Mayfair Manor

[Okimiyage]

Rynn stiffened from Airi’s reprise, but only crossed his arms and slunk deep into his seat. “I wasn’t overreacting that much,” he muttered ruefully. “I just wanted to know where she was getting all these misguided impressions of us from. Perfectly reasonable to ask that. It’s my reputation, I ought to know…”
He seemed to settle his grudge after Holt joined them, at least; gods knew it was the worst thing he could do to make a bad impression on him now, too. At least the rest of the ride was short enough that Rynn wasn’t given the opportunity to put his foot in his mouth again.
Besides, he was too busy dwelling over what Gretchen had said. He’d known there had been a fair bit of scandal over his acceptance into the Mayfair family, but he’d always thought that it was confined to just that—the family. Coming to the realization that the rest of the city had been giving any thought to him at all was…unexpected. He felt like protesting, ‘But I’m not anybody.’
But that was untrue, now. Simply by relevance to the Mayfair family, he’d become a person of interest overnight, it seemed.
Inside the house, Rynn did his best to be quiet and study the molding on the ceiling. It was better than talking, when everything he said seemed to pick a fight—exactly as Alistair had warned him against. He was honestly relieves when Alistair returned with the blankets, and fetched him away from the scene and into the privacy of the kitchen. For a long while, after the cup of tea was pushed into his hand, Rynn did nothing more than fretfully turn it round and round within his hand, without talking. He was listening to Alistair, but it would have been very difficult to tell by the lost, worried look on his face.
“They think I’m a dork,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “And dorks aren’t worth being friends with, not when you’re—like them, already. The worst part is that I was trying. If she called me ‘dork’, I thought I could call her ‘sweetheart’. I was trying to be…playful, I guess. I don’t know. I don’t get these—social—things like you, Alistair, I don’t—“ he sighed with frustration. “Even when I’m trying my damnedest to make a good impression, somehow I always say the wrong thing. I don’t fit in—not like you do.” Like a puzzle piece finding its mate, he thought—almost bitterly.
Suddenly, Rynn’s head drooped. The alcohol was going at the inside of his skull like a hammer.
“I’m sorry.” he said, in a very small voice. “I thought I’d be better at this. I wasn’t expecting them to love me, but I didn’t think they’d hate me, either.” It seemed typical of his luck, at the moment.
“Thanks for sticking up for me, anywa’zz.” Rynn slurred, then blinked and corrected himself. “Anyways.” Venturing a small smile upon the other boy, he added. “It’s nice to think that at least one person knows I’m not intentionally making a prat of myself.” With that, the Calais boy slumped down, very gently, almost in slow-motion, until his forehead nearly touched the rim of his teacup. "Sorry for all'th'bother."
It was possibly the drunkest, poorest interpretation of a bow, ever.  

[XCandy and LunacyX]

Alistair sighed, with equal parts sympathy and affection, propping his chin in his hand. “They don’t hate you,” he reassured him calmly, a vague smile on his lips, “They just don’t like being talked down to, like most people. You really have a tendency for that, you know. That kind of thing never comes off as a joke, especially with your tone.” Reaching out with his free hand, he gently patted the other boy’s head. “You just need to learn how normal people talk. I don’t think ‘dork’ has been an insult since the 80’s, or outside of bad high school movies. Even if it was…I mean seriously, no one is a bigger dork than James, and they’re friends with him. And they’re totally willing to be friends with you, you just need to calm down a little. Maybe less telling them they’re inferior and sneering. You can do that after they know you’re not a total jackass, if you really need to.” He grinned, marking the statement as a joke---well, passing it off as one, anyways. “And don’t worry about Gretchen. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but she’s pretty much always pissed off about something. Kind of like Julien in a skirt.”
He froze, brows knitting in consideration, and then abruptly shuddered. “That’s the scary story I should’ve told. And hell, who knows what he does in his spare time. They say he was pretty wild when he was our age, before my mother pulled a psychological ******** on him.” Grinning, he leaned in close and whispered confidentially, “Any time Julien gets on your case, just imagine him riding a horse down the street wearing a bed sheet toga. True story. Frat initiation, if I remember correctly.” Still snickering, he leaned back against the counter and lit up a cigarette, the patio door nearby sliding open. “If you remember it at all in the morning, which I’m beginning to doubt.” Almost imperceptibly, his teasing grin turned from amused to mischievous, eyes narrowing at Rynn. “I’m surprised you let your guard so very, very down around me. Who knows what all I could do to you that you’d never even remember when you wake up. I suppose you’re lucky that Pierce and Lucy are making suspicious noises in my room right now.” Another grin, in that pleasant but altogether explicitly suggestive way he had, utterly devious and charming. “Ahh, but what fun is that? There’s no satisfaction in targeting someone who wouldn’t remember anyways.”
Though he didn’t say it outright, even passing it off as a joke, there was something about Alistair that made it clear that was his only determent in the matter. It was his indirect way of reminding Rynn that the only reason he wasn’t shamelessly trying to seduce him was his sheer level of drunkenness. He had promised he wouldn’t do precisely that, and he intended to keep his word. But at the same time, he refused to let him forget that this was eventually going to happen, because Alistair’s will was ironclad.  

[Okimiyage]

“What kind of world do we live in that ‘dork’ is not an insult and ‘sweetheart’ is?” Rynn grumbled, letting his head fall off the glass and tap gently against the table. But it wasn’t worth arguing over; he let the matter go, although he was still perplexed as to where in the course of the night’s events he had left anyone feeling inferior. “I wasn’t tryin’ to sneer.” he mumbled faintly into the woodgrain. No matter; he’d done enough damage for one night. He could spend the rest of the week cleaning up the mess.
Then, Alistair’s voice registered faintly in his head, and he stirred. “Wildness runs in the family.” One opened eye peeked over the cover of his crossed arms. “’n I’ll have you know that I remember everything. Like—like from years ago. I remember. How’d I tell that story about the shrubs, otherwise?” He snorted to himself. “Shrubs!” How insulting.
That little outburst concluded with, Rynn stared glumly into his teacup.
“You know—that’s really cruel, you know?””
“I think I wanted to let my guard down around you. And drinking was the only way that I could convince myself to. But now you don’t want me. I guess it’d be too easy, now. The element of challenge would be missing.”
Unsteadily, Rynn found his footing and stood. “And insult of all insults, you think I wouldn’t remember. Give me some credit.” Even if sometimes, it took a while to conjure up the previous night’s events, Rynn was astoundingly confident that he could do it this time. He wasn’t that drunk, right?
“Anyways, I think I know what you want.” Rynn announced, with a confidence that was not reflected in his unsteady steps. Rynn rounded the table, and placed his hands on its edge, one to either side of Alistair’s hips. “If it’s fun you’re after, there’s nothing more amusing than cornering your prey, right? Then making them turn and beg to be devoured alive.” His eyes glinted in the blue moonlight coming through the windows; baring his teeth in the semblance of a grin, Rynn released the table and took a step back from Alistair. It wasn’t in his nature to be so aggressive, ordinarily. “But half the fun is in the chase, I guess." he said, with casual finality, shrugging his shoulders and turning away. "Seeing how long it lasts, anyways."  

[XCandy and LunacyX]

Alistair listened, quietly, as Rynn ranted, an amused little half-smile spread knowingly across his face. But when Rynn turned and tried to walk away, he caught him by the sleeve, jerking him stumbling back and pulling him against him, seizing both of his wrists to keep him still as a little sigh of exasperation spilled through his lips. “Ah…you really think you’re going to walk away after that? All your protests, all your annoyance and discomfort, and now you’re calling me cruel for not taking advantage of you when you’re drunk?” He was whispering, scant millimeters from Rynn’s ear, that low velvet purr. “What kind of logic is that? Really, you are infuriating even when you’re not trying.” He was about halfway through the last sentence when the tension seeped into his voice, a vague and quiet aggression punctuated by his sudden movements, stepping around Rynn and pressing him back against the table, slamming his hands down on either side of him with a faint rattle.
He wasn’t smiling anymore. He was all intense, smoldering eyes, every inch the wolf that Antha had claimed him to be, sharp and imposing. “You can’t have it both ways. That’s not how it works, and I’m not exactly a saint, Rynn. So for once, say what the ******** you mean.” He leaned forward, leaving a carefully-crafted inch between the length of their bodies, whispering huskily in his ear. “I’m not going to exploit your current state. It would be terribly easy---I could throw you down on this table and violate you ten ways before you even thought to protest. But I won’t, because you have to say it first. I can either be a gentleman, let you go, walk out of here and we can both go to sleep…or I can ravage you until there’s nothing left by morning. But either way, you have to say it first.”
He shifted, moving the faintest sliver of an inch closer, whispering intently, “Just say the word. And if you say nothing…” He did smile then, but it wasn’t his usual cheery smile, bright and sweet. He was still the wolf and this smile was sharp, full of promise bordering on a threat, his usual charm all turned dark and seductive. “…you won’t be able to stop me.”  

