The Narrator
Chapter 24 = Enter Monica Bathory... The Lothrin Estate in the Pallisades of the Spawling Gardens District of New Alexandria in the year 1988 AD on Earth #8193… The music swells as Anya and Emma step back into the ballroom, the warm light and chatter washing over them like nothing had happened. Emma is immaculate, her gown untouched. Anya's new dress, deep crimson silk with fitted sleeves, hides the worst of the fight's aftermath, though the faint stiffness in her movements betrays the truth to anyone who knows her well.
Jessie is across the room with her heart‑mothers, their faces tight with concern. One of them steps forward as Anya approaches.
Zahrell
"Is it true our daughter was attacked?"
Anya Lothrin
"Yes. A prowler broke in, but it's been dealt with. I'll be increasing security immediately."
Sophia
"By the gods, how awful?"
Emma
"We are so sorry this happened, really."
The Narrator
Emma hugs Sophia close for a moment as Zahrell and Anya share a brief but tender embrace. It is clear to both Anya and Emma that the pale-looking young Jessie is still more than a little shaken.
The Narrator
Anya and Emma make their way over to the girl.
Anya Lothrin
"I'm sorry, Jessie. We want you to feel safe here and we failed tonight. But please remember, your heart-mothers love you and you are precious to them which makes you precious to us as well and we will always do everything within our power to protect you."
The Narrator
Jessie's eyes widen slightly at their words. A flicker of surprise softening her expression. Emma leans in first, pressing a warm kiss to Jessie's cheek. Anya follows, her kiss softer than expected, a rare public gesture. Jessie glances at her heart‑mothers, who smile and nod approvingly, before turning back to Anya and Emma with a faint blush.
Emma
"Come on, I'll teach you to slow dance."
The Narrator
Jessie hesitates as Emma softly takes her hand. Their eyes lock, and Emma smiles, resting her forehead gently against Jessie's for a moment. Jessie smiles back, then looks to her heart‑mothers one last time before letting Emma take the lead. Emma guides her toward the dance floor, her hand steady at Jessie's back. Anya's gaze sweeps the room and catches on Scott Kristophin slipping in through a side entrance, already more than fashionably late.
Anya Lothrin
"Excuse me, dear ladies, now that our Jessie is safe in Emma's loving hands, there's something I must tend to."
The Narrator
Both smile and nod at Anya as she excuses herself before turning their gaze back to fondly watching their daughter be guided gracefully around the dance floor by Emma. Scott quickly tries to fix his composure as he sees Anya approaching.
Anya Lothrin
"Running more than a little late I see"
The Narrator
Anya teases warmly as she reaches out her hand to Scott, who shakes it awkwardly, clearly more than a little distracted. She can't help but note his refusal to make eye contact and the faint smell of dirt and sweat wafting from him. Out on the dance floor, Emma gently dips Jessie backward and kisses her softly on the lips, watching Anya and Scott for a moment out of the corner of her eye.
Scott
"Um, yes, well, what can I say? Traffic was murder."
Anya Lothrin
"You okay Scott, things too chaotic in the department?"
Scott
"No, I'm fine, everything's fine and on track.
Anya Lothrin
"Well, okay then. Wonderful, please enjoy the party."
The Narrator
Anya excuses herself, returning to Zahrell and Sophia just as Emma and Jessie make their way back from the dance floor.
Emma
"For her first time learning to slowdance our dear Jessie did very well, and she's not a bad kisser either."
Sophia
"Oh trust me we know how good a kisser she is and she looked just lovely out there gracefully moving across that dancefloor with you"
Anya Lothrin
"So I guess I missed quite show from the sound of it"
Zahrell
"Indeed it was, Emma just gave Jessie a dance lesson I don't think she will soon forget judging by the way she blushed during that kiss"
The Narrator
Replies Zahrell with warm smile and friendly kiss on the cheek to the returning Anya.
Jessie
"I did not."
The Narrator
Jessie blushes again shyly as Emma guides her by the lower back into the waiting, soothing embrace of her heart‑mother, Sophia. The music drifts into slower, softer numbers. Laughter fades to murmurs, and the crowd thins as guests slip away into the night. Anya lingers with Zahrell and Sophia, the warmth of their conversation a gentle counterpoint to the cool air seeping in from the open terrace doors.
Emma
"Looks like the band's calling it a night."
The Narrator
She glances toward Jessie, who's stifling a yawn she tries to hide. Anya smiles faintly, the tension of the evening settling into her shoulders as the last of the guests drift toward the doors. Somewhere near the doors, a coat is shrugged on, the soft rustle of silk and wool marking the slow unraveling of the evening.
