From Her Vein to the Floor

"I'm trapped, and we can't get along.
I thought that I was strong.
We are so unstable.
In bed, I'm strung out from your touch,
But I won't give you up.
We are so unstable."
- Adema

Antony had a friend for every situation, it seemed. You need to go into hiding? Go see this guy. You need a source of fresh blood to eat? Go see this woman. You have a seriously wounded friend who's lost too much blood and could die at any moment? We've got a guy for that, too.

And it was with this guy that they were staying now, Torryn and Antony sitting together on a scuffed beige couch that smelled a bit too much like dog for her liking. As far as she knew, Skylar was upstairs in a guest room, getting all of the medical attention he required – supernaturally, of course. A healer, Antony had called this guy. A werewolf who would probably rip their throats out under any other circumstances, but a healer nonetheless.

"Are you sure this is okay?" Torryn whispered, afraid to speak too loudly in the lonely silence. "Are you sure he won't hurt Skylar?"

"It's fine," Antony said softly, though not quite as softly as she'd spoken. She looked at him, and there was an unfamiliar flatness to his beautiful blue eyes that brought a dull ache to her chest. She looked away. "As long as we pay him, he won't do anything violent. He takes his work very seriously."

Her hands fidgeted on her naked lap, fingers wringing and twisting in ways that alternately brought pain and comfort. "Shouldn't we at least be with him?"

"Because a naked girl as beautiful as you wouldn't distract the man or anything," Antony remarked dryly, and she turned to find him wearing a smirk that didn't quite reach his eyes.

She looked away again, focusing her attention on the magazine-littered table before her. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

"Aren't I always?" he asked, an arm snaking around her shoulder to pull her against him. He was cold, his touch much rougher than he'd likely intended, holding her in what nearly qualified as a headlock, but she let her head rest on his shoulder without complaint.

"Yeah," she said absently, "I guess so." They were silent for a moment, until she began to trace the slowly fading wound on his stomach with the tip of her index finger – the last injury his father had been allowed to give him before the man's final demise, now rapidly healing with the incredible speed of the undead. "How are you doing?" she asked, her eyes flicking to his face. "It's not bad, is it? Being undead, I mean?"

He shook his head and smiled the ghost of a smile, another expression that didn't quite capture his eyes. "No, it's not bad. It feels like being alive, just...less in some places and more in others."

She frowned in confusion at his contradictory words, her fingers going still against the fading scar on his stomach. "What do you mean?"

His eyes drifted to the ceiling as he thought. "Well, it's like...I can't quite feel the emotions I felt before. Or, at least, I can't feel them as intensely. Like, I know I love you, and I can feel that, but it's sort of dull." He looked down at her, staring up at him in terrified silence. "Muted. Muffled. I should be able to feel more soon, though. My father..." His lips tightened into a thin line, and he glared off into the distance – silently berating himself, Torryn guessed. "Caesar," he said decisively, "seemed like he could feel a lot. He derived a lot of joy from things, as you well know, and the fear at the end..."

"What about the more part?" she asked, trying to guide him away from these darker thoughts.

"Stronger. More powerful. More in control." He gave her a wry smile, and this time, it just barely touched his eyes. "Just what you would expect when becoming a monster."

"You're not a monster," she said, but he just smiled wider.

"Yes, I am. We both are, in our own way. We all are."

She didn't quite understand what he meant, but the implications made her uncomfortable. She lowered her eyes to the coffee table and fell silent.

They sat that way for several minutes, until the sound of footsteps on the stairs caught their attention. Torryn turned to watch a tall man step into the living room, a man who stood at a height of 6'5 at the very least, with a shock of shaggy dark hair that nearly hid his gray-blue eyes from view. His lightly tanned face was set in a grim frown, almost a grimace, and she immediately sat bolt upright on the sofa, pulling free of Antony's too-tight hold on her.

"Is he all right?" she asked in a rush, then with a wince, added, "You are the healer, right?" In their hurry to get Skylar inside the house, she hadn't gotten the chance to see the man herself.

He nodded once, sharply. "He's fine, now. Just a minute or two more, and he probably wouldn't have made it."

She let out a long, slow sigh of relief. "Will he be able to leave soon?"

"As soon as he wakes up," he said with another short nod. "And as soon as you pay me."

As payment wasn't her concern, she asked, "Can I see him now?"

"Sure," the man grumbled, his eyes on Antony now. "Just don't get him too worked up when you wake him. He's still a bit weak." She nodded, then made her way quickly up the stairs.