[Okimiyage]

Rynn's breath hitched in his throat, and his skin seemed to become very thin. At least, he could feel the beat of his heart thudding overwhelmingly through it, at his wrists and temples and ribcage, and for a long while his pulse rode high and rapid in his throat. Like a frightened rabbit, he thought, a little bitterly.
But a rabbit would have had more sense. It was all Rynn could do to stop himself from seizing the other boy's lean hips and pulling them, hard, into his own. Some part of him knew that he should stop, retreat, send the Mayfair back to his quarters--his couch, rather--but he couldn't help himself anymore. He slid up onto the tabletop, where they could be approximately at eye level instead of Airi looming over him like a spook. One hand snaked out, snatching hold of the other boy's collar and tugging him in close.
"Did you think all that would scare me?" he asked softly. His gaze was steady and unblinking, scanning Alistair for any twitch of revealed emotion. "That's why they call it  liquid courage, y'see. So sometimes, even if you know that there's something to be frightened by—“

Rynn caught his breath, and stilled mid-sentence, suddenly struck dumb. There was little question as to why. In the moonlight that lit the kitchen, turning their skin white as bone, shadows of window-panes striping the room in long bar…Airi was breathtaking. He had more than a little of Antha in him, not only in the face—Rynn could see it in the set of his jaw, the devilish glint of his eye--but rather than feminizing him, weakening his charm, it made him all the more attractive. He was beautiful; Rynn was almost inclined to hate him for it—there was a terrible, drunken urge to slap him across the face, because it wasn’t fair, wearing a face like that all the time. It was like bringing brass knuckles into a bare-fisted fight. And Rynn was in a decidedly volatile state. Both hitting him and kissing him seemed like such satisfying ideas.

(the kind of kiss that tasted like salt and copper, tearing apart their clothes in the eagerness for their skin to meet, nails in one another's backs, striping his skin red like a ******** been staring for too long already. Forcing himself to snap out of it, Rynn released Alistair's collar and leaned back on his arms again, crossing his legs and trying to ignore how hot under the collar just a second's fantasy had gotten him. Rynn had thought that he needed the liquid courage to quell his nerves about flirting with Alistair, but unexpectedly, he found himself more disconcerted by his own uninhibited desires.
“Anyways, I don’t believe you.” he said, shortly. “If all you wanted was carnal pleasure, then you would have found an excuse to do this long ago.” Rynn tapped the edge of his nails against the wood in a thoughtful, rattling non-beat. “But that’s not all that you want. You want me to like it; to come crawling back for more. That might entertain you for a good long while, whereas this—now—” He cocked his head at Alistair, the moonlight glinting off one eye in a distinctly mischievous way. “...Well, we'll both go away with our youthful curiousity satisfied, cherries popped, and we get to blame it on the alcohol and the hormones in the morning. I suppose it's been rather frustrating watching all of Antha's sexual escapades from a noncorporeal state, after all." It wasn't a particularly romantic way to lose one's virginity, of course, but at least it would be with Airi.  

[XCandy and LunacyX]

It was amusing, Alistair thought, the way that Rynn interpreted ‘one word’. No, of course he had a flood of words, none of them decisive one way or the other. He couldn’t admit it. He couldn’t bring himself to tell him no, but he couldn’t admit it, and it had honestly begun to piss Alistair off.
But Airi had told him. He had made his conditions clear, what he was going to do if Rynn didn’t give an answer, and that was what finally made him smirk, eyes flashing, a look vastly more common on Nicolae’s face than his, predatory and arrogant. One hand clapped swiftly over his mouth, the other arm still supporting him as he leaned closer. “Stop. Talking.” His voice had gone husky, raw, his eyes dark and intent without an ounce of hesitation left. And always utterly true to his word, the moment his hand moved, his lips were on his---masterfully, scaldingly passionate---roughly cupping his chin so that there was no escape, no more words. But that quickly was not enough and he found himself pinning the other boy down against the table, crushing out the space between their bodies.
When he withdrew, savagely breathless, it was only half an inch and only to whisper lowly, “I warned you.” Well, that was mostly why. One hand knotted in his hair, the other hovering tauntingly just beneath the hem of his shirt, he had to give him the split second to protest. Alistair wasn’t a complete beast, unlike his cousins, he couldn’t just coerce him into, and they were nearing the line of no return. Besides…there was no point if Rynn simply let it happen. He had slipped out of admitting it aloud, but whatever he thought of Alistair’s intentions, there was no point in it if he refused to respond.
Which Alistair wouldn't put past him. Rynn's capacity for spite was startling.  

[Okimiyage]

Rynn didn’t have the good grace to say what he meant out loud, but it was there all the same—in the wide, desperate eyes when Alistair withdrew, the almost imperceptible moan in the back of his throat when he regained control of his breath—rapid-pace now, ragged with desire. He had to resist the urge to raise his hips to meet Alistair’s, the pressure between them felt that good. He knew Alistair was doing this to taunt him, in a way. Still, Rynn’s own pride had been piqued, and he was damned if he was going to let Airi take the reins now.
So he wanted to play the big, bad wolf, right? But Rynn wasn’t a sheep. Rynn wasn’t going to be devoured or ravaged without resistance.
He warmed me? “I heard you,” came Rynn’s shaky, hoarse whisper.
Airi could stand to know what it felt like to be on the receiving end of some of his own moves.
Seizing the other’s collar, tangling his fingers within the on the back of his head, Rynn lunged forward, ignoring the pain in his scalp as Alistair’s grip tugged at his hair. The table rattled as their hips bumped, locked together, and one of the cups tipped, spilling lavender tea across the counter. Rynn would have been surprised if Alistair couldn’t feel his heart hammering through his shirt; to him, it was as loud as war-drums. When they broke for air, Rynn felt lightheaded—most likely, the result of all of his blood draining into certain organs. Still, he had the presence of mind to hiss, “W-wait! Everyone’s in the other room, what if someone comes in?” At this point, he was just postponing the inevitable, but it was a valid concern. He didn't want Liesse to get up for a glass of milk in the middle of the night and run into...whatever this was.  

[XCandy and LunacyX]

For a split second, head cocked, Alistair looked at Rynn like he was crazy, or ridiculous. But it made him pause at least long enough to remember that this was the kitchen table, where they ate, and when someone inevitably found out about what had taken place…
He made a small, rough sound of frustration, eyes flashing, and seized him by the wrist, dragging him through the sliding glass doors and onto the screened patio, practically throwing him down on one of the cushioned pool chairs out of sight. He was visibly agitated by the interruption, even more evident in the way he immediately set upon Rynn---buttons ripping and skittering across the tiles, nails biting into skin and leaving thin red welts, breath reduced to desperate gasping.
It wasn’t a terribly long affair, as these things went, but that was probably to be expected from virgins. Regardless, he was left with his forehead leaning against Rynn’s shoulder, chest heaving and gaze swimming, his head still bursting with searing splashes of light and sweat dripping from his cheeks. When he could see straight again, he pressed a kiss on Rynn’s jaw, just above a blossoming dark splotch on his skin, and sat unsteadily on the side of the chair, fishing his cigarettes out of the pockets of his jeans. He put one to his lips, offering the pack to Rynn, and then sat quietly watching the trees in the garden while he got his head on straight again.
So this was what it was like. This was the first ‘first’ for him, he knew the feeling of everything through Antha, but when it came to things like this, he had withdrawn and looked away. This was the first time something had been completely new to him, which was…peculiar.
“You say so many things,” he sighed after a moment, exasperated, “And never anything that you mean. It's infuriating, you know that?” He glanced sidelong at him, a little teasing grin playing across his lips. The earlier version of him, sharp and serious and imposing, was gone without a trace. He was all charm and sparkles again, the usual Airi, as if he’d never been anything else in the first place. “How do you feel?”  

