Post by Logan on Jun 10, 2012 3:27:43 GMT -5
((Set 20 minutes after Sabra sent her message. If there are loose ends in the other thread, feel free to tie them up.))
The small yellow house has grown quiet. The blare of the alarm has been silenced, and the cacophony of growls and gunfire has departed with the last of the wolves as they retreated into the woodwork. Two men remain. They are shell-shocked but there is no time to adjust, no time to so much as consider the meaning behind the attack. Nate’s phone rattles to life with a message from Sabra. It is a succinct-- BR at cabin. Nate and Logan share a grim look and little is said. There are no words appropriate for the situation, no magic phrases to put things in order and make sense of what is happening. Understanding will come later – they will make sure of it because there are questions that need to be answered, and explanations required. For now, they have a job to do and the rest of Blackwater to consider.
Nate and Logan quickly gather a small arsenal. Guns are reloaded, ammo thrown into the truck. Logan grabs Lark’s dog carrier and slides it into the back seat, then locks her inside. They will not leave her home alone, not with potential stragglers waiting in the forest. Even now – especially now – the safety of their family is the priority. Blackwater’s short-lived peace has been shattered and the wolves have paid, and they will continue to pay. There will be more violence, more corpses to add to the mounting piles before the night is done. The attackers have breached into their home, threatened their family, and Logan will not rest until they are eliminated.
A dire bitterness settles in the hunter’s gut as he slides into the driver’s seat. Adrenaline has his nerves on edge, his pulse pumping. Cowardice is not within him but protecting what matters is. A brief moment overcomes Logan where he considers leaving. There is no telling what might be waiting at Billy’s cabin. Wolves he can handle but if there are men with guns – it is a risk he is not willing to take. He could leave, take Nate and Lark and let Blackwater deal with the fallout. In the end, it is guilt that directs the man’s decision. He twists the key in the ignition and the old Ford’s engine rumbles to life. The vehicle peels out of the driveway, wheels spitting grit and gravel, and speeds down the road towards Billy’s cabin.
For the twenty minutes it takes to arrive at Billy’s, Logan continues to weigh the merits of protecting his own family or throwing in with the rest of Blackwater. A selfish thought, maybe, but a natural one.
Billy’s cabin appears ahead on the road and Logan can make out the movements of wolves and the shape of corpses littered on the yard. Grey eyes direct a sharp look at his partner, one that says without words to get ready, to be careful. ”Brace yourself,” the hunter warns before he slams his foot down on the brake, turns the wheel, and sends the truck drifting sideways into the yard. The bodies of wolves thud against the truck’s metal frame as the vehicle careens into them, indiscriminate. Blackwater wolves, Blue Ridge wolves – Logan cannot tell the difference.
He rolls down the window, braces his rifle on the door frame and fires into the fracas. The old Ford serves as the perfect, makeshift bunker, and the men use it to their advantage. Lark barks and howls from the backseat and Logan continues to line up shots, fire, and kill whatever stupid beast that decides to stick around. They are not fool enough to leave the safety of the truck until the field is clear and safe.
With each pull of the trigger, Logan’s anger and dissatisfaction grows. He may not know why the wolves are here – but they singled Nathan out – and that is an unforgiveable transgression. Each wolf dead is one last enemy to worry about, but one more question unanswered. Why is this happening --
Why did Blackwater let this happen.
(( Just for clarification -- not meaning to imply that Nate and Logan may womg keel errybody, just that Nate won't get out until he thinks it's quiet. So hide yo wolves, hide yo wives, cause we shootin' everybody out here. ))
Nathan cannot remember the last time he felt this way. He is, at heart, a giving sort of man – the sort who unselfishly picks up hitchhikers, perhaps – but a litany of hard truths learned over painful years has made him wary. That he has something important to live for, to protect, only encourages his caution and steadies his hand. But the resentment that burns inside him is a thing as close to hatred as he’s come in years and it smolders, strains with an effort to get out, a wild and desperate emotional response driven on by a wolf-born rage; animal and man have been hurt, have been threatened, and for once, their desires match. The werewolf knows he will heed Sabra’s curt warning – her plea – out of pure obligation and an animalistic revenge, but the commitment still weighs uneasy on his shoulders.
When it comes down to it, Nathan has spent his life keeping other people safe, and it is out of some twisted sense of duty that he will grant Blackwater this last allowance. No one deserves to die at the claws of those animals, least of all those he might have called friends; and let it never be said that Nate and Logan are not good men.
And so the decision to assist is one that goes unspoken, one made with a silent vow to abandon the foolhardy notion should the situation prove too dire. They steal seconds away for preparation – Nate finds a shirt in the chaos, his boots beneath the wreckage of the front door – but the moments slip by in their need for swiftness. The werewolf occupies himself on the drive by falling into practiced roles; he runs damage control, drafts excuses for the local law enforcement to buy them time. He worries, but manipulates the emotion into a powerful, controlled anger, a wrath that writhes in his grip when he thinks of the damaged house they are leaving behind like a dead thing, gutted and violated. It is enough to set an itch in his skin and a familiar pain in his bones, but Nathan shoves the animal down. There will be time enough for mourning when the judgment is done.
