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“Nothing but a turncoat…”
“A turncoat?” Steve snapped. “And just what fuck would you even know about loyalty?”. He had been loyal beyond death to a father who would rather have taken him out back and shot him than acknowledge his son might be gay, a wife who’d ran around on him with the man he’d bent over backwards trying to deny his lust for, a man who was so much more of a maker than his own. It was too much, too fucking much the idea that he might not only die, but die like he’d never lived, or worse yet like he’d lived like a coward.
“You murdered my Russell!” his face for one moment lost its panic, grew harder, more angry, embittered. “You literally stabbed him in the back! Again. Oh yeah, he told me about that, how you turned on your queen, then turned on your king.”
“What I did I did for vengeance-“
“Yeah? Well join the fucking club!” he spat. Half his life had been lived in vengeance, or so it felt. “ Now I didn’t know what they were going to do but I wanted them doing it to you and hard” he spat. The light was gaining ground at his back and he could feel it, millions of pin pricks finding their way through every fibre in his shirt. He was burning, didn’t have long at all. “I wanted you to suffer the way that I did when you took him from me. I never had a maker the way you had one, with Godric, but he was as close as the lord ever gave me.” His skin reddened, blistered, began to smoke.
“I am not sorry” he added, sensing that this was his time to go, and if it was then his last actions had better be memorable. And when he looked up and saw Sarah’s gleeful, manic face as she waited for him to die he knew just what he wanted his legacy to be. "Do me one last favour and make sure to kill that pantie-dropping ex-wife of mine?” he asked, through the pain.
Eric stopped, looking up, and there was Truman Burrell's Jacqueline Onassis. This made things suddenly much more interesting. “Mm… no” he decided, giving her a toothy smile, then promptly stuck his middle finger up and cupped the other man’s head, bringing it up to his throat. Wide, slightly blunt fangs broke his skin and the younger vampire greedily consumed his blood, sheltered behind one muscular arm. “You’ve proved yourself well enough, Mr Newlin. I think vengeance shall be yours” The expression that he received from the former Mrs Newlin was a special satisfaction all of its own.
The blood filling the young vampire's mouth was cold, nothing like human but there was something in it, something full of joy, almost effervescent, and beneath it there was something like wood smoke, and something rich as honey, though less cloying, more intoxicating. He gave a small moan and when the wound closed he continued to lick at the blood from the skin, preparing to bite down again when Eric tugged sharply back upon his hair and cast him down to the floor.
It was only then that Steve realised that his skin was no longer burning, that he wasn't about to die. "Would you look at that, honey?” he called over to Sarah, staring at the backs of his hands in wonder as they already began to heal. “Praise his light” he declared. "Its a miracle!"
“We will meet again” Northman told him, cold and menacing, and while he hated Northman’s guts for all the stuff that had gone before he couldn’t help but grin, shrugging off his threats with a cheerful smile. Everything was so hazy and soft focused, and the morning’s light was beautiful, his loathing melting in its gentle warmth. “Well I for one would like that a lot, Mr Northman” he replied. “You are a very handsome man” he added, his head swimming. Was it possible for a vampire to become a V addict, he wondered. He’d heard a lot about its dangers, and already he wanted more.
“Go kill, baby vampire” Eric commanded, pointing at the door and when Steve looked up he frowned to see that Sarah was long gone. Well, now, that was just rude.
“Why yes, sir, I do believe that I will” he beamed, getting to his feet and sprinting out the door.
“Now where did you get to, sugar cookie?”