to hers, without the chains shackling her to her humanity that have left marks on her skin.
She draws her fingers against the bare skin of Tally’s back and relishes in the fluttery pulse of Tally’s heart through her ribs, pressed against flesh.
She’s alive, she’s free, and she is not letting anyone or anything get in the way of what she wants, not now, not after finding her soul bonded to this young woman, this lovely girl with wide eyes and deep dimples and fiery red hair. She is captivated with this cadet, this soldier, this criminal of her own country that she worked so hard to protect, and she would bring down the world before leaving her now that she’s found her.
The sun rises in the countryside, and with it comes the noise of a house awakening. Sarah runs her fingers through red hair and waits for that change in breathing that signals wakefulness.
The beast inside her rages, but she pushes it down. She is safe here, holding Tally, holding all that is important to her, she does not need to hiss and growl and bare her teeth at the world. But the instinct to lick and bite at Tally’s soft skin is almost overwhelming, the need to claim , to show the people of this house that Tally is hers , that Sarah is Tally’s.
No, push it back down, don’t let it out. There are no trees to run through, no dirt to push her feet into, no wind to whip through her hair inside this small safehouse.
She breathes, in and out, and the beast inside her settles.
Oh Goddess, what is she doing? A year ago she would have rather been struck dead than confess her feelings for a cadet, her cadet, and lay here basking in this woman’s warmth. But, a year ago she was corrupt, tainted, shackled by three hundred years of trauma and steel.
This is right, this is natural.
“You’re thinking too hard,” Tally’s sleep-soaked voice mumbles into Sarah’s chest, and Sarah’s heart skips a beat as a soft smile comes to her face.
“Good morning, darling.”
She feels Tally melt at the pet name, at the expression of her affection, and her grin widens.
“Ugh,” Tally groans as she wiggles against Sarah, “Rae and Abi are worrying downstairs. We should get up before they burst in here.”
Sarah laughs, loud and bright, “That would be quite a scene.”
Tally smiles against her skin and shakes her head.
“I like you this way,” she breathes, smile in her voice, “uninhibited.”
“Hm,” Sarah hums, pulling Tally ever closer, “I think I do as well.”
When Tally groans and pulls herself out of bed, her Knowing warning her of her sisters’ decisions, the beast in Sarah growls, possessive, but she knows it’s time to face the music, time to get dressed and go downstairs, so she follows her beloved’s lead.
They dress, pulling on clothes that were left in the dresser for them, leaving those bloody clothes from the night before on the bathroom floor.
Tally, with only a second’s hesitation, takes Sarah’s hand as they step out into the hallway. Sarah’s heart grows, beats and breaks, skips in its place. She can’t believe she’s not shaking with the amount of emotion coursing through her. Tally must pick up on it, through her eyes or the bond, and she squeezes her hand with a warm smile.
Everyone is downstairs, gathered in the living room supplied by the older couple who live here, and Sarah is nervous, scared at what they might say, what they might do to take Tally away from her, but she pushes those thoughts down right alongside her snarling beast.
It feels like Nicte’s eyes pierce her soul, but they don’t make her shake with rage like they used to. There’s understanding in those eyes now. She doesn’t know if that’s better or worse.
“So,” Abigail starts, ever the Bellweather, a hard set to her jaw, “anything you want to tell us, Tally?”
Sarah steps in front of Tally without thinking, a hiss of Work on her tongue, a song in her throat, but Raelle grabs Abigail’s hand and that hard set softens. Abigail looks tired, so tired, and the beast inside Sarah settles, sits back on its haunches and waits.
Slowly, Tally pulls on Sarah’s hand so they’re back to standing side by side.
“That came out wrong,” Abigail mutters. She tries for a smile, fails. “What I meant to say is, could you maybe explain what happened yesterday? ‘Cause I have a guess but it’s pretty damn improbable.”
Tally pulls on their linked hands until they sit, side by side, on the only remaining couch. The other is taken up by Tally’s sisters and the siblings, with Nicte standing behind it. Sarah relaxes as her side presses up against Tally’s, even as she maintains eye contact with Khalida. That girl makes her nervous, always has.
“Where do I start?” Tally’s voice is shy, and Sarah cannot help but lean further into her side in an attempt to comfort her.
She can’t imagine how it must feel to have her family stare at her like this, oh Goddess, if Anacostia were to look at her with such confusion and wariness? She doesn’t know how she would keep from crying.
“The fight,” Raelle says, an easy smile on her face even as she eyes both of them carefully. “Can you start from when you had your vision?”
Tally nods, “I can do that.”
And she does. She tells them of the feeling she got before Sarah arrived on the battlefield, a feeling of safety, of love, of whiskey and dirt. She explains that as the ground rumbled and the clouds sparked with black lightning, all she could see was gold and Sarah .
She skips over the feelings shared through their bond, and Sarah is grateful. She was not fully herself (she was fully herself, had given in to the beast that is her soul, but she will deny it until her dying day).
“So, what?” Abigail glances between them once more. “The Mycelium just let you go? You were dead, General, dead . We pushed you into the Mother ourselves. We saw you die.”
How is Sarah tired of the questioning already? She wishes she could go back to bed, back to brushing up against Tally’s bare skin and scraping teeth against her chords. Her teeth itch at the thought. No, no, she has to answer. This is Tally’s sister.
“I was not fully dead.” She says instead. “My link to Tally kept me on the edge of life, and the Mother was able to heal me the rest of the way. And yes, she let me go without complaint, though I assume that has more to do with my need to win this war and kill the Camarilla than her care for me.”
Tally frowns, “Sarah.”
“I apologize, my love,” Sarah swallows, pressing her side harder to Tally’s. “Perhaps you should do the talking from now on.”