[Okimiyage]

It seemed like an eternity before they were on the patio, alone. A screen patio that anyone could see into. “This isn’t much better—” Rynn started to protest, until Alistair’s mouth stopped him from getting any more words out. In the back of his head, he could almost see Cian’s contemptuous scoff: Rynn, don’t be a prude.
Well, he didn’t need any more encouragement.
The encounter passed much too quickly, in a flurry of grinding, moaning maneuvers. By the time they were done, both teens were slick with sweat, and Rynn’s hair made spikes where his brow had left it wet.

For a long time, Rynn seemed to be holding his breath, his eyes shut, reliving the past few minutes and relishing in the afterglow. Small stars still flickered in his vision, against the background of his closed eyes, and a faintly contented smile played over his lips. Then, he heard the click of a lighter, and his eyelids flickered open. A cigarette didn’t sound like a bad idea right now, actually. “Thanks.” he said, sitting up and plucking one from the pack. They smoked in silence for a while. Distantly, the faint twittering of birds, over-eager for the dawn, could be heard through the trees.
Finally, Rynn looked up, and exhaled the last pale wisp of breath from his cigarette. “It’s funny,” he said, flicking the smoldering ember away into a nearby ashtray, left conscientiously close at hand for the smokers in the family. “I always thought I’d feel different, afterwards. Maybe we did it wrong.” A tired smile was briefly summoned. “We’ll have to practice, I guess.” Maybe you only felt different when you did it with a girl. And Rynn did feel strange, but only because he was so…light-headed. Drained, but in a good way. He couldn’t summon the energy to give a damn about anything right now, which meant that—for just a second—everything felt alright. But it would have taken far more energy than Rynn wanted to expend in order to express that, so when Alistair asked, he merely blinked, a little dreamily, and answered “Good.” A little sore, but he’d deal with that tomorrow. Today, rather. As Alistair smoked, Rynn searched for his trousers and began to dress—until suddenly, just as he had finished doing up the top button, he leaned hard into Airi’s shoulders, and slumped the whole of his weight against the other man.
“I’m sorry.” he said, shortly. “I know that I’m…I’m difficult. I’m working on it.” Another of those deep sighs that came out of his thin frame like a bellows. “I mean what I say, though, most of the time. That’s the worst part. I guess I always thought that it was better to put words to the tune of my worst suspicions than pretend they didn’t exist. But I know that doesn’t exactly make me pleasant to be around, at times.” Rynn snuck a glance at Alistair, then pretended he hadn’t been looking when Alistair seemed to notice. “That’s why it baffles me that you’ve struck up an interest at all, you know?”  

[XCandy and LunacyX]

At Rynn’s admittance of his expectations, Alistair gave a thoughtful little hum, leaning back on one outstretched arm. “I don’t think it actually works like that,” he murmured after a moment, lost in thought, “Everyone thinks you’re supposed to feel different, but I don’t think you do. Evie didn’t. I remember she was pissed off for months afterwards because she thought she was supposed to feel different, but it was all just…messy, and humiliating, and painful, and then exactly the same as before and she didn’t understand what the point was, if it was all over and irrelevant like that. Courtland said something to the same effect—something about how he’d expected colors to be different or something afterwards, but everything felt the same.”
He was still thinking very hard about the whole concept when he felt the weight on his shoulder, turning to look curiously at Rynn as he spoke. “I think you mean what you do say,” he agreed, nodding, “But you don’t say what you mean. You dance around it and say a million other things, but never the direct words.” The boy flashed a little reassuring smile, all sugar and cream. “It’s probably just as well. The world would be terribly strange if everyone was as unrelentingly straightforward as me.”
Stubbing out his cigarette, Alistair rustled up his clothes and slid them back on, running his hands back through his hair to smooth it out. “I wasn’t trying to scare you, you know,” he added, almost as an afterthought, flashing a strange little guilty grin, “The thing is, I have…hmm. I guess you’d call it a split personality? Sometimes, in the right situation, this little switch in my head flips and I go dark. Antha calls it ‘black Alistair’.” He gave a little shrug, as unconcerned as ever, and then leaned very close to Rynn, pushing his collar aside as something caught his eye. “You might want to borrow some make-up from Liesse tomorrow,” he purred teasingly, passing his thumb briefly over the dark bruise on his collarbone, and then pulled him close by the front of his shirt, stealing a kiss. “And I wouldn’t suggest waking her up by sneaking into bed in the middle of the night.” He knew he wasn’t going to risk waking Pierce, the b*****d slept like the dead until you needed him to, when he bolted awake at the smallest thing, and Alistair didn’t want to hear it when he caught him sneaking in. He’d made extra space on the floor of the parlor just for that, between Sid and the couch. Gesturing at Rynn to come inside, he made his way silently into the parlor and dropped down onto the plush stretch of pallet, clutching a throw pillow, and fell instantly, deeply asleep.