Logan speaks his warning on their approach, and Nate grips the dash in one hand and twists to slam the other down on Lark’s crate, holding himself in place as the truck lurches dangerously. He becomes a mirror to Logan, firing with precision into the fray from the passenger side of the Ford, pulling back and pausing only to eject his pistol’s magazine and slide a new one home. Moving targets are vulnerable, obvious threats sought out and neutralized, and only those wise animals that hold back may yet be spared. He hopes those on their side have the good sense to lie low, to cover them from indoors until the tumult ceases; because the ground between the truck and the house is a killing floor from which none may rise.
With luck, with sense, a stillness will eventually prevail, and it’s then that Nathan will make for the door. He has to kick the thing open for the dent in its side, and lets it hang there in invitation, patient and hesitant; it’s only once the tense, eye-of-the-storm calm is assured that he’ll step from the truck at all, cautious and slow, not daring to pull his back from the side of the pickup. Nate’s voice rings out into the ominous silence, but the question it presents is laced with little true curiosity – there is only loathing, white hot and vivid, a challenge sounded clear.
”Billy?”
It's not that bad. Or so she keeps telling herself, but everything feels like a haze and the world dips and spins before her very eyes. Sabra thinks of the trail of blood she left up the porch steps, the same blood that's smeared across her pistol and likely the rifle. She knew Billy had been ready to die, accepted it herself in a way that buckled her heart, but Jericho wasn't so easily deterred. He didn't have to follow her orders--thank god. By the skin of their teeth they make it inside, wolves' teeth snapping shut only inches from their heels. They collide against the door with a furious roar, shaking the very walls with their rage.
Twenty minutes of chaos pass. Billy's arm is torn up and she has to get Vianne to help her peel away the shirt from the mess of her ribs. The blond's screaming for Lynn, where is Lynn, and Sabra faces the sharp edge of her anger when she lets slip that the doctor might not be coming for a while. It figures that all her efforts of protecting people backfire like this.
They always do.
She tries to direct Jericho to clean out Billy's wounds the best she can, keeps her head bowed under the alpha's litany of curses, presses one hand across her stomach as she pours iodine down her side with the other. It's ugly, it's gut wrenching pain that echoes and swallows them whole. Her eyes water with the fear the baby's gone, that she's done this godawful wrong that can't, that won't ever be fixed.
Vianne helps her wrap gauze around the gashes, and Sabra stays silent to the young girl's questioning look. This isn't the way she wanted her to find out.
As the wolves pace and howl around the cabin they nurse their wounds and Sabra reloads the pistol with shaking hands. The occasional echo of gunfire suddenly erupts into a full on barrage. She can hear nails screeching against the wooden porch as wolves leap away, snarling soon turns to sharp yelps and the spray of gravel announces the possibility that maybe they aren't all going to die like rats backed into their burrows.
Someone races up the steps and the door shudders once, twice before it swings open on twisted hinges. Sabra straightens at her post, blood seeping through the gauze as she pants in pain, pistol held stubbornly in her hands.
”Billy?”
It's not the tone of voice you want to hear out of your rescuers. "Nate?" She lowers the gun, tries to focus on his figure. "Little...late to the party." She shifts in her seat, hand pressed low against her belly as she tries to catch a glimpse outside, see the bodies laid out in the yard and across the road.
It should feel like victory, but there are too many yellow eyes, too many dark figures pacing beneath the pine trees for that. The snow crunches beneath their paws and the shelves of needles shake with their passage. It's not over, not by a long shot.
Her arm is lacerated, flaps of skin hang in shreds and muscle and tissue run jagged and disgusting. The pain is immense, enough that her lips are pulled tight in a perpetual snarl. From tripping the back of her calves are strained -- and Billy feels faintly dizzy. Even after the initial shock of surviving settles in.
She feels angry, disobeyed, disoriented, and grateful all at the same time. No one has listened to her. Not even Sabra. The beta has disobeyed her and maybe even paid the ultimate price for it. Lynn is nowhere to be seen. And the brindle bleeds and the bump beneath is more prominent, bright against the contrast of hot red blood. But Billy cant hold the anger, she doesnt want to be angry in perhaps their last moments together. She doesnt want to die with a fistful of hate in her heart.
And the wolves out there; they'll kill her. And then maybe they'll stop.
"Ahh," she says as Jericho tends to her. Instead of speaking or arguing anymore chooses to brood in the silence. Unwilling to disturb whatever peace is left in their small frazzled cabin. Minutes pass like hours, and Billy barks out orders the best she can in the fray. Though she knows that truly, honestly, she's lost all semblance of control. Suddenly the fact she's a ''alpha'' is nothing more then a glorified shit spotlight.
There's a multitude of high pitched sounds outside, wolves being shot down and wheels turning and Billy abruptly stands."Vianne," She says, opts to take a small handful of pills (aspirin). "Get in the crawl space." The blonde monarch takes another shaky breath, clasp the edge of her chair with unsure hands.
"Sabra," she says, bends down in front of her beta and attempts to take the gun from the woman's hands with her good palm. "You too."
She looks at Jericho for a moment, finds the middle balance of the gun set new in her hands and holds it near her hips. Billy awkwardly shuffles for a moment, a attempt perhaps to show affection or trust. But instead the blonde ends up moving a loch of sweaty bang from her face. Sighing. "I know you aint gonna just lemme do this." She meets Jericho's eyes. Not even knowing what exactly ''this'' was. "I wish y' would though."
It's matyr, the same thing she'd chastised Sabra for moments before on the floor of the porch surrounded - but Billy's the alpha. She's got a right to do things like this, it's in her job title. To sacrifice for everyone. And she always has.