She saw Skylar the moment she reached the top of the stairwell, lying on a messy bed through a doorway directly across from the stairs. He was already awake, and he blinked slowly at her as she approached. She searched for some emotion to his eyes, something to clue her in on how he was feeling about this whole ordeal, but she found nothing. There was only one thing she knew for sure: he wasn't smiling.

"How are you feeling?" she asked softly as she entered the room, crossing her arms awkwardly over her bare chest.

"Much better now." Nothing in his voice betrayed any emotion, and his calm gaze never changed. "That guy definitely knew what he was doing."

"Good, good," she said, nodding slowly as she scanned his body. He lay atop a wrinkled green comforter, shirtless though his pants remained in place, the denim permanently stained with the red of his blood. The stab wounds had been almost completely healed; they were now nothing more than a grayish scar on each of his shoulders. "I was really worried," she whispered, her eyes drifting up to meet his. "There was...so much blood..."

He smiled, a hint of bitterness to it that worried her. Was it meant for her? For Antony? For himself? "I was pretty worried myself. It didn't seem like you guys were going to notice me in time, and I couldn't very well get myself to the hospital." Ah, for both her and Antony, then. She couldn't blame him.

"Yeah," she whispered, lowering herself gently onto the edge of the bed, her eyes going everywhere but his darkly smiling face. "I'm really sorry about that. We were just so caught up in everything else going on..."

"I know," he said, and she looked up to find his expression calm and vacant once again. "I get it. Antony was undead, his dad was finally dead-dead, and you were..." He hesitated, frowning as he searched for the words. "Somewhere else entirely." He began to search her face suddenly, earnestly, his focus primarily on her eyes. "Your eyes are normal now. That's good."

"They weren't normal before?" she asked, her brow furrowing in a worried frown.

"One was more silver than gray," he answered with a shrug. "It's happened before. It's really not that big of a deal, I guess." She gave a single, slow nod, and he suddenly blurted, "God, I can't believe I left you."

Her face warmed, and she lowered her gaze to the scar on his left shoulder. "Did you leave me?" she asked wryly. "I thought I was the one who left you."

He smirked. "Well, I can't believe that happened, either. I'm a real catch, you know." She looked at him and chuckled, and he rested his hand on hers, lying on her thigh. His gaze was suddenly very tentative, his eyes on hers intense. "Can we stop not being together now?" he murmured. "It just doesn't feel right."

She felt tears beginning to well in her eyes again, and she looked down at their touching hands, silently berating herself for all of these silly, girly emotions. "Skylar, you know I love you, but-"

"But nothing," he interrupted sharply, jerking her eyes to his face. "He's an undead now. You can't trust him anymore. He'll turn out just like his father, and you know it."

She met his glare boldly, lips pursed. "Actually, I don't know it, and neither do you." She pulled her hand from beneath his, and he lifted it from her thigh. "I do love you, Skylar, but this jealousy problem of yours is what's keeping us apart."

"Really?" he remarked dryly, his gaze harsh. "Because I thought your cheating problem was the real issue."

"Maybe I wouldn't have to cheat if you weren't so bad in the sack," she said nastily, getting to her feet. No sooner had she stood than she was being pulled back down, her body lying across Skylar's, his hands tightly gripping her wrists. His breath washed over her face as he spoke, and she cringed.

"Now you're just being petty," he whispered, the edge completely gone from his voice. He placed a gentle kiss upon her lips, and she hesitated for only a moment before returning it.

God damn it. Why did this have to be so hard?

He pulled away after a moment, but neither of them drew back more than an inch. He was smiling. "You know you miss me."

"Is he ready to go?" Antony called from downstairs, his voice still empty of emotion. "I'd really like to get home and get some clothes on. Too many people have seen my junk today."

"Amen to that," she heard the werewolf remark in a low rumble, and she chuckled to herself.

"Are you ready?" she asked Skylar as she stood, smiling.

"I suppose so." He followed suit and stood, but the smile had left his lips. "We should talk more later, though. About us." He walked past her, then, leaving her to frown alone.

Why the hell did this have to be so hard?

-?-

"Do you want to be dropped off at home?" Antony asked, his eyes flicking to the rearview mirror. Skylar sat in the backseat, his attention focused on the window; he seemed highly uncomfortable. If Antony could have smiled right now, he would have.

"Actually, I'd like to go wherever Torryn goes," Skylar replied simply, his eyes meeting Antony's brazenly in the mirror.

"She's going home with me," the vampire replied flatly, his eyes narrowing. "And you're not coming."

