The ride back to his home took several hours, leaving him passing in and out through the journey as Rhage drove. Every now and again he woke when they went over a speed bump or down a hill, so the churn of gravel as they pulled into the yard made him awaken. As he stepped out he was greeted to cool air and the familiar smell of home, something he had learned to miss while in his small stone prison. “I have to go tell the guys, I’ll see ya,” Rhage said, making Wrath nod as he slammed the door and started walking.
The gravel churned once more as he felt a furry body press into the front of his legs, smiling slightly he reached down and touched the warm coat of George. The dog barked happily, tail wagging – Wrath knew – as it bumped against his shin. He walked according to the dog, making his way inside to more scents that he knew all too well, from Beth’s lingering perfume to the burning fireplace…And something else. He couldn’t really distinguish the scent but it was both old and new…
Wrath turned his head to the sound of his wife laughing a few rooms in, walking quickly to the drawing room. When he entered her laughter stopped, even though he longed to hear it and wondered if he should have stayed outside the door to listen but didn’t dwell on it as she rushed over to him. “Are you alright?” She sounded bewildered and concerned, running her hands over his face and shoulders, down his chest, feeling him. He had lost weight and no doubt he knew there had to be bags of sleep deprivation below his eyes and he was probably pale even by vampire standards.
“I’m fine,” he tried to assure her but the words sounded half-hearted even to him.
“Is your husband ill, dear Beth?” A voice asked from the other side of the room, followed by the churn of leather as the owner stood and Wrath froze. The prickling sensation returned below his skin and he felt his fists clenched at his sides when the clipped tone filled his ears. Tempered and slightly bored his speech alone would have given him away…But there it was; the man who had tried to kill him – Seymour – was in his house…With his wife…
“He certainly looks it,” Beth whispered, “Would you leave us alone a moment Seymour?” She was asking him like she would a friend or a brother, not like the bastard, the monster he really was.
“Of course my dear,” and with those final words Wrath heard the clack of his boots over the wooden floors. As he passed him, their shoulders touched and goose bumps rose over his skin, pain searing over the wounds on his shoulders, and it took all his might, willpower, and Beth not to make him spin around and grab the monster walking right by him.
“What happened to you?” Beth pressed, hands resting on his chest and he clenched his jaw, feeling Seymour’s presence only two rooms over. The man absolutely radiated some sort of malevolence and it was almost nauseating for Wrath to stand in the same room with him but…Something was reserved about him, his full power seeming to be put on hold the whole time.
“I fought Lessers – too many,” he murmured, Seymour’s presence making his head spin slightly, making it hard for him to stand as it felt like white hot metal was being dragged over his shoulders and down the contours of his back, “I got weakened in the fight and they rubbed salt in my wounds. I’m still…” Wrath paused for breath, breathing deeply through his nose to regain himself, “I’m still in the process of healing.”
He felt Beth’s hands run up to his neck, feeling the tendons but he took her fingers away, feeling like they were prying into his very being and kissed her knuckles. He knew by now that she was smiling sadly and would want a more detailed story later but for now it seemed - she suspected nothing - he wanted to keep it that way. “I’m sorry, I’ll ask Seymour to come back in, I want you to meet him so much. He’s provided great company.” She said, and he could tell now that a slightly less distressing smile had filled her features as she walked past him and into the hall.
“Seymour,” she called and Wrath felt himself quake every time she spoke that deplorable name in her delicate voice, “Seymour.” Beth yelled again and this time the man appeared, Wrath’s body tensing as tremors overtook his arms, the hair on them standing on end as the scent filled his nostrils. He smelled of blood, a woodsy after scent reminding Wrath of cologne but the metallic scent was still there, overpowering the sweet spice of his usual odor.
But what really made Wrath ill was the fact that no matter how much keener his hearing had gotten as of late…Seymour’s footsteps could not be heard, it was like trying to listen to air really. Nothing happened, nothing came, everything was so disgustingly silent and Wrath knew in that moment…He was out of his league. This man – this thing, being, creature – whatever he was, was so powerful that he engulfed entire places in shadows, made fear where none was to be found, brought out the worst in people and Wrath felt his skin prickle violently when his hand touched his shoulder.
And icy throb enveloped the place where long, powerful fingers gripped him, his whole arm going numb, the feeling flowering up his neck as he felt Seymour lean in closer, “are you…Feeling alright?” He could almost hear the grin curling the monster’s features as he turned his head to where he thought Seymour’s might be; nodding solemnly as the elder man smirked. “Than by all means, sit, talk with Beth and me.”
Wrath stalked into the room, George leading him to a warm chair where he sat, gulping as he felt that beast’s presence move across the room. Beth came and sat beside him, right into the embrace of his left arm as Seymour sat across from them, making himself comfortable. “What is it you do for a living Wrath?” Seymour asked, and Wrath could feel him looking at his face, examining and peeling away his layers, finding his faults and using them against him with just a single stare.
“I help people,” Wrath stated simply, leaving it very vague and he could tell that Seymour was probably giving a faint smile at this point, his eyes probably gleaming in that dark way that was his own.