The door opens and Billy raises the gun, points it directly at Nate with the intent to shoot, steady and fast, but she pauses. Lowers the weapon with her heart pumping.
”Billy?”
"Nate? Little...late to the party."
Billy flies behind him quietly, throws her shoulder against the door (after everyone who needs to be in is) and slams it shut. "But still here." she says, takes another attempt at a calming breath and tries not to cough up rags. "How many did you count?"
Billy slides closer to Jericho naturally, stands beside him slightly hunched and slumped. Leaning her forehead against his chest and whispering. "If we survive this --" and leaves it open-ended. A broken ''if''.
Andre lets the fodder throw themselves against the spray of bullets, new blood, recently turned and effectively useless in their mindless rage. They have served their purpose though and the alpha and his eldest wolves retreat back into the tree line.
For a moment he had that black haired bitch underneath his teeth--nearly had the blond in his grasp, but they slipped away. He paces in the thicket of pines, yellow orange eyes bobbing in the darkness, calculating, thinking. His pack has been thinned down to a fraction of what it was, but the scent of blood hangs thickly in the air--too tempting for a beast with an empty belly. The wolves around him shift restlessly, bare their teeth and snap at each other, unsatisfied.
As a man slips from the truck he breaks from the trees, before the pack dissolves under his rule and go after him alone. As two others split off and go after the older man, Andre's only focus is the cabin--and the women inside. Before the door can shut completely he leaps over the stairs, skids forward on the slick wood and forces himself in the door way, slavering jaws making for the closest person within reach.
He hasn't come all this way to lose so quickly, to not feel Billy twitch and shudder her last breaths, taste those treacherous bitches' blood on his tongue.
It is only when Logan is beside him that Nathan will step from the truck and make for the quiet, battered cabin; trusting the man implicitly to cover him, and knowing he will do the same in return, they approach the porch unimpeded. Together, the men pry the door open and batter their way inside – where they are, fairly reasonably, met at gunpoint – and it’s a quiet, tense moment while the situation defuses itself. Sabra, bless her heart, breaks the strained atmosphere – and the sight of her, wounded and bloody, is perhaps the first thing to send a twinge of guilt into the cold shell of bitterness the werewolf has hardened himself with.
She is a reminder that now is not the time for cruel words, however Billy’s dejected pessimism begs them; as though morale is no part of being an alpha. Nathan’s lip curls up and his eyes drop – a submissive act that incenses him to his core – but before whatever foul language the man intends to spit out reaches the air, the thrown-open door takes him in the back, and the world spins.
He falls, twisting instinctively, and the wind is knocked from his lungs as his shoulders meet the floor. Responses are unconscious and automatic, drawn from muscle-memory and a hopeless fight-or-flight mechanism: Nathan draws his pistol as the animals burst through the entrance, and the world slows as the first wolf descends upon him in a flurry of teeth and spit. Into the chaos are projected strangely clear, terrifying thoughts: that his life, save Logan, has been a collection of remarkably bad decisions; that the worst will be having brought the hunter here to die.
Nathan’s voice cracks, wild. Whether it’s a cry for help or in warning – or simply his final, crazed thoughts of a man he’s loved and killed – is lost in shouted translation. ”Logan, Logan—”
—but there’s nothing, just hot breath in his face and the sound of his own blood in his ears, the cabin drowned out in an overwhelming rush. Nathan’s pistol slips in his hand and he clutches it tighter, presses it upwards in desperation as the wolf bears down, before one bullet – two, three – tear through the monster’s jaw and throat in frantic pulls of the trigger. The animal sags, falls upon him in a flood of crimson, and the gun is wrenched from Nathan’s hand.
The beast’s fate is irrelevant, immaterial. Nate struggles to free himself from the dead weight atop him with a frenetic, single-minded determination, heedless of tooth or claw – because Logan is somewhere beyond the writhing mass that pins him, and there are more wolves in the door.
Logan walks in tandem with Nathan, watchful and resolute in his role as the stalwart protector. His nerves are rattled, his anger real and present but he, as ever, is a quiet man. There are few words traded on his part but he extends a gesture of solidarity to Sabra. He hands her the rifle he found laying on the yard and offers her a nod in acknowledgement. The anger he harbors persists, even flares at the sight of the others. There is disdain in his eyes, a rigidness to his posture so out of place. This is one hell of a time for his wolf to wake and spit ideas about retaliation, but it’s there, and it has him placing the blame for everything that is happening on Blackwater. He levels a hard stare onto Billy and says, grimly, ”Don’t know. Don’t even know why they’re here—“ It is an accusation cut short when a wolf bursts through the door.
He can feel his heart in his throat, time slows, and he sees in horrific clarity the image of Nathan hitting the ground. ”Nathan –“ As if his name alone could call the world into order and force him to survive. Logan reaches for his magnum, lines up a shot and fires. Six riotous bangs echo into the cabin as he unloads the entire chamber into the beast’s side. The bullets at this range burst through flesh, shatter bones, and leave the animal pouring blood. In a moment of reckless desperation, he drops his magnum on the floor and races to Nathan. Hands twist in the animal’s fur and with an influx of testosterone and adrenaline fueling his blood, Logan works to heft the creature away.