"Antony, be nice," Torryn murmured from the passenger's seat, but Antony barely heard her. He didn't like the way that damned human was staring at him, so smug and stubborn. His fingers tightened on the steering wheel.

"He's not coming," he said as evenly as he could, which wasn't much of a feat, considering he could barely get his emotions to show properly at the moment. "I want to spend some time alone with you."

"Didn't you have enough time alone with her when I was unconscious?" Skylar retorted, and Antony slammed on the brakes so hard that he swore his foot was going to snap the pedal off and go through the floor. The car jerked to a harsh stop, knocking Skylar forward into the back of Torryn's seat and flinging Torryn roughly against her seat belt, and the car behind them blared its horn before flying past them, shouting obscenities out the window.

"Don't test me, human," the vampire all but snarled, his eyes still locked coldly on Skylar in the mirror.

Skylar straightened in his seat and glowered at Antony. "Don't you remember the last time you tried to fight me?" he spat. "I nearly killed you."

Antony bared his teeth in a nasty grin. "But I'm dead now. Do you still think you could take me?" He felt pheromones beginning to seep from his own body, rushing to fill the air of the car, and Torryn sagged against the door.

"Antony," she muttered, but he was still watching Skylar. The human had lulled back into the corner of his seat, his glare no longer holding the intensity that had angered Antony in the first place.

"Is that a no?" the vampire prompted, still wearing that fangy smile.

"I thought undead vampires didn't have reflections," Torryn slurred, obviously attempting to change the subject. "That's what Buffy taught me. Did she lie, Antony? Did Buffy lie to me?"

Antony instantly smothered his production of pheromones, horrified at the drunken, weak sound of her voice. He turned to her with his best attempt at a smile and said, "Honey, if you based your knowledge of the supernatural on episodes of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, you've been living a lie for years."

"Nooo," she cried in a fading whisper, her eyes slipping shut though a smile graced her lips.

He reached out to rest his hand atop hers on her thigh, his smile becoming a bit more genuine now. "Are you tired? Do you want me to take you home?" He heard Skylar shifting in the back seat, and the look of jealousy he imagined on the boy's face brought him nothing but joy.

"I want to go with you," she said in a voice just barely stronger than it had been a moment ago, her eyes drifting open to meet his. "And I think we should bring Skylar with us."

Inside, he was glaring, screaming, throwing the biggest bitch-fit of his life, but outside, he continued to smile. "Of course," he said with a nod and a gentle pat of her hand. "Whatever you want." He turned his attention to the road and began to drive, but his hand never left hers.

-?-

"Do you want to take a shower first?" Antony murmured to Torryn as he walked with her into his massive farm house, a hand on the small of her back for support though she obviously didn't need him.

It sickened Skylar; it made him want to vomit all over the sparkling clean floor of the foyer. Was he being so sweet to her just to spite him? There's was no way this attitude was genuine. No way.

"A shower would be lovely," Torryn answered with a sleepy smile. Her eyes flicked to Skylar, then returned to Antony's face as her smile eased into a frown. "Will the two of you be all right alone?"

"I won't kill him, if that's what you're asking," Antony answered, focusing a saccharine smile on the girl's face. "And I'm sure he won't do anything that might upset you. Go ahead and shower. We'll be waiting for you in the kitchen." She still looked unsure, but she left for the bathroom without another word.

Skylar watched her go, frowning. She was so bloody, so injured, so covered in gore and grime. How could he have let that happen to her? How could either of them have let that happen to her?

"Are you hungry?" Antony asked, jolting Skylar from his thoughts. The vampire was no longer smiling, he discovered, but he wasn't glaring or anything, either. He was completely expressionless. Skylar had to suppress a shudder.

"A little," he answered – a complete lie. He was starving.

"What would you like to eat?" Antony asked, starting down the hall toward the kitchen, and Skylar followed, dumbfounded. Was the vampire actually being civil? After everything that had just happened?

"I'd be all right with a sandwich at this point," he answered, stopping to lean against the stainless steel island counter in the center of the room as Antony made his way to the refrigerator. When the vampire's eyes found him, he swore he saw the flash of a grin there, but it vanished almost as soon as it had appeared. What was up with that?

"I think we have some ham," Antony said as he stuck his head in the open refrigerator. "And some cheese slices. Good enough for a sandwich?"

"Perfect," he said with a short nod.

