Chapter Text
Simeon could smell the blood of Angel Salvatore. He knew the scent well. The necromancer had been bleeding when they first met. He stood still deep within the shadows of a mild summer night, watching the man from a short distance, relying on the fact he didn’t even need to breathe to keep him hidden. Angel was in such a bad state that he probably didn’t need to be so careful. The sorcerer just been in a battle and was painfully vulnerable in the spill of light from a distant street lamp.
Angel put his athame back in it’s holder and used a small steel knife from his bag to cut strips from his shirt for a makeshift bandage. Then he carefully burned every drop of blood that had spilled on the dirty cement. The scent of blood still lingered in the air. Simeon didn’t know if he could smell it’s richness so easily because his senses were so keen, or if he was just so attuned to blood. The sorcerer’s blood was particularly powerful, but not edible, at least not yet. He wanted to know the taste of it, not just the scent. More than that, he wanted to know the taste of his skin, his mouth. And, in that moment, what he wanted most was to scoop the stumbling sorcerer up, heal his wounds and let him rest, safe in his arms.
Simeon closed his eyes for a moment and saw it, just the faintest shimmer of gold, a nascent bond. He’d found his mate at long last. He’d yearned for this from the moment his master explained how romance works for their kind. When he’d been younger, his master had indulged him by sending him off on many trips, for a variety of made up reasons, just to give him a chance to meet more men, vampire and mortal alike, in hopes of finding what he’d finally found in Boston. In their very first meeting, Angel proved to be every bit as dangerous as the stories said, but there was so much more to him than that. He was frighteningly powerful, but extremely careful with that power, having no taste for destruction or vengeance, preferring to talk, set things right. He had good reason to be sickened of vengeance forever. Supernats were scared of him because of how the blood war ended, but those events had made Angel a protector, and someone very careful in how he used his power. Ironically, his newly established bloodclan was safe in this city due to the necromancer’s terrifying past.
Courting the cranky, closed-off and horribly overworked necromancer was a challenge. He rarely even saw Angel, but when his clan needed a practitioner his master called for Angel and he answered every time. He was often pissed off about it, but he always came. Even though Simeon treasured every moment they were together, he wished Angel wouldn’t come for every little thing. The man needed better boundaries.
Sadly, it had been several long weeks since they last needed his services. The current crop of fledglings learned fast and were careful. He was grateful things were going well, but it meant no late night limo rides with a grumpy Angel who tried to ignore him, but kept failing. The looks Angel snuck were sometimes longing, and sometimes he looked so painfully lonely that Simeon had to struggle to keep from reaching out.
The current magical mess haunting the city had fallen to him because no one else was willing. Some families refused to even admit anything was wrong.
A delivery truck had crashed in the middle of the city a few days ago. The truck had no plates and was registered as stolen. All that was in the back were broken crates missing their contents, splintered sigils of warding burned into the wood. No one would admit to sending dangerous items in the dead of night, but the truck had clearly been headed away from a wealthy part of the city with many of the estates belonging to old, prestigious families of sorcerers. The night of the crash, a series of dark shadows had been seen walking out of the flames. Reports of hellish nightmares started the night of the crash starting from the charming shopping street where the truck had flipped and spread down towards the center of the city.
Whatever was going on, Angel was handling it. Word had come in of him being out late, fighting shadows with his athame and slumping from exhaustion against brick walls. Simeon had assigned clan soldiers to follow him from a distance, but tonight he was watching over Angel himself. This was far better than reading reports, letting other people admire his skills.
Angel walked into the center of the open plaza, looking around as if getting his bearings. The strips of blue cotton around his arm had darkened with blood. No new droplets fell, but the smell was stronger in the air. Simeon wondered if there was any chance of him getting it seen to. Angel started to shiver, but he couldn’t be cold on a night like tonight, so it had to be from pushing himself so hard. He seemed to have perfected overworking himself into near collapse into an art form, leaving himself vulnerable and likely in torturous mental states. It was a testament to his discipline that he could push himself so far when he needed to, but it broke Simeon’s heart seeing him suffering alone.
He marveled at the man his heart had chosen. This was not how he wanted to be getting to know him, but at least he was learning who Angel was from his actions, the depth of his commitment to Boston.
Angel walked towards the street and Simeon followed carefully. If Angel knew he was being watched over, he’d be furious. He didn’t want Angel yelling at him, but he wished Angel knew he had more of a safety net than he realized, him and his fledgling both. He’d kept an eye on Isaac on more than one night. He would not let Angel’s fledgling come to harm. His heart broke for the fledgling, so lost and hurting, a child that would be his own if Angel accepted him. He already held Isaac in his heart and wished to know him, but the younger Salvatore was too lost to be known.