Jericho immediately attempted to shield Billy with the barrier of his body when the door first burst through. As a man, he may lack the faculty to be an asset during a fight but he still protects what matters to him. She might struggle, she might be desperate to get out there and prove her metal, but Jericho cannot let go. His arm remains around her shoulders, tight and insistent. His hand finds his gun and aims it towards the open door where he will fire if more wolves decide to enter the fray. Billy may be a ferocious, terrifying wolf but she isn’t right now. She is the blonde-haired girl he met in the bar so long ago. Many things have happened, the world has turned on its head, but there is an image, an idea of Billy that Jericho is unwilling to let go of. Unwilling to let run into fight and play the role of the martyr. ”Stay behind me.” His voice is resolute and he casts a determined look at the woman. His gun hand is now steady and the assuredness of his wolf bleeds through. She will stay. She will survive. They will all survive.
”Nate—goddamnit—Nate.” Logan’s voice catches and he reaches for the man, clutches and helps him sit up. ”Are you alright. Are you hurt? Talk to me, Nate.” His hands are everywhere and his eyes follow them in quick succession. He has a mind for tactics and caution but all his experience falls to wayside with Nathan nearly killed. It takes long seconds for the terror in his mind to abate but Nathan is alive and Logan’s world remains intact. The hunter remembers his gun, reaches for it and reloads it, and points it towards the door at ready.
If the wolves decide to persist, they will be met with a rebuttal of bullets from several guns.
Billy orders Vianne into the crawlspace and she turns to her next, kneels down and eases the pistol out of her hands. She shakes her head before her friend can even get out the words, "Billy, no." The words are choked out because damnit, she knows that look. That stubborn "I'm going to throw it all away and you're supposed to stand there and fucking watch" look.
Before Sabra can push the point Nate busts in the door, Logan not a moment behind him. It seems like they might have some bleak hope after all and the appearance of her rifle, rescued from the battle field itself reinforces this notion.
She accepts the gun with a shaky smile beamed at the man, "Thank you." Grateful hands pass over it and she finally consents to let Vianne tug her towards the crawlspace entrance. On their way to the steps she reaches for her jacket, takes as many shells as she can stuff in her pockets. She wants to tell Billy something in that moment, but her gut's twisted up into this huge knot and her heart isn't much better, hiding in her throat. They've faced down death before; there aren't any unspoken words between them, not then or now. She knows she loves her, knows how much this family's meant to her.
By the time Andre and his wolves break down the door Vianne and Sabra have disappeared into the depths of the cabin's belly, hidden away from the violence--at least for now. She rubs her belly as the cacophony of snarling and shouts fill the air. Men's terror for their loves, the struggle for life, Sabra hears all of it and forces herself to do nothing. "Aim between their eyes, Vi. "
In the darkness of the crawlspace she hopes her prayer extends to everyone. That the gunshots that rattle the little cabin find their way into the wolves' hearts, kill them before someone else can be hurt.
The man flails wildly and the wolf bares down on him with wild eyes and a vicious snarl, snapping at whatever flesh is closest. Mammoth paws pin him to the cabin floor, tear restlessly at his clothes as he slavers in the man's face, try to reach that supple bit of meat, that neck teaming with delicate vessels and the windpipe. Nate becomes a much more appetizing prize than the blond woman he had been so intent on only moments before.
Why yearn for what is out of reach when there is a bloody man right here?
His jaws, once so hungry, hang loose, mandible shattered and the beast suddenly crippled by the onslaught of bullets. His grip on the dark-haired man slackens as round after round rattles through his ribcage, burst through organ and bone alike--render the great Alpha of Blueridge into nothing but a heavy carcass slumping against the man.
The two wolves at the porch turn tail, hind brains processing the death of their alpha and seeing nothing but the same for themselves. A single creature remains, younger than the rest. She charges straight on into the spray of Logan's bullets, effective suicide. With the collapse of her body in the doorway the attack is over.
Blood stains the virgin snow and carcasses litter the once pristine layer of white in the yard.
Everyone talks in tattered indistinguishable tones and bleeps of voices in her ear. If people object to her, if people accuse her -- challenge her. Billy hears nothing beyond the sound of bleeting pawprints towards the door. She hears the consistent thump and presumably other's do too because just as she reaches Jericho the door burst open and satan's loose.
”Stay behind me.”
The boston man grabs onto her before she can react, wraps his arm around her shoulders tight knowing her all too well and Billy watches for a moment frazzled, disoriented, and horrified as Andre lunges and attaches his teeth to Nate. Her vision is obscured a moment later by Jericho, and by the time Billy is able to form a appropriate reaction. By the time she's done freezing - at the edge of her bravery, it's over.
”Nate—goddamnit—Nate.”
Another mad wolf shucks in, get's shot down before it's even past the barrier and after it's dead and convulsing, Billy attempts to slide past Jericho. And despite Logan's possible resentment, his misguided anger directed at her. She falls to her knee's before Nate. Landing awkwardly on her bad arm and flopping for a moment before she braces the elbow against her belly button in a loose ''l'' shape. Uses her other hand to keep a gun tight in her palm, keep it aimed at the door past Logan and his fallen mate protectively. "I got you." She says shakily. The only reassurance she can give the couple perhaps. "I gotcha."
”Are you alright. Are you hurt? Talk to me, Nate.”
And after a moment there is silence, she can see wolves turning tail and running and the attack for the moment seems over. There is silence beyond just Logan and Nate. Sabra and Vianne long gone. After there are no more wolves pushing past the barrier Billy scrambles towards the door. She desperately kicks at the wolf there until it's out of the threshold. Slams the door shut and locks every bolt in place and then double checks it.