Sophia
"Yeah we better get this sleepy girl back home to our bed so she can pass out"
The Narrator
Farewell hugs and kisses are exchanged between Zahrell, Sophia, Anya, and Emma. Anya bows a respectful goodbye to Jessie, while Emma pulls her into one last quick hug and presses a goodbye kiss to her forehead. The sound of footsteps fade, the lights dim, and the great ballroom exhales into quiet, holding the night's final warmth in its stillness.
The last echoes of the ballroom's music still hum faintly in Anya's mind as she leaves the darkened ballroom. The Knight‑Gallery greets her with its usual hush, the low thrum of security wards, the faint scent of ozone from its data cores. The scent of old paper and machine oil replaces the perfume and champagne of the party. The polished obsidian floor reflects the cold, neutral light of the dormant display walls, their matte black surface waiting for instruction.
She pauses just inside the threshold, removing her gloves.
Anya Lothrin
"Tenjin, run program: Nocturne Grove, version three."
The Narrator
The walls ripple, black dissolving into the deep blues and silvers of a moonlit forest. Tall, spectral trees rise around her, their leaves whispering in a wind that doesn't exist. The ground glows faintly with ghost‑white flowers, and somewhere far off, water murmurs over stone.
The forest washes over her like a soothing wave, a vestigial memory of peace and tranquillity plucked from beyond the veil of death.
She exhales, tension easing from her shoulders as she steps forward into the illusion's quiet embrace. The glistening stone of her nearby workstation calls to her from the center of the room.
Tenjin has already laid open the requested files and data on her computer desktop, ready and waiting for her review.
Monica
"What is this place? This illusion?" [sounding now much weaker and more exhausted]
The Narrator
Asks Monica from her nearby containment cell, where she sits curled in the corner, knees drawn up, luminescent red eyes glowing from the dark. Her voice is weaker now, frayed at the edges with exhaustion. Anya turns her head toward the raspy voice, her gaze settling on Monica.
Anya Lothrin
"A precious memory plucked from the shadow of horror and death"
Monica
"What are you going to do with us?"
Anya Lothrin
"That is the question, isn't it? You belong to me in your own way, which makes you my responsibility"
Monica
"Are we to starve? To wither? To die in this place? Do you not care?"
The Narrator
Monica doubles over, coughing violently, her whole body wracked with spasms.
Monica
"PLEASE! HELP US! THE THIRST! IT BURNS AND WRITHES!
The Narrator
Her body lurches toward the wall closest to Anya, clawing at the transparent surface of her cell. Her eyes blaze, frantic with pain and need, the illusory forest's silver light glinting off her bared fangs.
Anya makes her way over to the medical station and reaches for a bag of chilled blood, but then she stops.
Anya Lothrin
"Actually… this is probably too cold for you. You need something warm. Fresh."
The Narrator
She stands still for a moment, weighing the choice with her whole heart. Then she turns, striding into the arsenal room. Her hand finds the familiar weight of her favorite handgun. Rolling up her right sleeve, she makes her way back to Monica's cell.
Anya Lothrin
"Tenjin, open the cell just long enough for me to enter and then seal it and send notice to Emma that I am about to do something insanely stupid."
Tenjin
"Of course, Anya. Though I would like to point out the risk you are about to take"
Anya Lothrin
"I'm well aware, Tenjin."
The Narrator
Anya keeps the gun levelled at Monica's head, letting the vampire see the black barrel aimed squarely between her eyes before the cell door even moves.
With a hiss of electronic locks, the seal breaks. The door slides open. Anya steps inside, the muzzle tracking Monica's every twitch, her slow advance forcing Monica back one step at a time. The door shuts behind her with a heavy, final thud.
Anya extends her exposed right forearm in offering to the feral, starving creature before her.
The reaction is instantaneous. Monica surges forward, hunger detonating through her like a volatile chain reaction. The air between them tightens, charged with heat. Anya's heart races and her blood simmers as Monica drives her back hard against the thick transparent door of the cell.
Anya presses the barrel of her gun hard against Monica's forehead. The steel is cold, a sharp counterpoint to the burning warmth radiating from Anya's body. Their eyes lock, predator to predator, the space between them electric. Monica's breath ghosts across Anya's cheek, ragged and hot, carrying the faint copper tang of her need. Anya drags the barrel of her gun from the side of Monica's chin to her temple in a slow, deliberate stroke.
Anya Lothrin
"Feel that… feel it. Take my blood, but when I say stop, you stop… or I pull this trigger. Got it?"