"All right. There's bread on the counter," Antony said as he tossed a package of ham and a couple of plastic-wrapped cheese slices onto the island counter before him. "Plates in the cupboard above the bread." He leaned against the fridge, crossed his arms, and watched as Skylar pulled a plate out of the cupboard, retrieved four slices of bread, and began constructing a couple of sandwiches. It creeped Skylar out a bit, the intensity of the vampire's gaze, but he made his food without saying a word and soon began to eat.

"I heard what you said to her," Antony said suddenly, and Skylar looked at him over the top of a half-eaten sandwich. "I heard it all."

"What did you hear, exactly?" Skylar asked, putting his sandwich down. He knew he had to be prepared for this.

"Everything. When the two of you were upstairs at the healer's house." Antony leaned away from the refrigerator and straightened, taking full advantage of his tall, broad, intimidating stature.

Skylar turned to face the vampire squarely. Oh, yeah. He definitely had to be prepared for this. "What of it? Do you have a problem with how I talk to my girlfriend?"

"She's your ex, kid," Antony said coldly, a glare transforming his passive features into something ugly. "You'd do well to remember that."

"So, she's yours now? Is that what I'm hearing?" Skylar leaned against the counter, arms crossed coolly over his chest, mimicking the vampire's position from earlier. He sounded calm; he looked calm. But inside, his heart was beginning to race, adrenaline starting to pump through him. He was prepared. "Well, you're wrong, kid. You have no claim to her."

"Who saved her life today? Who's been saving her life for weeks now?" Antony smirked when Skylar's expression darkened. "Exactly. If anyone here doesn't have a claim to her, it's you. You need to stop chasing her around like the little lost puppy you are."

Skylar's hands clenched into fists, balled tight enough to dig his nails into his palms. "What I need," he began, his voice a low growl, "is for you to back off. There's no room for some unfeeling, aggressive, possessive undead in her life. There's no room for you."

"I'm exactly what she needs, and you know it." Antony took a single step forward – slow, intimidating, purely predatory. His irises had been overtaken by his pupils, now coal black and terrifying. "She outgrew you the second she found out what she was." A second step forward, just as precise and hunting as the first. "She belongs with an undead, not with a weak little telekinetic who couldn't protect her even with every ounce of his strength."

He had a point, Skylar realized, gritting his teeth. Antony was stronger than he was, more powerful both in physical strength and societal standing. He could give Torryn everything she needed, all the money and protection in the world. He could give her a comfortable and safe place to live, away from her horror of a mother. He could pay her way through college, any college she wanted. He could give her everything...but could he give her the love she deserved?

His resolve strengthened, Skylar drew himself to his full height, doing his best to rival Antony even as the vampire took another step forward. "Your kind uses hers for food and satisfaction. You'll never be what she needs. Never. You should back off of her before I have to hurt you."

Antony laughed, the sound low and cold. "You? Hurt me? Please, try."

Skylar unfolded his arms, his hands repeatedly clenching and unclenching. Was he really going to do this? Was he really going to throw down with Antony, even after they'd promised Torryn that nothing would happen?

What a silly question. Of course he was. He would do anything for Torryn, anything he thought would benefit her – and taking out this cocky, cold, controlling, POS vampire would definitely benefit her.

The knives in the block on the counter behind Antony began to slip silently from their places, rising slowly to hover in the air, sharp tips pointing at Antony's naked back. Would he move like Caesar had? Would he get the better of him?

It was a risk he was willing to take.

The knives lurched forward suddenly, glinting as they passed beneath a light overhead; but just as Antony began to turn, just as the blades were about to reach him, a thud and scream from upstairs broke Skylar's concentration and sent the knives clattering to the floor.

"Torryn," the boy whispered, turning to start toward the stairs, but Antony was already far ahead of him.

-?-

Torryn let the warm water run along her body, soothing on her cuts and tender bruises. Most of the blood had been washed away by now, having required surprisingly little scrubbing to break free, and she had no real reason to be here right now. She knew it was selfish of her to be wasting her time in here, enjoying the time alone and the comforting warmth of the water while Antony and Skylar likely enjoyed an awkward silence together downstairs, but really, how could she resist? It had been so long since she'd had time to relax...

At the sound of the bathroom door creaking open, she tensed, her eyes snapping open to watch a human-shaped shadow drifting along the curtain. Should she call out? Ask who it was? It's not like they didn't know she was in there, not with the water running and all. But the shadow was too thin and willowy to belong to either Antony or Skylar, and she didn't particular want to draw any extra attention to herself.