It's little reassurance she knows, a thin barrier to the litter of bodies in her front yard.
She shoots Jericho a desperate look, wanting to bury herself in the comfort of his arms but she's not sure if it's over yet. "Hospital." she says, completely unsure. Now that the threat is seemingly gone her wolf disappearing, leaving nothing but the shell shocked worn thin woman in it's wake. The monarch closes the distance between her and her mate. Just as Logan has done she repeats the notion the best she can, running trembling hands all over him in a silent check-up. "A-are you hurt?" There is maybe a shred of violence in her voice when she says next, "Did they touch you?"
"SABRA! VIANNE!" her voice rises, breaks the tensed pressure of the little broken cabin. And when both of the women appear. Billy, clutching at Jericho to attempt to manage her wave of dizziness (likely from blood loss) "Sabra," she begins. Taking a moment to hitch and catch her breath, to concentrate. "Taking you to the emergency room." Despite her obvious weakness, her voice is firm and strong. It's a order, if not the last one.
"It was a dog attack. We went outside to ... to get something in the car. A dog, or animal, something canine came out of the woodwork. Attacked us. It's all a blur from there, a terrifying hard to follow blur." It's a poor alibi she knows. But it'll have to do.
"Logan, Nate heard the screams and came out to help. You followed and brought a gun, you shot it." .... "Always did have a wicked aim." The monarch pauses. Breathing shallowly through her teeth. "Is that.. does that make sense?"
There are others here who came as backup, they have someone in a tree she'll have to contact on the way to the hospital. She'll give him precise instructions to start handling the bodies, and to possibly handle the only wolf who'd come to their aid. She'll tell him to keep a sharp eye, to watch his back.
The weight on him is a heavy, crushing thing, and Nathan’s hands can find no purchase, no grip with which to haul the animal off of him; a confusing slickness on his palms and dumb fingers make the task all but impossible. It takes Logan’s intervention to hoist the dead wolf away, and it is only as Nate sucks in a gasping breath and shoves himself back from the door that the crippling pain he’d been avoiding slides into place. He sits up at the hunter’s insistence and stares in slow, bemused shock down at his own arms, as though the bleeding wounds left there may yet belong to someone else; but something in the werewolf’s brain kicks in, jumpstarts, and Nate knows the blood upon him does not solely belong to the dead animal. That the fresh, slicing agony that carves unknown patterns along his skin is as real as any of the rest of this.
Nathan, to his credit, does not panic. He makes a fist with each hand and presses his arms into the ruin of his shirt, a thing already saturated with blood and torn; Logan’s steady presence is a continued source of comfort, and the man presses his back to the hunter’s chest with a subtle shiver. ”I’m good – I’m okay,” Nate manages, because hell, he can feel his fingers and he’s breathing. It’s a step up from being half blind. Breathing, slowing his pulse, these acts take up his concentration for the small effort they will have in preventing the rest of his life from spilling out onto the floor. Logan takes out another wolf and then there is silence, save for the endless white noise that sounds in his skull, but Nathan ignores it – and instead dares to hope the battle is won.
And yet something is wrong—Billy is near him, beside him, and his wolf bristles and snarls defensively regardless of her intentions. He is weak and she is a threat and there is no will left to control that irrationality, that disgust and abhorrence that burrows into his gut. Nathan needs no one but Logan around him, not like this; and in a show of bravery he sits up straighter, watches Billy with wild eyes and tense muscles as she at last shuts the door. Takes charge. An easy thing to do after the fact and once the fighting’s done, and the situation lets his resentment shine through; reinvigorates him with her own audacity. She is talking too fast – something nonsensical about hospitals – and Nate snorts and raises his lip in a grimace.
”No,” is the firm reply – strong despite any blood loss. ”No hospitals. We’re going home.” Logan may have the power to veto him but Nathan is not a hospital sort of man – he’d rather trust himself in the hunter’s hands then worry over legalities, bills, strangers. The man fixes the self-proclaimed alpha with a hard, dark stare, and lifts his chin to lock eyes with her, as though daring her to defy him – he, who had come to her rescue. ”This is your fault,” Nathan hisses, quiet and clear: the extent of his vindictive bitterness finally made known. ”For being weak. You let this happen. And you want to play alpha now?”
Nathan hoists himself away from Logan, stumbles to his feet without assistance, and rounds on the blonde woman with only the barest hint of a tremble. ”Where were you when wolves broke down my door? Where were you with – with this?” And he extends his own arms in gesture, the price he’s paid in blood for Blackwater. ”When Lucas – when he broke my goddamn skull, keeping you safe? Did you even know?” Hell, Billy likely doesn’t even know they’re engaged – she hasn’t done so much as call on him, these past months, and in his fury that is her fault alone. He’d at least made an effort, hadn’t he? The man wavers, now, his loud and livid voice losing some of its spark, and he has to work to calm himself. The wolf is in ascendance and it is only for these injuries that he does not challenge her outright; or perhaps because, after all this, he does not want this tract of salted earth she dares to call a kingdom. ”So no. Make your own damn excuses and cover your own tracks this time. Because I’m done. We’re done. We’re going home.”
Billy always worried it would come down to a decision between the pack and Logan, and she always knew what the outcome would be – and Nate is making good on those fears.