The Narrator
Monica's lashes flicker, her gaze never breaking, and for a moment their lips almost touch. The forest illusion whispers around them, silver light catching in Monica's crimson eyes, turning her hunger into something more. Monica places her hands gently against Anya's raised and exposed forearm, pushing it out of the way. Monica's lips brush against the warm hollow where Anya's neck meets her shoulder, a place soft enough to yield, close enough to feel the throb of her pulse.
Monica's gaze holds Anya's for a breath, scarlet eyes burning in the silver light. The first touch of her fangs is a tease, a slow drag over skin that makes Anya's breath hitch. They both pause for a moment. Monica casts her eyes one last time to Anya, who just silently nods, her gun hovering just inches away from Monica's head.
Pain flares sharp and bright, chased instantly by a molten pull that seems to reach through Anya's whole body. Monica's bite tightens as their bodies press together, each swallow a hot, rhythmic tug.
Anya's heart pounds, her blood surging to meet the demand. The muzzle of the gun stays pressed to Monica's temple, a cold reminder of the line between indulgence and death. Subtle moans and gentle spasms surge through Anya's body as the sensation ignites through her like a wildfire.
Monica growls softly against her skin, the sound vibrating through Anya's bones. The forest illusion sways around them, silver light shining down over their locked forms, as violence and passion bleed together toward a desperate, building cacophony.
The pull at Anya's neck grows stronger, her pulse hammers against Monica's touch, the rhythm quickening with every heartbeat. Anya's breath comes faster, her free hand tightening in Monica's hair, not to push her away, not to draw her closer, but to remind them both who holds the line.
Anya Lothrin
"Enough." [sensual moaning tone]
The Narrator
Monica doesn't release as the growl in her throat deepens, vibrating through Anya's body. The muzzle of the gun presses harder against her temple, a cold, unyielding promise.
Anya Lothrin
"I SAID ENOUGH" [Now forceful and stern]
The Narrator
Monica's fangs withdraw with a slow, reluctant drag, leaving twin points of heat that throb in time with Anya's heartbeat. A thin ribbon of blood traces the curve of her shoulder. Monica's lips follow it, catching the last drop before she leans back, her eyes still burning before falling back into the far corner of the cell.
Her breathing is ragged, but the wild edge in her eyes has dulled, replaced by something steadier, almost lucid. The tremor in her hands eases as the worst of the thirst recedes. She studies Anya in silence, gaze lingering on the rolled sleeve, the gun still in hand, the unflinching way Anya meets her stare.
Emma
"Wow. That was quite the display of passion. Should I leave you two alone?"
The Narrator
Emma's voice cuts through the charged silence, pulling Anya's attention toward the base of the nearby stone steps. She stands there, arms folded, clearly having watched the entire exchange. Anya meets her gaze, the corner of her mouth twitching in something that isn't quite a smile. Emma doesn't flinch, doesn't bristle, she just waits, perfectly at ease, because she knows every little thing that makes Anya tick.
Emma
"If you're done feeding your new pet, I believe you have some data to review. You know, figuring out what happened to her? How she got this way?"
The Narrator
A faint smile graces Emma's lips.
Emma
"Unless, of course, you'd rather keep… experimenting… get your ass out of that cell so I can tend to that bite wound before you bleed out all over my floor."
The Narrator
Anya exhales slowly, rolling her sleeve back down, the phantom heat of Monica's mouth still lingering on her skin as the cell door opens and she steps out. As Anya leaves the cell, Monica and Emma lock eyes in a brief silent sizing‑up, each reading the other in different ways. Monica's smile is slight but deliberate, her lips still red with Anya's warm blood. Blood Monica savours like a twisted sacrament, offered freely. Emma just stares unblinking, her gaze steady and unreadable for a moment before making her way over to the nearby medical station and withdrawing the first-aid spray and bandages to tend Anya's bite wound.
The forest illusion sways quietly around them as Anya settles into her nearby work station, the glow of the displays reflecting in her eyes. Monica watches as Emma returns to Anya's side and with quick efficiency, treats and wraps her wound so that Anya can begin her work reviewing the data tenjin collected concerning Monica.
Emma finishes tending to Anya's wound and walks over to the nearby cell, kneeling down in front of it. She places her hand against the transparent cell door with a sultry, mocking smile. She lifts and tilts her head slightly, exposing her elegant, supple neck. She traces the sensual curves of her throat with her finger.
Emma
"Enjoy your meal, scary beasty?" [teasing yet slightly seductive tone]
The Narrator
Monica licks her still blood-soaked lips lustfully, keeping her gaze locked with Emma's. The crimson in her eyes sharpens, not just with hunger, but with the glint of a predator recognizing another creature who refuses to flinch.
Monica
"Careful, little lamb… you're playing a dangerous game." (low, almost purring)
The Narrator
Emma's smile doesn't waiver. If anything, it deepens, as though she's savoring the warning.