Antha was almost---almost---aware that she was having a nightmare. She knew, in a distant and completely irrelevant sort of way, that all of this had happened before, but not that it wasn’t happening all over again. She knew very, very few things in the dream.
She knew the vampire who had crawled into her attic, wounded and near death, had been named Khayman. She knew somehow, in some unseen and unspoken way, that his blood ran in her veins, and she knew that he knew it, too. She knew very vaguely where the rooms in the house were, because she had walked them when she was very, very small. But she didn’t know why she had refused to go with the vampire when he was healed. He had offered, and all she had asked was for him to break down the door, as quietly as possible. She had refused a lot of his offers in only a few minutes---the one to take her to safety, the one to contact her family, the one to help her with what he eventually realized was her plan.
No. She wanted him to open the door and go far away, that was all. She wanted to be alone for this.
The ghosts had told her she could find the knives in the kitchen and she had, creeping carefully through the darkness. Alistair was hovering all around her, anxious, whispering that this wasn’t right, she shouldn’t do this, she should just put the knife down and leave. What could he do to her once she had broken free?
No. It wasn’t good enough. Nothing was good enough, so she had to settle for the worst she could muster. That was the knife.
It had never occurred to Antha at the time how very typically Scandinavian her ‘father’ was. He had the slender face and sharp bone structure, the deep-set eyes and large, hooked nose, besides his pale complexion and fair hair. She thought perhaps he had told her once that he was from Stockholm, but she couldn’t remember clearly.
Antha paused. It was strange, the sort of random things that came to mind when you were about to do a terrible, terrible thing.
He bled a lot. She remembered that most clearly of all, being surprised at how much blood was actually in the human body, and the way it hadn’t leaked out but splattered in bright crimson bursts, sometimes a full foot in the air, with every new wound. He’d fought her, of course, startled and screaming, but she had made the first wound very precisely, up through his ribcage and piercing the heart. He was already doomed, already weakened by pain and shock and his vital processes shutting down, from the moment he came to consciousness.
It was over too quickly, and Antha sat there for the longest time---hours and hours, though she wasn’t sure how many---sitting quietly on his stomach with her knees soaked in puddles of cooled blood. She didn’t know what had finally compelled her to climb off of him, the knife still clenched in her little hand, only that she had gone automatically to the parlor, leaving sticky red footprints in her wake, and sunk into a dusty armchair in the corner.
She didn’t know what to do. She’d simply never thought past this moment before, not once in her life. She dreamed of sunshine and open fields and flowers, but never anything more specific than how she would murder Leon. Of course she knew her mother’s family was out there, somewhere, not terribly far away, but she wanted nothing to do with them. They were just another cage, maybe less abusive but…well, they’d left her there, after all. They’d let it happen. They had never come looking for her until two of them had accidentally stumbled in through the window weeks ago. What would she ever possibly want to do with these strangers who happened to share her blood? She shared blood with the vampire too, Khayman, and he’d actually been kind to her. But then, what would she do in a den of vampires?
Her thoughts were interrupted by furious beating on the door, which she didn’t even think to answer. In the back of her mind, Alistair whispered ‘It’s them’. She still didn’t answer, and eventually they’d let themselves in, one of them screaming demandingly for Leon to come face him. But Leon, of course, couldn’t answer. He was dead as a doornail.
“Perhaps he’s not here? No, this is good---we can break the door down, we can just take her.”
“And have the police at our door in an hour?” came the responding hiss---Julien, her adult voice noted. “Be sensible, Michael, he can still ruin us! He has rights.”
“This has to be against the law,” Michael had argued, desperately, as they passed the parlor door, never taking notice of the bloody little girl hidden in the corner, “It’s…child cruelty, or something, keeping her locked up in there. And you heard what Vittorio and Pierce said about her, clearly he’s abusing her somehow. If we can just get her away, surely we can prove to the police---”
“No police!” Julien hissed severely, their voices vanishing gradually up the stairs.
Antha nearly panicked. She could hear the sudden commotion upstairs, she knew they’d found him, it was only a matter of time before they realized she was gone. She wasn’t particularly worried about the consequences of what she’d done, but if they found her, how would she ever escape them? But what could she do except run into the swamp and be swallowed whole by muck or alligators? She was trapped.
There were hurried footsteps on the stairs and before she knew it, a man’s figure had rushed into the parlor, finding a telephone nearby and rushing to pick it up, frantically punching in numbers as he turned to look around him, paranoid, like there might be someone…
The receiver fell from Michael’s hands and clattered on the floor the very first second he saw her, the dial tone humming unnaturally loud in the quiet room. Antha sat very still, the knife clutched in her crimson stained fingers, watching him as his eyes went wide and horror.
Inwardly, she weighed her options. She could kill him, it was possible if she moved quickly enough, and then she could run. But there were probably people out there who would miss this person, unlike Leon, they would come looking for him. And there was the other one upstairs, the blonde man---she didn’t know how, but deep down she knew somehow that he was her biological father, which must have made him Julien. She could probably sneak up on him and kill him too, if this one didn’t make any noise going down. It would at least buy her some time.
But then, something happened that startled Antha so much that she completely forgot her deliberation. Michael, mouth agape and fingers trembling, had taken a step forward. “You…you’re Antha Evelyn, aren’t you?” The child tensed---logically, she knew he had to have known her name, but she wasn’t used to hearing it—sitting still and deathly silent, glaring at him. And then he said something even more startling, murmuring breathlessly, “My god…oh my god, what has he done to you?”
Antha felt herself blink, surprised, some of the intensity draining out of her gaze. For the first time, looking at the expression on his face, it occurred to her that the horror on his face wasn’t because of what she’d done to Leon, but what he’d done to her first.
Following several moments in silence, Michael managed to somewhat compose himself, continuing very gently, “Do you know who I am?” The little girl’s eyes narrowed, suspiciously, quietly shaking her head. “My name is Michael York,” he said, so softly, “I was your mother’s first husband.” Antha very nearly bolted at the very mention of the woman, it was a learned reflex, but Michael panicked at the look on her face, holding his hands up for her to calm down. “I would’ve been your father,” he continued, desperately, “If she hadn’t left while you were still inside her.”
Antha had never quite been able to explain the reaction that had followed. She hadn’t even thought about, just felt her brows knit and found herself hissing irritably, “Don’t talk to me like I’m an idiot.” That had been the most important thing, somehow, that he was talking to her like she wouldn’t understand his confounding adult sentences. Like he didn’t think she grasped her own situation. He was the one who didn’t know, he hadn’t seen it, he didn’t know how---
“I’m sorry,” he said, nearly a whisper, and Antha felt herself calm slightly just from the novelty of the phrase. “We came to find you. We’ve been trying to take you home with us.”
“I don’t want to go with you,” she said sharply, automatically, “I hate you. All of you.”
Again, she was startled by him. He just…smiled, so kindly, inching forward and then going down on one knee just out of reach. “I know you do---I know you think you do. But you don’t know us, sweetheart.”
“Don’t tell me what I know.”
“You don’t,” he repeated, very certainly, sweetly, “You’ve never met us before, you couldn’t know us. But we’re you’re family. You have two brothers, do you know that? Nicolae and Malakai, my sons.”
“I hate them, too,” she insisted stubbornly, seething. It was only luck that had given them a proper father and given her Leon. They’d been born from the same mother, but they had grown up loved and free and she would never forgive them for that, and she would especially never forgive them that they had both survived while Alistair had died and left her alone.
It didn’t have to make sense, she just hated them and would never forgive them.
“But they’ll love you,” Michael said quietly, “Them, me, Julien, all of your aunts and uncles and little cousins, we’ll all love you. We’re not like your father, we’ll take care of you. You just have to trust me.” Slowly, as if not to startle her, his hand came up and stayed there, waiting. “Just hand me the knife, sweetheart. I trust you to do that, to not stab me and run away. All I’m asking is that you trust me to take care of this. Just hand me the knife, and it’ll all go away. We’ll get rid of the evidence and we’ll take you home and clean you up and Leon will just disappear. No one will come looking for him, he’ll just be gone, and no one outside of the family will ever have to know. You just have to put that little bit of trust in me, Antha Evelyn. Just give me the knife.”

Antha awoke already bolted up in bed, dizzy and with a sheen of perspiration on her brow. The sun was streaming through the windows, birds singing on the other side of the glass, and Ginsberg curled at her feet on the bed, raising his head to give her a curious look. Just a dream. It was just a dream, he’s gone. It’s over---long over.
She didn’t even think to question what had woken her until a few moments later, when the quietest, most hesitant knock sounded at the door. With a heavy sigh of relief, Antha wiped her face and ran a hand back through her hair, briefly checking to make she and Cian were decent, before calling quietly, “You can come in, Henry.”
The boy cracked the door, only peeking cautiously inside as if he wasn’t certain he hadn’t disturbed her. He’d tried not to wake her, he just wanted to check if she was already up. He was used to waking at dawn, but he didn’t know what to do in this house, where to go…
Quietly, still rubbing her eyes, Antha motioned the child over and he obeyed enthusiastically, running over and happily climbing up into the bed beside her. “What are you doing up, dear? It’s still early.” Henry shrugged uncertainly, watching as her fingers combed nimbly through her tangled curls. Venturing a guess, Antha asked, “Are you hungry?” He nodded rapidly, which brought a little amused smile from Antha---poor boy, he couldn’t even bring himself to ask for a basic necessity---as she stretched, yawning. “Alright, I’ll make you breakfast. Fetch me that sweater there, will you?” While Henry clattered back out of the bed going over to retrieve the gray wool cardigan slung over a chair, Antha rolled over and laid a kiss on the stirring Cian’s cheek, tucking a stray lock of hair behind his ear. “It’s early, darling, go back to sleep.”
Sliding out of bed, Ginsberg perked up and immediately stumbled into the floor after her, shaking himself off and following as she took Henry’s hand and led him back into the hall and down to the kitchen. “What do you want to eat? I’ll make you anything.”
The little boy, seated at the counter, watched her as she set about switching on the kettle and setting out a bowl of dog food for Ginsberg, thoughtfully pursing his lips. “Then…” He hesitated for a moment, frazzled under her kind gaze, and then finally murmured, “…pancakes?”
Antha gave a little laugh, eyeing him suspiciously. “Is that all?”
He colored, tensing slightly, but then added quietly, “With eggs?”
“I can do that,” Antha answered, giving a little smile, and went about fetching ingredients. “Do you like orange juice?” The boy nodded eagerly and she poured him a glass, watching as he marveled at the painted glass cup without daring to touch it. “Go on,” she urged him gently, taking a skillet down from the rack and setting it on the stove, “Even if you do break it, it doesn’t matter.”
“It’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen,” the little boy murmured in awe.
Curiously, Antha folded her arms on the countertop, resting her chin on them and taking a good look at the glass. “It is pretty, isn’t it,” she murmured after a moment, smiling slightly before she returned to cracking eggs into a mixing bowl, “But it’ll be prettier when you drink your juice.”
He nodded, doing so obediently, and then sat quietly watching her as she set about cooking, happily swinging his legs. He was wide-eyed by the time she had finished, staring at the full plate she had put in front of him. There were still stacks of pancakes and an entire carton’s worth of eggs on platters by the stove---Jacob wasn’t due for another hour and it wasn’t like anyone else could cook if they happened to wake up---but Antha just stood with her cup of pale coffee, urging him to eat. “I’ll be back in a minute,” she assured him gently, laying a kiss on his head and then disappearing into the hall. She stopped in the door to the parlor, leaning against the door frame and curiously observing the room full of teenagers sprawled out on the furniture and the floor, sipping her coffee.
This…was going to be interesting.  