Voices and a slamming door are all it takes. She's there in an instant, looking at them all. One look is all it takes. Battered and bloody. Hurt. She wastes no time in getting the first aid kit, flying to the kitchen and tearing through the drawers to retrieve it, as Jericho had directed. At least the girl is fairly well versed in bandaging wounds, thanks to past shenanigans. There's no more time to fidget or fear. She buckles on up, stuffing it down and straightening her back. They're hurt and without Lynn, the first aid kit was the best they had.
Those blue eyes wander, roaming and checking them both and silently worrying during the time they have left. There's an oddness to Sabra's figure that those eyes linger on. Questions swim as she peels off the bloody clothing. Something clicks. Vianne stares a moment longer before ripping her gaze away. Seriously? Wait. What? Right now? Like, she is?
Confused.
The girl had to focus on the injuries at hand, but a new worry arises. Was he or she going to be... Would that make her an aunt if Sabra's seriously... Yeah? Yes. She bristles, tension evident in her shoulders.
Lord have mercy on their attackers if anything happens to that little bump.
Vianne grits her teeth and digs through the small kit. Hopefully, there's enough gauze to patch everything up that was broken in their crazy little world. Somehow, she doubts that.
The girl does the best she can, carefully peeling off soaked clothes and wrapping gauze while wishing the noise outside would grow quiet.
"Vianne, Get in the crawl space. Sabra, You too."
The girl shoots Billy a questioning look because no way is she letting anyone back out of that door while she sits and waits it out in the crawl space. Look at them already. That had only been a few minutes or eternity right there and she wasn't letting anyone step out again… Or get in.
But Sabra. She's pregnant. And injured.
Logan and Nate make it into the door, which is a relief. Maybe more guns would buy them a little more precious time together. Vianne still has a gun sticking out of her jeans, but they're hurt. So she moves toward Sabra, as if to obey, blue eyes pleading with the pregnant woman. Would she go willingly?
Yes.
So they go.
The girl bites her lip, but she stays silent.
Brows furrow and the younger does her best to get Sabra inside that crawl space first, trying to ensure that the pregnant woman was the furthest from the entrance as she could get. Vianne positions herself in the way, blocking the path between the door and Sabra without saying a word.
Billy's earlier words ring through her head as the castle falls.
The gun finds itself back in hand, raised and pointed.
"Aim between their eyes, Vi." Sabra's advice echo's Billy's. Gives silent acknowledgement.
Hell has descended and the angel finds herself trapped in the flames.
Tripping, falling, the snarls of her own inner demon raising the hairs on her arms.
Vianne knows. She knows what she'll do if the beasts find the crawl space.
Shoot between the eyes.
An eternity slips by and the not knowing what's happening eats at her, but the redhead does as she had been told. Wait here and remember. Protect. The commotion, the noise... She holds the gun close and remembers. Part of her worries while the other's ready to jump the gun. If anything, Vianne can't stand the wait, this eternity of uncertainty. This fear that they will not return from this hellhole. That this'll be all they have left before...
"SABRA! VIANNE!" She's out in an instant, but turns to wait on Sabra, helping her should she need it because she won't let her go alone. Together again, but the damage has been done and it stains the floorboards. They're alive. She can continue breathing. "Sabra, taking you to the emergency room..." Billy continues giving their alibi, though she hopes it'll hold.
"No, No hospitals. We’re going home. This is your fault, For being weak. You let this happen. And you want to play alpha now? Where were you when wolves broke down my door? Where were you with – with this? When Lucas – when he broke my goddamn skull, keeping you safe? Did you even know? So no. Make your own damn excuses and cover your own tracks this time. Because I’m done. We’re done. We’re going home.”
The girl bristles, brows furrowing as she looks between the two. The blood is fresh and the reasons... The pup stays silent, but tenses as she watches. Weak? No, she could never believe... Blame for all of... This... Couldn't be pinned on anyone.
Eyes lower and Vianne realizes she still has a death grip on that loaded gun.
No one had gotten close enough. Part of her is relieved.
Part of her wishes they had tried.
Something inside the hunter twists ugly and caustic. His eyes are on Nathan’s arms where the blood gathers and flows. He holsters his weapon, reaches out, and gingerly assesses the damage with careful fingers. They need to get the bloodied material away, need to clean the wound and determine if Nathan’s claim can remain true. Logan would prefer to avoid hospitals – he would prefer to avoid the rest of the world. His nerves are frayed, his anger persistent and mounting. Billy’s presence and sudden grab for leadership earns her a hard glare from the hunter. Nathan’s words serve to stoke the fire of Logan’s discontent and as his partner rises, he follows suit.
Jericho’s hands settle on Billy’s shoulder and he offers her a tired smile. ”I’m fine Billy. You’re the one that’s bleeding – we need to get you to the hospital.” He opts for a placating tone, thinks she will refuse to leave until everyone else is taken care of and accounted for. The first delicate inkling of relief enters into his mind and Jericho latches onto it like a starving man. There is carnage all around and the confusion persists but they are alive. He can consider that a victory. Jericho’s attention turns to the two men – Logan and Nate—and his wolf reacts to the perceived threat. He steps in front of Billy, as if doing so could shield her from the onslaught of accusatory words. ”This isn’t the time for this,” Jericho shoots back, priming for an argument.