Seymour was indeed grinning, his amber eyes seeming to flicker in the golden-red light of the fireplace behind him, the shadows playing off the walls and he thought – rather maliciously – of the scare Beth would receive if she looked over her shoulder. His darkness curled on the wall of velvet behind, revealing more of him than he would like and he clucked his tongue lightly, as if in an easing gesture to the vampire king.
“Ah, I see,” he whispered faintly, “what a noble art,” and with that, Wrath felt fingers of pain work up and over his shoulders, infecting his system and making his arms tense and vibrate on the upholstery. “You must regale me with a story sometime,” Seymour grinned, the door in the foyer speaking loudly even in the Drawing Room, knock, knock, knock. The amber eyed man looked over his shoulder towards the door, chuckling, “it appears we have guests though…Fancy that.”
“It must be the others,” Beth said, standing and making her way out, Seymour following close behind her. Wrath was not able to hear him but just feeling that presence follow his wife made him stand and follow them out into the main room, where Beth opened the door to Rhage – who stepped in without a word, Vicious – following close behind, John who held Xheh, Marissa and Butch holding hands, also stepping inside without words.
Everyone came in, exchanging few words before Rhage turned and saw…Him. He was leaning against the stairwell, his amber eyes uninterestedly watching them and dark hair pulled back in a weak bow. Wrath was behind him, looking solemn and at the ground, fists clenched at his sides as Seymour smiled at them, “I didn’t know so many people lived in here, but, I’m sure you just forgot to mention it, dear Beth.”
Rhage stared, wide-eyed at him, his whole face falling in shock as Beth held up a hand, as if displaying the elder man. “Oh, everyone, this is Seymour, he comes from England for a visit,” she stated, unaware of Rhage’s face.
The whole air grew tense for the men in the room, their fists clenching and eyes widening on the grinning wolf at the base of their stairs. Their forms trembled, control slipping but they all stopped…Wrath’s face making them pause in their uncontrolled fury. His own features were contorted into a snarl, his eyes flashing with more anger than they thought was possible for him to contain…And it was directed at them.
If they moved against this visitor, they would be shot down by him in an instant, the reason among them…Standing around the elder gentleman and asking him who he was, his charming, sharp toothed grin blinking at them in a mocking fashion, daring them to move.
“Perhaps ladies,” Seymour spoke in a clipped tone, “we should relocate to the Drawing room?” He gestured and let them pass him, along with the men in the foyer, Wrath at the head and as he was about to follow a strong hand clapped down on his shoulder, causing him to turn slightly.
“I’m going to kill you,” a voice breathed in a hissing snarl next to his ear, “I don’t know what you’ve done to Beth, you bastard. But you’re going to pay for it.” He moved ahead of Seymour but was stopped when the elder man placed his own hand upon Rhage’s shoulder, stopping him dead and jerking roughly. Rhage was shocked when he was flung hard against the wall, his back smashing into it, his skin searing as Seymour roughly twisted the cloth of his shirt with his nails, digging the points into the muscle there.
Rhage was faced with two flaming golden eyes, they were narrowed into slits but slowly relaxed, Seymour’s face and grip loosening as he smiled at the vampire. Smiled! He released Rhage and walked down the hallway, leaving a very stunned and unhappy vampire in his wake as he made his way into the dimly lit drawing room, where everyone was already seated.
John held Xheh close, as if fearing she would slip away, Butch and Wrath doing the same to Marissa and Beth, while Vicious sat in a lone chair, eyes narrowing dangerously on the older man. “Why so sullen friends,” Seymour asked, clapping his hands together and amber eyes glinting in the fire light, “is this not a joyous time? I hear that Wrath has been away for a very long time…” He turned to the Vampire King, whose grip tightened on the upholstery of the couch as white hot pain shot up his torso and shoulders, the veins in his neck bulging.
Seymour sat near the fireplace, tempting more than one of the men into running towards him and shoving him into the flames. Rhage took a seat next to Vicious; both of their eyes planted firmly on their ‘guest’ who smiled at them kindly, but his eyes told a different story. “Tell me, dear ladies,” Seymour said, “have you ever been to Budapest?”
“I’ve seen pictures of it,” Marissa spoke, “I think it’s quiet beautiful.” She was looking at Seymour oddly, her eyes focused rather intently on him and he smiled at her, more like a malicious grin but it seemed that was as close as the elder gentleman got to kindness.
And that’s how it started, Seymour regaled them with a tale of his time there, the history he had learned, and the people he had met. But when Seymour described the country’s history he spoke as if he had been there, saying ‘we’ in some places and ‘I’ even, making some of the men raise their brows and Wrath was reminded that this man was not human. He was a monster.
The pain that the Vampire King felt was excruciating, like the beast speaking was clawing at his back, raking his sharp teeth into his neck and onto his shoulders, or slashing away bits of his skin like he had before with his sword. Every time Seymour would emphasize something the pain would surge, making Wrath black out sometimes or see things behind his lids that wasn’t really there.
But that was only half the anguish and Wrath felt himself coming under one of the other effects this fiend seemed to have at his disposal. Illusions…And it was during these little transactions that he was able to see the monster in all his glory…
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