It’s a suggestion, yes, but Sarah knows the girl can feel the desperation leaking through the bond. She doesn’t miss the widening of eyes or the gaping of mouths at her word choice, but she does ignore it.
“I can do that.” Tally turns back to her sisters, her family, “What else?”
Nicte clears her throat, smirks, “Is that a hickey on your neck, Red? Or did you have a run in with a door again?”
The squeak that Tally lets out brings a lazy, predatory grin to Sarah’s face. Her eyes fix on Tally’s neck, eyeing the red and purple spot starting to bruise where she sank her teeth in, ever so gently, and claimed her mate as hers.
“Nope,” Abigail yelps, “no, we are not acknowledging that. Alder, please get that smirk off your face, I can’t take anymore of it.”
Scylla, from the door to the kitchen (Sarah’s not sure how to feel about this girl, this Spree agent who almost got Sarah thrown from power, this witch that reeks of death in a way Nicte never has), chuckles, drawing the attention of the room. She strides over to sit on Raelle’s lap, eyes not leaving Sarah’s. The beast inside her can’t help but take this as a challenge, even as Tally’s grip on her hand tightens, reins her in.
“The real question is,” Raelle asks, holding her girlfriend close, “are you planning on taking back your post as General when the war is over?”
Sarah can’t help the hiss that passes through her lips, her face contorting into a scowl, teeth bared. Only the pressure of Tally at her side keeps her from growling, from snapping her teeth at this girl.
“No,” Tally insists, eyes on her sister even as her body presses harder against Sarah. “Sarah has no interest in being General again.”
Tally glances back at her, looks into feral blue eyes, and must see something in them that has her smiling sadly.
“Truthfully, she hasn’t wanted to be General for a long time,” Tally says, and the bond hums with shared emotions of anger and betrayal and fatigue and sadness and joy. “But that won’t stop us from destroying the Camarilla with everything we have.”
Sarah grins, slow and wide, showing her too-sharp teeth, and she fights the need to taste blood on her tongue once more, instead leaning forward to press her forehead to her mate’s and rumble with glee.
She smells hesitancy in the air coming from the other side of the room, but she ignores it. Tally, her mate, is in front of her, giving off reassuring hums, showing that dimpled smile that she loves so much. Oh, how she wants to bite this woman, wants to lathe her tongue against those dimples, wants to purr into her mouth as they hold each other still and warm.
“Easy, Sare,” Nicte’s voice breaks through the haze of feral instinct, sarcastic, enjoying this too much, “No pouncing on Red until you’re back in your room.”
She growls, hisses, snarls, at this woman’s audacity to tell her what she can and cannot do to her beloved, at her enemy’s voice in her ears when she’s so close to the one she loves, the one she came back for.
It takes everything in her to resist the urge to throw herself across the room and sink her teeth into Nicte’s jugular, taste her blood.
“Sarah, baby,” Tally’s honey-laced voice coaxes her back into sanity, “don’t listen to her, Sarah, she doesn’t know anything. Can you hear me, sweetheart?”
She hums, a low growling purr, and tucks her face into Tally’s neck, grounds herself with her beloved’s natural scent, nuzzles against soft, fragile skin. The beast pulls back, slowly, as Tally’s hands move up and down Sarah’s back and sides, calming Sarah a little more with each pass.
Goddess, she hasn’t lost control like that since the first Spree attack. She buries her face in Tally’s neck with a groan.
“Yeah, one more question,” Abigail again. “What the fuck is up with that? I mean, Mom used to talk about Alder’s temper, but she never mentioned anything about purring or biting.”
Bellweathers.
Sarah stays where she is, tucked against Tally, letting the girl answer for her. She trusts her (and, oh, isn’t that a thought? General Alder would scoff at this feeling).
“I think,” Tally pauses. “I think it has something to do with the Goddess? When I was reading about General Alder as a kid, and then after the unbiddying, I read everything I could get my hands on, even folk tales from Europe, ‘cause I knew the Alder line came from across the sea, y’know?”
It’s hard to stop the purr that rumbles through her at the thought of Tally obsessively reading about her as a child. It’s a lovely thought.
“I remember there were songs and stories about witches that were blessed by the Goddess, but it wasn’t a normal blessing, it was… natural? I’m not sure how else to explain it, but what I can gather from those stories and from the bond between us, Sarah has always been sensitive to the more primal currents of the world.”
Hm, Tally is doing better than she thought she would. Sarah brushes her nose against her pulse point with a hum, showing her agreement with the words being said.
“So,” Scylla drawls, ever the instigator, “that’s why she’s practically claiming you like an animal? She’s more in tune with nature?”
Sarah feels Tally blush against her face, and she grins, nips at her pulse point with sharp teeth just to hear her squeak.
“Yeah, pretty much,” she sounds slightly strangled.
The questions abate after that, after the interrogators realize that the two are more focused on each other than answering any questions shot their way.
Sarah stays tucked into the crook of Tally’s neck, teeth scraping against skin, as the group disbands to scatter throughout the house. Tally’s hands run through Sarah’s wild locks of hair, untangling and pulling absentmindedly.
“We’re going to end the war,” Tally whispers into Sarah’s hair, hands still stroking. “We’re actually gonna do it. I was cautious at first, but now you're back, they don’t stand a chance.”
Sarah hums, “We’ll destroy them all, I swear it to you, my dove.”
As Tally nods, seemingly content with that declaration of war, that bloodlust-filled sentence from the predator tucked against her jugular, Sarah bites down onto the curve of Tally’s neck, letting her teeth indent the soft skin, stopping just as she might draw blood. She hums, deep in her throat, a hearty growl that pleases the beast she was born with, and licks at the bite as Tally pants against the side of her head.
“Okay,” Tally exhales shakily, “we’re going back upstairs now.”
Sarah grins.