”There won’t be any other time,” is Logan’s grim rebuttal. The hunter levels a cold stare at Jericho but slides his attention onto Billy. His anger redoubles, comes in waves of red that match the color of Nathan’s blood. ”You can’t tell me you didn’t expect this. That you didn’t know.” Those wolves were here for reason. Logan refuses to believe it was a random attack. He may not know the history between Blue Ridge and Blackwater, but he does not need to. Billy and those privy to the knowledge chose to drop their guard, chose to ignore the problem until it escalated into this. Nathan’s home lays defiled and wrecked. Nathan is hurt – he was nearly killed. Logan has watched time and time again as his partner spilled blood for Blackwater, as he poured hours of work into managing the pack when Billy and Sabra played the invalid. No more. It ends today. ”You tell me that, and you’re a goddamned liar.” Venomous words delivered in that cool rumble of gravel and grit.
Jericho sneers, offended on Billy’s behalf. They don’t understand. They don’t understand how much she was hurting, how confused and lost she was. There were nightmares and pills, and moments where he thought she would never be the same. They weren’t there to see, but he was. They have no right. ”If you’re going to leave. Leave.” It is a stern ultimatum. The last thing they need is another fight before they even have a chance to lick their wounds. His hand slides to Billy’s shoulder and gives it an encouraging squeeze. He is here and she need not worry – there is anger in the room but it will soon leave. It doesn’t matter. What matters is getting her patched up, cleaning up this mess, and making sure that the threat is, in fact, gone.
”We will,” the hunter acknowledges flatly, ”And we won’t be back.” He is done watching Nathan wear himself thin for an ungrateful pack. He is done watching Nathan bend to the will of those that do not deserve his subservience. His wolf is awoken, free of those debilitating chains that Blackwater threw onto it. When he casts one last look through the cabin, Logan does not see pack or family. He sees something stale and tarnished.
With no regrets, he cuts the ties. With no regrets, he leaves Billy’s cabin and heads home with Nathan. The choice is made and Blackwater is left to clean up her own mess.
Billy's voice breaks through the damp silence and with Vianne's help she mounts the stairs, an arm slung across her shoulders as they open the door. Everyone's alive, miracle that it is. Two bodies lie near the door and one of them sends a trill of terror through the dark haired woman's heart.
"That's Andre." Sabra pulls away from the young girl, gimps forward to roll the ugly beast's head side to side with the muzzle of her rifle. "Goddamn." She looks up to Nate, arms torn with defensive wounds and Logan with incredulity. Do they realize the gravity of this? In one barrage of bullets they've taken down a creature that have paced the nightmares of the two women for so long.
Billy gives her the alibi and Sabra nods weakly, stomach churning in disgust. There weren't many things in the world that could make her balk, but hospitals are definitely one of them. In any other situation she would have stubbornly refused, sent Vi to fetch a jar of moonshine from under her floorboards and stitched herself up, then Billy. A week laid out on the couch, wounds doused in iodine and bandages changed, they could have done it easy. But things aren't that simple anymore.
Her arms hang low, crossed over the bare bump of her stomach and her shoulders droop with effort. She's so damn tired and just when she thinks it might all be over, that they can go home and nurse their wounds Nate erupts, chin lifted high in defiance. A challenge that normally would never have been let go unchecked. His mate isn't far behind him, stoic Logan breaking his silence to defend and make his words concrete.
Something stirs in Sabra and she grips the rifle that much harder, a life line. "Enough."With her free hand she clutches the edge of the kitchen table, dips her head trying to gather herself, clutch at the fraying edges of her mind, of this chaos Blue Ridge's bore down on them. "There's been enough fightin' tonight." In Nate's righteous fury she sees her mistakes laid out before her, the whiskey that washed away her sense of duty, that prevented her from doing what was right and checking in on the pack.
Maybe this all could have been prevented. If only she hadn't let slip one smooth lie in bed, if she had never picked up the bottle or thought that Billy could always hold her up. So many what ifs.
"We knew. And so did Nate." Her sympathy is little. They are all bloodied, none of them came away from Lucas without scars. In the grand scheme of it Logan and Nate got off a lot easier than the two of them. She's fighting a losing battle, words are not her weapons and its clear just as it was with Dolan. Nothing she can say will be salve to these wounds nursed in bitterness.
They leave and Sabra watches their truck spin out of the driveway, disappear back down the road they came from. Just like that. People slip away so easily; these past months have taught her nothing if not that.
"Jericho? Can ya drive?"
All in one second the cabin erupts with violence again. It's nothing compared to the onslaught they'd just survived, everyone baring wounds of some sort and a majority of them covered in blood that may wash away - but it will always leave some sort of stain. Nate and Logan both seem to feed on the negative of the situation, they find the holes in everything and exploit them.
”This is your fault, For being weak. You let this happen. And you want to play alpha now?”
Nate's words hit the closest to home.
Even with her wolf spitting and snarling, trembling getting that much worse and nostrils flare with the call to change. Billy doesnt look at him in the eye. She doesnt get defensive although maybe she's entitled too. She let's him banter on, staring somewhere at Jericho and clutching him tightly as he intercedes. A child holding on to it's anchor.
Logan argues, but Billy's stuck on the round before. Lost somewhere between ''weak'' and ''we're done''. His words drone in and out, they hold no value, no significance to them beyond his mate's close behind. And she only intercepts after Jericho decides for her,
”If you’re going to leave. Leave.”
”We will, And we won’t be back.”