[Okimiyage]

Rynn slept like the dead. The grey dawn had not yet begun to cast light into the parlor when Antha arose; around the room, in their various nests of blankets and throw pillows, the teenagers lay in drunken, disjointed torpor, cheek to cheek, head to toe. Almost unwittingly, Alistair and Rynn had managed to roll up back-to-back with one another. Rynn had just enough sense to stay away from spooning; he didn’t want everyone in school to know what had happened on the patio last night. Not to imply that Ty or Holt or Sid or the rest of them couldn’t be trusted, but…Rynn didn’t know that they could be trusted, either.
He resurfaced from sleep just long enough to note the distant sizzle in the kitchen, and to firmly rearrange his pillow over his head in the perfect light-blocking position. Above their heads, as the house stirred slowly to life, Rynn could heard the floorboards creaking with sleep-stumbling steps.
Early risers were some kind of genetically engineered super humans, Rynn was pretty sure. Like, there was witchcraft, and then there was witchcraft.

Unfortunately, his sister qualified. His eyes had been closed for what felt like only thirty seconds when something small, wet and sandpaper-y began licking his cheek. He was pretty sure he knew what he was going to see, but he cracked a lid to check anyways. Tiny, pointy-eared fur ball about two inches from his face? Check.
Rynn couldn’t even be annoyed by being woken up. Who could be mad at a kitten? Reaching up, he gave the fur ball a little pet. His head was so tiny that Rynn’s thumb could fit perfectly in-between the twin tufts of fluff that theoretically were supposed to be ears. The kitten took the opportunity to headbutt his hand as hard as possible, prompting a smile from the boy; at least, a smile that lasted until he noticed Liesse sitting about two feet away, chin in her hands, grinning at him like she’d proved something.
“Good morning!” she whispered, which as much enthusiasm as she could cram in without raising the volume.
Rynn’s hand dropped, and he sat up stiffly. The kitten took the opportunity to waddle presumptuously into his lap. Had she just been watching them sleep? For how long?
“It looks like you guys had quite a night.” she added.
“This little guy woke me up. He kept scratching at the door to get out… I think he missed you.”
Cocking her head to one side, Liesse added, “Where’d you go, anyways?”
Rynn grimaced as he took stock of his current state. The inside of his mouth tasted like tequila, still. Had he even drank tequila last night? He didn’t know anymore.
He couldn’t be too upset at the interruption, anyways. Rynn could smell coffee brewing from all the way in the kitchen. At least there was that small blessing.
Rynn took a moment to give Alistair’s sleeping body a slightly uncomfortable look. He’d hoped that there would be time to talk in the morning, but he hadn’t expected Liesse for an audience. Maybe later, then.
Carefully picking up his kitten, he held it close to his chest and met Liesse’s eyes before jerking his head towards the door. He didn’t want to wake up anyone else if possible. Outside, in the hall, he gave her a brief rundown of the night—bar, then bonfire. He left out the part about Alistair, and most of the drinking. Liesse was already looking a little disappointed at being left out. She wasn’t the night owl that her brother was, but if she’d known there would be people from school—Liesse wasn’t one to turn down a chance to make a good impression.
Once she heard him out, she gave a colossal sigh. “Well, it sounds like you had fun, at least. Should we call for taxis? Their parents must be worried about them…”
“Let them sleep,” Rynn said, firmly. “In the meantime—“
The smell of coffee was driving him crazy. His shuffle towards the kitchen made his intent clear; once set down, the kitten followed, bumping into his ankles and purring madly. Liesse looked ruefully after the two of them; her own kitten was currently a bundle of fluff atop her coverlet, completely disinterested in the affairs of two-legs. Rynn had barely touched his, and it was following him like a duckling behind its mother.
There was no use in being bitter, though. With a sigh, Liesse shadowed behind.
Her disappointment was quickly forgotten by the time she entered the kitchen, though and saw who was up. She could barely stop herself from clapping her hands with glee. “Oh, it’s you.” Rynn gave Antha a bleary-eyed nod of recognition, and headed straight for the coffee mugs while his sister seated herself on a barstool next to Henry. “My, that’s a mountain of pancakes,” she said, admiring the stacks of golden-brown flapjacks. “Don’t worry, no matter what you’ve heard, we’re not fattening you up to eat.” Reaching for a plate, she slid two of the pancakes onto her own dish. “Not that you couldn’t stand some fattening up, poor dear. The food from that place must have been awful, you’re skinny as a rail.” Applying a generous dose of syrup, Liesse gave the zombie masquerading as Rynn a pointed look, which was ignored. Then, Liesse seemed to realize: “Oh! I’ve been rude, haven’t I? I’m Liesse. That’s my brother, Rynn.” Leaning in close to Henry, she added in a confidential tone, “He’s not as grouchy as he seems.”  

[XCandy and LunacyX]