Angel slumped against the sign for a bus stop, clearly struggling. Simeon wished again that Angel was in his arms, getting much needed rest and healing. This suffering could be wiped away and replaced with comfort. Instead Angel was going home to a cold and lonely bed.
Simeon heard a sound behind him. Angel didn’t react, it was too quiet for human ears. Something was sniffing, following the scent of blood in the air. The drag of claws on cement and strange wet sounds came from a nearby parking garage and drew towards where Angel had bandaged himself.
He was there in an instant. Lumbering into the light was a skenta, a scavenger that went after traces of magic, ate used spell components. Boston tended to get infested with them due to all the schools, there were more magic students here than anywhere else in America. Too many careless students left traces of enchanted powders on vials tossed into the garbage or poured failed potions down the sink. A few practitioners doing that was no big deal, but with so many traces of every kind of magic winding up in dumpsters or in the sewer these little creatures infested the whole city, but were particularly common around the schools. Posters about proper disposal of scrolls and potions were all over the campuses, but were completely ineffective.
Usually, they were the size of a city rat, but this one was huge, more like a giant wild boar than a rodent. It’s eyes flickered red, then yellow, then orange. Feeding on so many different types of magics, and often off of failed spells, made the creatures unstable with unpredictable strengths and abilities. Patchy fur covered the beast. In some places light fur speckled with dark, but along it’s haunches the dark fur became a pattern that almost formed the loops and flourishes of the calligraphied Latin used in scrolls. A stump of what had been a long tail thumped on the ground.
Simeon was a hunter and instantly knew how desperate and dangerous the beast was. It must have grown fat off of some particularly rich spill of magic, maybe from a particularly careless group of students. The students had been gone for weeks, the food supply dried up. The creature was likely starving and had scented a meal. It’s nose twitched and it swung it’s shaggy head directly towards Angel.
Simeon’s fingers lengthened and claws grew. He felt himself shift slightly as he slipped into hunter mode.
A thrill went through Simeon. He could not hold Angel against his chest and give him the affection he knew the craved, but he could protect him, he could take out this predator on his trail. The skenta would be a dangerous foe to some, but the chaos of magics out of tune with each other, like voices in it’s head all trying to sing a different song, made the creatures slow, and Simeon was fast.
He couldn’t bite the creature, it’s infused blood would be particularly poisonous to him. He’d have to rely on claws and make quick, devastating strikes. He did, committing instantly and fully to the fight. The leathery skin around it’s neck made it hard to get the artery puncture he was after. After a few hits the creature barely felt, Simeon switched to striking the inside of a hind leg as the creature moved. The creature cried out, a thin wail that sounded distant. Black blood with a strange shimmer, like it was covered in oil, spilled on the cement.
The creature took a heaving breath and seemed to ready itself, and it’s head was once again facing Angel. The creature was probably about to make a mad dash towards it’s meal. Simeon considered bleeding himself to give it a better food source, but was worried what even a lick of his healing blood would do. Instead he went right for the eyes. The creature reared up to howl, and that gave Simeon the opening he needed to strike a fatal blow.
The skenta collapsed onto the cement, blood darkening the dingy cement. Simeon only spent half a second over his kill, letting himself feel the satisfaction of a job well done, the thrill of having some way to care for his mate. He couldn’t stay, he had to check on Angel.
He rushed back towards the street just in time to see Angel stumble onto a bus. Angel fell into a seat and slumped against the bus window. He looked terrible, skin washed out by the harsh artificial light and face pressed against a dirty window.
Simeon cursed. There was no way to follow him now without being obvious about it. He called in and was able to arrange a clan soldier to get on in a few stops. The head of security on duty told him in an amused tone that she had a mortal security guard named Miguel nearby, just in case, and would have him board the bus at it’s next stop. She hadn’t commented on the sudden flurry of odd requests he’d been making over the past few months, but her tone made it clear that the First Elder of the clan, the beloved eldest childe of City Master Bastiste, suddenly fretting over the well being of one of the most powerful beings in Boston was a source of amusement to her. He was glad of it, most members of the clan were terrified of Angel, but she had noted how he and Batiste regarded him and followed suite.
Once he got confirmation that Miguel was tailing Angel, he walked back to where the corpse of the skenta lay. Regular sized skenta were already swarming the area to lap up the blood staining the cement. He wondered if the feast would make them grow overnight. The scope of the skenta problem was clear from the scene. It was far worse than the school’s reports claimed. The skenta were clearly a big problem, but it wasn’t his problem and now the school’s hand would be forced into facing it. Simeon admired his kill. He felt satisfied at a challenge well met, and knowing Angel was safe.