"Out of my territory by the first of the month." she spits between her teeth. Shoulders slumped in defeat" You killed the alpha," she gives a empty gesture to Andre. Recognizing the significance of his death as much as Sabra had. "S' go there. I dont care."
"But you shouldnt stay here."
"Enough.There's been enough fightin' tonight. We knew. And so did Nate"
But everything is past and gone, and Nate and Logan storm off after each other, stomping down the porch and over the sea of bodies. Billy only let's go of Jericho when they are gone, the sound of tires fading in the distance.
"Jericho? Can ya drive?"
"Vianne'll drive you Sabra." Billy rounds on the beta, her past suspicion fading with Nate's betrayal. The blonde monarch reaches for the woman's arms with her good one. She grasp the upper bicep in a firm hold. Wraps around the pregnant woman in a loose hug. "Im sorry. Im sorry." For a lot of things she's done. And all the things she will do.
"Vi, you take care of Sabra y' hear? Be careful with my jeep." It's her little sister next as Billy hugs her, kisses at her temple. 'Love you too." She say's finally. Nurses her arm back up against her belly button and tags along back beside Jericho like a lost puppy. "Dont worry about everything here, I'll take care of it." She says, gives them all a fragile sad smile.
Full of finality.
(sorry, rushed it so I could stay involved XD)
Many things happened at once, wolves and blood fell. A truck had done it damage, even causing Aysun to take cover from the hail of bullets.
Now it was over, what remained of wolves began to leave. Tucking tail and cowering back into the forest. Aysun loped back to the cabin, blood streaked all through his white fur. Tongue lolling, he padded up to the open door of the cabin. Angry voices spun around through out. Un effected by the argument, Aysun turned his back to the pack and stood watch, not wanting any stray wolves sneaking back.
His long ears flick to and fro, taking in the new silence of the forest, but also listening in on the pack. Being new he did not know what relationship Billy and the other pack members had. But it seemed they were about to lose a few. Sighing silently, he continued to scan the forest, his blood red eyes staying focused.
Blue Ridge no longer had an alpha, and Aysun really couldn't argue with the fact that a better, more deserving alpha might take over. So even though they were pissed off at Billy, it didn't bother Aysun. She was an alpha, inexperienced, but still the alpha. Could be a good thing for her to hear what they had to say. Yet another stepping stone to her becoming a better pack leader. Wild wolves went through the same. Fellow pack members challenge the alpha, and if they couldn't take the heat, they got the hell out of the kitchen. Though Aysun doubted highly that Billy would roll over that easily.
Taking a brief moment to shake loose dirt and litter from his pelt, Aysun continued his scanning. His mind was already made up. I just hope she understands....
The fury of the fighting had died in his veins, making the wolf allot more docile. One last wiff of the damp air, andAysun was sure no wolves lingered. Alive that is. Turning back to his pack he made his way up the steps to the cabin. Stepping over the dead body of the ex alpha of Blue Ridge. Aysun found himself face to face with Billy. He let his gaze linger with her's, he could feel the tension of everyone involved, but he had to do this now.
Tail tucked and head low, Aysun licked her pale hand, eyes now averted in submission. He wasn't sure if she could understand as a human, but her wolf should be able to pick up the fact that he intended to leave. Please understand, You made mistakes. Be an Alpha and learn from them. Looking up at Jericho , Aysun knew she was well off and able to become a great alpha. I wont be far.
Her ears can't drown out the rising voices so she stares at a blood spattered wall in silence. Red. Such an pretty color, but the air would soon turn it brown. Huh.
The girl blinks as they leave, eyes tearing away from the wall as she chews on her bottom lip. Sabra's right; there's been enough fighting. Too much fighting... Yet she can't help the sadness evoked by their leaving. No taking back words or apologizing, she supposes. Blackwater's short two pack members now. By choice.
It stings.
"Jericho? Can ya drive?
"Vianne'll drive you Sabra. Im sorry. Im sorry."
"Vi, you take care of Sabra y' hear? Be careful with my jeep. Love you too."
The girl snuggles into that hug, making it last for all she can. She nestles her head and body close, messy red hair falling in every which direction. She manages to nod and mumbles a promise, "I will." Too much has happened too fast and the train hasn't really hit her yet. Going on autopilot and keeping the tears from ever reaching her eyes. Too much stress and worry for her to just sit by and crumble, so she's meek and quiet. They have always kept her safe.
"Dont worry about everything here, I'll take care of it."
Vianne isn't one to argue, but there's certainly a lot to be taken care of. She knows Jericho will see to it if Billy cannot. So she swallows, eyes moving to Sabra since the girl has a new mission. Responsibility. Vianne has to take care of two things; Sabra and the jeep. She has promised Billy.
Vianne notices the white wolf and realizes he is no threat, being one of them, but knows little else. So she watches him silently and does not interrupt as he licks at his alpha's fingers.
As the blond goes to Jericho, Vianne sides up next to Sabra, a cautious hand touching her arm lightly. To the hospital then... Little sis was driving and no way on earth was Sabra going to be stretched out alone on some gurney while she saw her baby on the ultrasound for the first time.
Brows furrow and she worries anyway. "Kay, be safe." ...While they're gone... More of a plea than a statement, "We'll see y'all later..." Once Sabra was all fixed up. Vianne can't help but hope their little family will in some shape or form fall back into place.
A girl can hope. Dream even, but most likely pretend.