As soon as the twins entered, Antha gave them a curious look, half amusement and half…something else. Henry glanced up at them, and then quickly and intently back down at his food, tensing slightly. But when Liesse sat down next to him and began talking, he clammed up, setting his fork down on the plate of half-eaten food and picking anxiously at his baggy shirt with skinny little fingers.
“Liesse,” Antha called quietly, making a gesture for her to calm down. The poor little boy was as easily spooked as a newborn fawn and racked with insecurity as it was. Taking his fork back up, she speared a bite of the pancakes and waved it around in slow, taunting circles, syrup dripping from it down onto his plate. “I guess Henry doesn’t want these delicious pancakes I made just for him anymore,” she sighed, dramatically, “If that’s the case, I’ll just have to eat them all up myself…”
She moved the fork, pointedly slow, as if she might eat what was on it while Henry watched with wide eyes, until finally he made a small noise, nearly a whine. “I do want them!”
Antha smiled, knowingly, turning the fork around and handing it back to him, and he shoveled the pancakes happily in his mouth, setting to work scarfing down what was left. With that taken care of, she flickered a gaze in Rynn’s direction, purring in warning, “You can have your coffee first, but you’d better clean up that broken teacup before Julien comes home and sees it.” She made a gesture at the table, where the shattered porcelain was still soaking in a puddle of cold lavender tea on the floor. There was no question to her voice, not the slightest consideration that it could’ve been someone else, as if she already knew.
And then, turning her gaze on him as if she might say something else, she stopped cold, eyes narrowing, and abruptly burst into laughter. “Oh my god,” she gasped, clutching her side, “Oh, mon dieu. Haa…but seriously.” Gaining control of herself, she vanished into the hall for a few brief moments, returning with a compact in her hand. “Here---sit down.” Pushing him into a chair at the counter, she gently turned his head aside and set to dabbing the cream on the dark spot on his neck, with the hand of a true expert. “It’s like you haven’t even met anyone in this family. You really want to let them see you with a hickey? You’ll never live it down.” Snapping the compact shut, she gave a little sigh, murmuring to herself, “At least it’s easier to cover than vampire bites. I don’t know what I’m going to do when Airi inevitably becomes a vampire junkie.”
Henry, swallowing a massive bite with some difficulty, turned his big, innocent eyes on Antha, asking curiously. “What’s a hickey?”
“It’s a terribly embarrassing adult thing,” Antha told him very seriously, leaning on the counter, “So we’re not going to tell anyone, for Uncle Rynn’s sake. Okay?” The boy nodded eagerly, beaming with pleasure at being included in a secret.
It was then that Alistair appeared in the doorway, inexplicably hauling Gretchen on his back, her head hanging on his shoulder while she groaned with the strain of being awake. “Come on, hurry up.”
“Can I let you down now?” the boy groaned, rolling his eyes at her.
“No. You said you’d take me to the coffee.”
“No, you climbed on my back and demanded that I take you to the coffee. I was still asleep, I didn’t even have a chance to fend you off.”
“Liar. You were totally awake.”
“Gretch, you’re heavy.”
Giving a ‘hmph’ of irritation, Gretchen reluctantly dropped down to her bare feet, coming face to face with a curious Antha. The former’s eyebrows briefly knitted as she studied the other girl, before finally she irritably hissed, “Goddamn it, you are hotter in person.”
Antha blinked wide eyes at her, briefly confused into silence as Gretchen moved to seize the coffee pot. “Good morning to you too, stranger in my kitchen.”
“Gretchen,” she introduced herself shortly, eagerly downing the black coffee in her mug, “I didn’t break in or anything, your brother brought us. Practically kidnapped us.”
“Liar,” Alistair grumbled, dropping down into a chair at the counter and looking curiously around at the pancakes and eggs on plates. “What, no bacon, Evie?”
“Oh, shut up,” his sister murmured, shaking her head and going to take a look in the refrigerator, “We should probably find something for your friends to eat, since you brought a whole gang of them.” Humming to herself, she crossed her arms and intently studied the contents of the fridge. Just as Alistair was beginning to get a bad feeling, she said to herself, casually, as if it didn’t mean a thing, “That’s curious, the cherries are gone. I know they were here yesterday…what could’ve happened to them? Airi, do you know---”
“No, I don’t know what happened to the cherries,” he answered hastily, struggling not to hiss.
“Are you sure?” she questioned, facing him with wide eyes full of mockingly innocent curiosity. Her brother just looked at her, thoroughly over her s**t, and sipped his coffee. “That is curious. Oh well, I think we have some oranges in here.”
Gretchen, glancing between the two, shrugged and said flatly, “You guys are weird. Got any apples?” Antha pointed out the fruit bowl in the corner full of them and the girl nodded her thanks, taking one up and biting into it as her gaze caught on Liesse. “Oh hey, it’s the kitten. Good timing, you can come with me this afternoon. Katie’s making me go look for dresses for the dance, and makeup and shoes and all that girly crap. You can keep her occupied while I cringe at the glitter.”
Listening in amusement as she set a new pot of coffee on to brew, Antha looked at Alistair and gave a nod to Gretchen, announcing decidedly, “I like her.”
“Make sure you tell Holt that. Maybe it’ll shut his stupid face up for once.”
“I’m done,” Henry announced suddenly, his fork clattering down on his empty plate, “Can I take the puppy outside?”
Antha smiled, going over to the pantry and taking out a coil of thin rope. “Make sure you stay in the backyard where we can see you,” she instructed him gently, tying the rope around Ginsberg’s collar as Henry came running up in excitement, “And stay away from the pool, okay?”
“’Kay!” he promised, eagerly seizing the makeshift leash when it was handed to him and bolting out the back door, Ginsberg scrambling eagerly along beside him. Within less than thirty seconds, he was demonstrating to the confounded puppy how to roll around in the grass.
“I hope you weren’t terribly fond of that shirt, Airi,” Antha murmured, to which Alistair shrugged and shook his head, “Alright, keep an eye on him. I’m going to take Cian something to eat and then get Vanessa and Sebastien out of the nursery before we have a screaming chain effect on our hands.”
“Isn’t that a little cutesy for you, Evie?” Alistair teased, “Taking your husband breakfast in bed?”
Quietly, Antha leaned her elbows on the counter, her chin resting on her folded hands, and gave the sweetest, most inexplicably terrifying smile. “You want to play this game, Airi? Today? Because I can play.”
The boy smiled back, as blindingly sweet and sunny as ever. “Poor Cian is probably famished, you should really go see to him.” He rose as he spoke, carefully maintaining his disposition as if he wasn’t running away to avoid the topic, which he most certainly was, inching towards the hallway. “Okay? I’m going to go take a shower. Love you, have fun, bye.” Down the hall, the door to his room slammed shut.
Antha just grinned to herself in amusement, carefully not looking at anyone as she fetched a tray and silverware, lest anyone suspect Rynn was involved. “Everybody keep an eye on Henry, will you? He’s too excited to pay attention to what he’s doing.” As far as anyone could tell, he and Ginsberg were locked in a grueling, perfectly matched game of tag around the nearest oak tree.
Pausing at the door with Cian’s breakfast in hand, Antha turned as if she’d just remembered, adding to the twins. “Ah, I almost forgot…don’t mention the orphanage to Henry unless he brings it up first. Not for any reason.”
When she was gone, Gretchen stared after her with furrowed brow, deep in thought. “She’s like a freakin’ force of nature,” she announced after a minute, shaking her head and dropping down in Henry’s abandoned seat, “Like gravity or something. Anyways, how should we wake the idiots up? Probably not loud noises, because I don’t want to piss off a whole house full of Mayfairs, but we have to find some way to punish Ty for being so drunk and obnoxious. Thoughts?”

Upstairs, Antha had crept back into her room and set the tray of pancakes and fresh coffee on the bedside table, perching on the edge of the bed and laying a light kiss on Cian’s lips. “If you want to eat before the gang of infants declare war on us, this would be the time,” she murmured, quietly smoothing back his hair, “Or if you want to eat my pancakes rather than Jacob’s. I only cook once a year and I use twice as much butter, Lucy will kill you for them.”  

[Okimiyage]

Cian was half-asleep when he heard the creak of their bedroom door. The pile of blankets which vaguely represented Cian’s form shifted, groaned and condensed into a coil. At least, until he heard Antha’s voice.
A portal opened in-between the pillows; Cian peered out through the crack in his defenses.
“I don’t know how you do it,” he mumbled, the words muffled behind the comforter. “And you were up before me, too.” His words may have been indistinguishable, but the tone was distinct. Regardless…there was no shirking his fatherly responsibilities. With that thought in mind, Cian sloughed off his eiderdown husk and sat up. “At least there’s pancakes to look forward to.”
The blankets wrapped around his waist made for an unruly nest, but he pulled Antha into it regardless. Nuzzling against her ear, he murmured, “I’m almost sorry I slept in, now. Seeing you making breakfast in a cute little apron would have been worth losing some sleep over.” Cian’s gentle hazel eyes looked her over, trailing up her collarbone, throat, cheek, to finally meet Antha’s own vivid glance. He lay a kiss on her cheek, just next to her ear, and added, “You have pancake batter in your hair, love.”
The tone of his voice made it clear that he thought this was ******** it was a good thing that he’d woken up when he did. His calculations put it at just the right time to mollify the dawn chorus…by which he meant, their nursery full of squalling, recalcitrant infants. Antha was right: if he wanted to get in any sustenance before dealing with the kids, this was his opportunity.
Reluctantly loosening his arms from around Antha’s waist, he slid out from under her and threw his legs off the bed. “I’ll come down in a second, as soon as I get dressed.” Raising an eyebrow at the tray which Antha had brought, he continued, “Should I eat up here? It sounds like there’s going to be some competition over these, below.” After last night, by Cian’s estimations, it would be a while before the rest of the household rose. Still, after Antha’s proud display of domestic competency, he couldn’t blame them if the kitchen was swarmed before he could make it downstairs.