Emma
"Oh, I know exactly what game I'm playing. The question is… do you?" [teasing sensual tone]
The Narrator
Monica tilts her head in mirror to Emma's, a subtle mimicry as her lips peel back to bare her fangs for a moment. Emma takes note, her smirk widening.
Suddenly, Monica surges in for the kill, fangs sharp, claws extended, stopped only by a few inches of reinfroced nanoplexi between.
Emma
"Let me tell you something beasty. You're volatile and deadly two things that turn Anya on more than anything, but I'm not Anya. If you want me fear and power isn't enough. You have to be worthy. Now back to your corner.
The Narrator
Monica doesn't move right away. Then, slowly, she eases back toward the shadows, a low chuckle curling from her throat. Her eyes never leave Emma's, the sound carrying the promise that this game is far from over.
Monica
"Worthy, hmm? We'll see, little lamb. Death comes swift to the sheep that tempt wolves."
Anya Lothrin
"It would seem the last person to see dear Monica alive was our Mr. Scott from the party tonight. Monica was last spotted leaving Lothrin-Tower with him just 3 hours before the party. It would also seem judging by his encrypted personal logs Scott had convinced himself Monica was a Narrows-Born illegally trying to pass as True-Born with a fake chip and so he was intending to punish her tonight at his penthouse."
The Narrator
At the name, Monica's eyes narrow almost imperceptibly. A faint tension ripples through her shoulders, gone as quickly as it came, but enough for Emma to notice.
Emma
"Something happened after leaving the tower. She just reacted on instinct at his name. That would certainly explain both his lateness and his behavior tonight. I don't suppose you remember what he did to you, do you, beasty?"
Anya Lothrin
"You know you shouldn't tease her"
Emma
"It's better she learns her place now, right beasty?"
The Narrator
Monica's eyes flash menacingly in the dim light, but she says nothing.
Emma
"So come on Beasty, tell us… What did our wicked Scott do to you? How did he do it? How did he make you into this? Come on, beasty."
The Narrator
Emma's prodding stabs deep into something primal and instrisic. Monica's head jolts and spasms as her breath hitches, pupils blown wide, her hands curl into claws against the nanoplexi walls of her cell before she even knows she's moved. A flash, silver glint, a hand's crushing weight, the ghost of cologne wafting from the back of her mind. Her pulse spikes. Rage flares, then ices into something colder, edged with fear. She forces it down, her mounstrous mask snapping back into place… but not fast enough to hide what slipped through. Emma catches the attempt to hide and she knows.
Emma
"It's okay Monica, I'm sorry. It's not your fault. None of this is your fault"
Anya Lothrin
"It's time to bring Scott in and make sure he pays for what he has done"
Emma
"Agreed, even if we don't know all the details, we atleast know enough to drag his ass here for questioning."
The Narrator
Anya makes her way quickly to the armory and begins suiting up as Emma goes and begins prepping Anya's weapons and gear, her fingers moving with practiced precision. Their movements are efficient, almost ritualistic. The black and red armor and silver hair of the Knight-Raven exo-suit catches the forest‑illusion's moonlight, each plate locking into place with a muted click.
Emma adjusts the harness straps at Anya's shoulders, her expression unreadable.
A sharp thud echoes through the Knight‑Gallery. Then another. Monica stands in the center of her cell, eyes burning, fists slamming into the nanoplexi wall. The first blows are measured, testing. Then they build, faster, harder, each strike ringing like a war drums.
Hairline fractures spiderweb across the barrier. The next hit detonates the wall in a spray of shimmering shards and suddenly it shatters like frozen glass sending nanoplexi fragments all across the room.
Monica is already moving, a blur of black and crimson, her claws gouging the stone as she launches herself up the Knight-Gallery stairs.
Anya and Emma lunge after her, but Monica's vampiric speed is a living thing, she's through the main hall before either of them can close the distance. By the time they reach the westward gardens, Monica is nothing but a dark silhouette against the moonlight. The night swallows her as she streaks toward her prey. Anya quickly rushes back to the Knight-Gallery and readies the Omen for take off.
Emma
"Think about what your doing Anya?"
Anya Lothrin
"I have to stop her from killing him. She's my responsability."
Emma
"Not all monsters deserve to be saved, maybe she should kill Scott after what he did and why"
Anya Lothrin
"I understand why you say that and I get, but I'm not saving Scott, I am saving her. I can't let her kill him, he needs be punished but the right way"
The Narrator
With that said Anya slams the cockpit shut and takes off like bat out of hell into the night and as she pleads from the depths of her heart that she is not too late.