Below, Rynn stared glumly at the puddle of lavender tea (which even now, his kitten was sniffing at experimentally), and the bits of smashed crockery which lay like fallen petals around it. He didn’t know what he had expected. Of course Antha knew everything that went on the house, but she utterly content to allow the two boys to manage this between themselves. Unless they made a mess: quite literally, in this case, but the message was clear.
Rynn drained his mug, then set it to the side of Liesse’s plate, where she was neatly but obsessively dividing her pancakes into perfectly bite-sized squares. He squeezed her shoulder absently. “You come on strong,” he murmured, noting the childishly sullen silence that she had lapsed into. “It’s not a bad thing, but maybe a little overwhelming.” Liesse did not look up, but her knife stopped sawing at the plate.
“There's no need to apologize for it, though. Think of—shopping and—glittery dresses and all that,” Rynn added, a little desperately.
That did garner her attention, and an unexpectedly sweet smile with it. “That sounded like a challenge for you to get out.” Rynn’s kitten mewled an affirmative. Liesse hadn’t even known ‘glittery’ was part of Rynn’s vocabulary. “Thank you.”
Still, with Liesse restored to good temperament, Rynn had no recourse but to distract himself from the elephant in the room by cleaning. After all, with Henry around, they couldn’t exactly have him tramping over broken china. And it was so much better than the alternative course of action, which was to follow Airi around like a whinging puppy, or start casting him dramatic, brooding glasses over the eggs. Frankly, Rynn didn’t have the energy for that s**t at the moment. At least, not until the coffee kicked in.
Anyways, someone had to keep track of their interlopers, specifically the ones passed out in the parlor. Having Gretchen around was nerve-wracking enough, but now they had to wake up the rest of the crew, too?
“Maybe we can just roll them under the furniture until they sleep it off,” Rynn suggest, half-joking.
Liesse was staring after Henry, with visible worry on her face. Rynn could see her clasped hands clench every time the child uttered so much as a gleeful yelp.
Rynn tugged her sleeve, pointedly, and she came back to the conversation with a far-away sigh. As if to prove
she had been listening, she said, “You could always gag them first, so they don’t scream too much. After that, we can wake them however we like.”
Liesse’s big eyes looked around innocently, as she tucked a strand of hair daintily behind her ear.
Rynn was staring.
“You know, as sweet as you look, you come up with some alarming ideas at times.”  

[XCandy and LunacyX]

At Cian’s groggy murmurings, Antha gave a little dramatic harrumph of displeasure, picking the batter out of her hair. No matter how he’d said it, she was clearly irked, but pounced on other subjects in order to exact her revenge. “You can go downstairs if you want,” she stated indifferently, glancing off towards the window, “I thought I’d try being cute, but clearly the gesture was wasted. I suppose I won’t bother with it again.” Sighing, she unfolded her legs and rose from the side of the bed, coyly sticking her tongue out at him as she did so. “I’ll get their bottles ready and rouse Dorian from his coma.”
She returned to the kitchen at about the time Pierce wandered in, with a distinctly goofy grin plastered across his face. Pausing with her hand on the refrigerator handle, she hummed to herself and noted, “I don’t think I’ve seen your hair messed up since you were thirteen.”
“Mhmm…” he murmured as he reached for a coffee cup, not appearing to notice that either of them had spoken.
Antha, watching him as she pulled bottles out of the fridge, continued with a sigh, “Pierce, you’re pouring yourself a cup of maple syrup.”
“Yep,” came the same absent answer, at least until he put the cup to his lips and gave a sudden start, blinking wildly at the contents.
“Good god man, get yourself together.”
Pierce only sighed with soft satisfaction, casting the cup aside and murmuring dreamily, “It’s like Saint James went to feed the parking meter and I managed to sneak through the crystal gates while he was gone.”
Pausing as she set about warming the bottles, Antha’s eyes narrowed. “There are just…so many thing wrong about that sentence, I don’t even know where to begin.”
All at once, Pierce was back in his senses, instantly hissing at his cousin, “Shut up, you don’t know how I feel! You’ve never known love like I do!”
Rolling her eyes, Antha responded with exasperation. “I’m sorry, I thought you were Pierce. Clearly you’re a rebellious fourteen year old girl with her first crush. My mistake.” Turning, she set the bowl of bottles in warm water aside, scoffing irritably, “Telling me about love. Make a lifelong commitment in front of god and the entire goddamn family in the most ridiculously uncomfortable dress, two months pregnant, and then you can talk to me about love.”
Before he could respond, Alistair reappeared, roughly half-dressed in jeans and an unbuttoned shirt, still running a towel over his damp, vivid curls. “You know Pierce, I don’t mind whatever you do on your side of the room,” he began, glancing doubtfully over his shoulder towards their bedroom door, “But if this if going to be, like, a thing now, we’re going to have to get a really long curtain or something. Because she can’t just kick me out of my own room like that.”
Sternly, his eyes narrowing to dire little pinpricks, Pierce hissed through his teeth, “She can do whatever she wants. ”
Alistair could only sigh then as he pranced off back towards their room, taking the coffee cup of maple syrup with him (which he found alarmingly suspicious). “Pierce is downright terrifying when he’s in love.”
Gretchen, meanwhile, was leaning against the counter and staring very seriously at Alistair’s chest as she chewed the last few bites of her apple, which could’ve come off as interest until she suddenly pointed at him, remarking, “You have scratches on your shoulders.”
Antha very nearly dropped the glass she was holding with the overwhelming instinct to burst out laughing, turning her head and biting her lip in a vain attempt to hide it. Alistair, never losing his composure, gave his shoulder a curious glance and then set about buttoning up his shirt, unleashing his most disarmingly sweet and sunny smile. “It was the cat.”
“Sure it was,” Gretchen responded flatly, thick with disbelief, “Just keep yourself covered or the idiots will think I did it after they passed out.”
As she left, heading back into the parlor armed with a spatula, Antha hurriedly recomposed herself, asking sweetly, “Liesse, can you go get Dorian for me? If he thinks he’s going to sleep while I take care of his screaming infant children, he is sorely, sorely mistaken.” She maintained her composure at least until the other girl was gone, and then abruptly broke out into a vicious grin, turning and folding her arms as her eyes narrowed at her twin. “Lawn furniture? Really? That’s the best you could do?”
Rolling his eyes, Alistair muttered in accusation, “Voyeur…”
“You knew the patio was beneath my balcony.”
“Pretending, for a moment, that I could think that effusively in such a situation, what in the hell were you doing out on your balcony at four in the morning?”
“I had a particularly early case of morning sickness and I needed the fresh air, thank-you-very-much. Just be grateful I came outside after the fact instead of…” She grinned, stifling a laugh. “Ahem, in medias res.”
Abruptly, in a clear attempt to divert her, Alistair pointed at the patio doors. “Should he be playing with a squirrel?”
For once, it worked like a charm, Antha’s attention shifting razor-sharp onto the doors before she suddenly bolted through them, calling frantically when she was outside, “Henry, squirrels are not our friends, put him down!”
When she was gone, her brother gave a little devious, triumphant grin to himself, pleased with his work. “There was no way around her finding out eventually,” he assured Rynn as if that was somehow better, nodding as he sipped his coffee, “I can block her out of my head all I want, but Evie notices everything. Don’t worry, she’ll get bored of teasing us in a few days.” He flashed his signature smile, endlessly cheery and bright, as if he’d said something to make it all better. But then he affected a more casual air as the kitchen was converged upon, Liesse returning with Dorian as Antha returned with Henry.
The little boy, utterly unconcerned with the presence of others, was tromping happily alongside a vaguely troubled Antha, swinging the arm that held his hand in hers. “But what if I sucked the blood back out?”
Antha sighed, smiling at the question as if there was no help for his childish naivety. “Diseases don’t work that way, sweetheart.”
Henry nodded very seriously, thinking for a moment. “But what if I ate the squirrel and absorbed his power to have diseases?” Antha opened her mouth, and then closed it again, her eyebrows knitted. She…didn’t actually know how to respond to that. Fortunately, Henry was quickly distracted by another question, the answer to which he immediately gave up on in favor of chatter. “Do people eat squirrels, Aunt Evie? I never ate a squirrel. But what about people in, like, China and Australia and stuff?” The boy was already nearly breathless but pressed on eagerly, beaming with pride that he knew things. “Billy told me once that people, in Egypt, they eat beetles. But I ate a beetle and I didn’t like it, it stung me.”
“You should never eat bugs, as a general rule,” Antha agreed, painstakingly straight-faced at his narrative.
“That’s what Sister Beatrice told me,” he agreed seriously, “But she also told me that sin lives in my hair, and Sister Beatrice has lots of hair. She’s the one who makes us drink blood in church.”
“You mean the Eucharist?”
“Jesus’s blood,” he half-agreed and half-corrected her, carefully dodging the fact that he couldn’t remember if that was the right word, “And his skin. I asked the mother superior once if Jesus was a lizard-man, because his skin is really weird, but she told me that was sacrilege and smacked me with the bible.”
He was interrupted by dazed laughter and a little groaning whine in the hallway, giving way to Gretchen leading Tyler and Holt into the kitchen, the former’s face marked with red lines corresponding to the spatula. “Don’t you Yanks have a saying about letting sleeping dogs lie?”
“Dog is right,” Gretchen scoffed, glaring at him.
Tyler opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off by an absolutely inexplicable sound that Holt made, freezing with his eyes wide and staring, not surprisingly, at Antha. “Saw that coming,” Alistair murmured, taking a bite of his toast and offering it to Tyler, who took a bite without ever taking his eyes off of Holt.
Antha just looked back at the boy for a moment, perplexed, cocking her head to the side. Glancing at Alistair, she asked with honest concern, “Does he say anything, or does he just stand there?”
“It’s hard to say,” Tyler snickered.
“Oh…you’re the one that called me last night,” Antha noted once she’d heard Tyler’s accent, to which he perked up in alarm, glancing at Alistair.
“Did I?”
“You did,” the boy confirmed, nodding, “You stole my phone and called her.”
Antha just smiled, as sweetly and dazzlingly as possible. “We should have a talk some time about dear little Rowan. In particular, the things she says when I’m not around.”
“Oh, is that all?” Tyler responded, sighing with relief, “I can do that. I can write a whole book with the s**t she says.”
“And I can probably write another,” Gretchen added, “Nothing would make me happier.”
“We’ll talk,” Antha promised, with real amusement, shoving the bottles in Dorian’s arms and tugging on Henry’s hand, “But if you’ll excuse me for now.”
Tyler and Gretchen both waved at her as she vanished into the hall, the former declaring, “I like her, she’s polite and scary at the same time. But…oi. You all right, mate?”
Holt was jarred back to his senses by the slap on his shoulder, exhaling deeply and unsteadily. “Oh man, she was right here. Antha Mayfair, right here! I was close enough to touch her!”
“You totally were,” Tyler agreed supportively, pouring himself a cup of black coffee, and then added sharply, “But like…don’t, because you’re bloody creepy with this.”
“I can still smell her,” Holt sighed longingly, ignoring his audience, “What is that, vanilla?”
Awkwardly clearing his throat, Alistair ran a hand through his hair, murmuring, “I think that’s me, actually…”
“Why do you all have to ruin my fantasies?”
“Because you’re a creepy stalker?” Gretchen ventured as a guess, sliding her phone back into her pocket. To Liesse she said, “Katie says she’ll be here in half an hour to pick us up.”
“Sid can take you back with the rest of us,” Tyler pointed out, but the girl rolled her eyes.
“Please. She wants to see Alistair, she jumped at the chance. I swear, all I’ve ******** heard for three days is how cute Alistair is, and how his smile is like sunshine, and---”
“Should I be hearing this?” Alistair questioned uncertainly, a genuinely concerned expression on his face as he put his hands up over his ears.
“Either ask her out or let her down gently, but do it immediately because I’m sick of this.”
“Yeah,” Holt cut in quickly, casting shifty glances at Gretchen and Tyler in turn, “I can’t even imagine how annoying that must be. All the gross flirting and sexual tension, getting everyone else caught in the crossfire, the stupid ‘will they or won’t they’…god, and imagine if it went on for months, even a year. Super ******** annoying.” But they both stared oddly back at him, uncomprehending, and Alistair could only pat his shoulder, murmuring that at least he’d tried.  

[Okimiyage]

“You are cute!” Cian protested, as his wife flounced out the nest of quilts he had so meticulously crafted around the two of them. “I never said you weren’t, merely pointing out how pancake batter accentuates it. I mean, clearly Sebastien and Vanessa had to get it from somewhere, and nobody in their right mind would suspect me.” His protests followed her out of the room before she shut the door on him. A good thing, too. They didn’t need a dramatic declaration of adoration from Cian in the middle of the hallway just yet. Not this morning, anyways.
Anyways, the woman had a point. Her pancakes were too good to ignore, and way too good to let get cold.

By the time he was dressed—rather casually, for once, in a slate-gray V-neck and some comfortably slouchy trousers—Cian had descended to the first floor just in time to see Liesse dart out of the kitchen with a rather stormy expression. Liesse may not have been a particularly powerful witch, but she still had the instincts of one, and she could tell when she was been excluded from some juicy gossip. Cian raised an eyebrow, but limited himself to asking, “Wake up on the wrong side of bed?” as she passed him on the stairs. He had to stand to one side, so that she didn’t knock into the empty breakfast tray he was carrying.
“Ha.” came his younger sister’s reply, although her tone had distinctly more ‘harrumph’ than humor to it. “Gracious,” he murmured, appreciatively. It was rare to see Liesse in a less-than-chipper mood.
In the kitchen, Rynn buried his face in his hands. He had no idea what Antha thought she was doing—goading them all to insanity, maybe—but it was embarrassing. Critical levels of teenager embarrassing. “Dammit, Antha, did you have to let us know you were listening?”
“Listening to what?” Cian inquired, setting the swinging door to motion as he strolled in. “I didn’t hear anything.”
“You wouldn’t.” said Rynn, his head jerking up as he instantly adopted a facade of pleasant normalcy. “You sleep like a log. Besides, it wasn’t anything terribly…important.”
“Huh.” Cian’s brows were doing a lot of lifting this morning. Seeing Liesse in a bad mood was weird, but at least Rynn was full of s**t, as usual. His little brother was the type of kid that would never admit to his own feelings; when Rynn was twelve, and fell out of a tree and broke his leg, he resolutely denied that it hurt at all. It was only later, when Aedan was setting his splint, that he would even acknowledge that the process ‘stung a bit’.
Deciding to put that matter on the back-burner until later, Cian crossed the kitchen and gave Antha a light kiss atop her temple. “So, did the Breakfast Fairy visit us during the night as well, or was this all your doing?” he asked, jerking his head towards the mountain of food in question. “You must have been up since before sunrise.”
Rynn, in the meanwhile, was staring with bleak amazement at the tray in Cian’s arms, sparkling plates and utensils neatly arranged atop. He had seen what Antha had left the kitchen with, and the idea of any human being putting that many pancakes into themselves within such a short period of time was…frankly, a little scary.
He didn’t have time to taunt Cian with how fat he was gonna get, though; both were distracted by Henry’s enthusiastic babbling.
“Squirrels don’t have very much power to absorb,” Cian was gravely telling Henry. “You should aim for something with a bit more ‘oomph’ to it, like a bear or a hawk or something. No people, though.”
Most adults would have scoffed at nonsense like Henry’s, but Cian figured it was better to give him practical advice.
Upstairs, a drawn-out mewl signified that Dorian’s children—and Cian’s own—were awake.
“Oh shi—shoot.” Cian corrected himself, with a sigh and a worried glance towards Henry. Tender ears and such. It sounded like Liesse had been altogether too successful in her quest to retrieve the new father. They’d probably need the extra hands.
Rubbing a hand through his hair, still tousled and unruly from sleep, Cian pointed at Rynn with two fingers, then spread them into scissors to include Alistair. “You guys. Keep your company downstairs, if you would, the nursery’s going to have a lot of activity soon. Wish me godspeed.” With that dramatic final statement, Cian saluted them and sailed out of the dining room.

Rynn huffed, his exhalation of breath blowing his bangs nearly vertical. What a t**t. They wouldn’t have been that much of a disturbance.
Letting his chin sink until it met his cupped hands, Rynn glanced between the new arrivals. Holt looked downright drugged by Antha’s appearance. “Is seeing her in the flesh really that earth-shattering to you guys? It’s not like she’s a unicorn or something, you know…”
He had to admit that he was somehow relieved to hear that they’d found a ride home. The idea of Gretchen and the boys mooning over Antha for much longer sounded both nauseating and inconvenient. Still, he was a little amused by their choice of driver. If she had known the events of the previous night, she might have been a lot less eager to come rescue her friends.
Or a lot more eager. You could never tell with teenage girls.
Right on cue, Liesse thumped down the stairs and trotted into the kitchen. She looked like someone who was experienced acute shell-shock.
“We…might want to visit the gardens for a little while,” she said, in a small, somewhat dazed voice. “I think they’re about to bring down their babies for breakfast. It might get—er—messy. And loud.”