"Is it Antony's girl?" a voice mused, high and wispy and unmistakable – Antony's mother. "Is that her sweet, sweet blood I smell?" Her silhouette paused at the edge of the tub, and Torryn watched as her head tilted to one side. "But why, oh why, has Antony dearest left her all alone with Mummy around? Is he offering her up as a snack?" The curtain was torn aside suddenly, and water spattered the woman's pale, grinning face. "Mummy could always use a snack." She reached for Torryn, who leaped quickly backward, her back meeting the shower wall with a dull thud. The vampire reached again, faster this time, and Torryn had nowhere else to go. Spindly fingers wrapped around her wrist and jerked her forward, and she tumbled out of the shower with a crash.

She pushed herself to her knees and looked up at the woman, eyes wide in fright. She wanted to say something, to tell her to go away, to tell her that Antony wouldn't want this, but when she tried to speak, no sound came out.

"What?" the vampire purred, crouching before her. She reached out to stroke Torryn's cheek and asked in a whisper, "Cat got your tongue?" Without any other method of response, Torryn lurched to her feet and ran out of the bathroom, nearly slipping on the wet tile. "Come back, dear!" Antony's mother called after her. "I just wanted a taste!"

Torryn tore through Antony's bedroom and out into the hall, but just as she reached the stairs, she felt a cold grip upon her wrist. "Come, now," Antony's mother murmured, jerking Torryn around to face her. She caught her waist and pulled their bodies tightly together, grinding against Torryn and grinning wickedly. "We can play for a moment, can't we? There's no harm in it."

"I'm not a toy," Torryn whispered, then screamed, "I'm not a toy!" With a rough shove, she knocked the woman away from her, but the force also sent her tumbling backward down the stairs.

-?-

"Torryn!" Antony cried as the girl's body hit the floor at the bottom of the stairs with a wet-sounding slap. She was on her feet in a heartbeat, however, glaring up at the figure approaching from the top of the stairway. He could hear her heart beating from where he'd stopped several feet away; he could smell her rage and fear, combined in an intoxicating perfume that permeated the air.

Being an undead...Would he ever get used to it?

"Ah, Antony, dear!" his mother cried joyfully when she caught sight of him. She rushed past Torryn, completely ignoring her glare and tense fighting stance, and threw her arms around her son. "I'm so glad you've given Mummy a present! Finally, the one she desires!" He didn't return the embrace, instead looking at Torryn over his mother's shoulder, and he wondered just how awkward all of this looked to her.

Skylar swept past him, reeking of insolence, and stopped at Torryn's side, an arm resting gently on her shoulder as he bent low to whisper in her ear, "Are you all right? She didn't do anything to you, did she?"

A low rumble started in Antony's chest, a lion's roar just begging to get out, but before he could make more than a soft growl, his mother drew back. When his eyes met hers, he saw shock – pure, unadulterated shock.

"Antony, are you...?" she murmured, then leaned close to press her nose to his neck and breathe deeply. "You are!" she shouted, nearly leaping back from him as she hurried to take in every inch of his face, his fangs, his body – his new face, his new fangs, his new body. "You've finally joined us!" She took his face in her cold hands, gripping almost tightly enough to hurt as she squished his cheeks. She was beaming now, happier than he'd ever seen her before and certainly much less crazed. "Your father will be so proud."

Antony's eyes flicked to Torryn again, and she frowned. "Actually, Mother," he began, gently pulling her hands from his face as he returned his gaze to her smiling face, "I know he was proud. He was very proud. He was...He was the one who did this to me." Her smile only grew. "And I killed him for it." Here, her smile faltered, just as he had expected; but he was surprised when it returned in full-force after only a brief pause.

"So many gifts you've given Mummy today," she whispered, a hand gently stroking his cheek. "So many gifts for Mummy." The lucidity in her eyes was leaving, being covered by a dreamy, far-gone haze that was all too familiar to him, but her smile remained. He didn't understand what she felt; he didn't understand whether he'd done something right or done something terribly, terribly wrong.

"Gifts?" he said softly, and he felt his lips shifting in a frown. "Are these really gifts?"

"Of course," she murmured, once again taking his face in her delicate hands. "My baby boy is an undead now. He's strong enough to do what he's been destined to do all along. He's strong enough to take his daddy's place. Doesn't that make you happy, baby boy? Aren't you happy?"

Antony's frown deepened, and his forehead felt oddly stiff, unused, to him when his brow furrowed. "Take his place?" He didn't understand. What did any of this mean? How terrible of a deed had he done?

"You get to take over your father's business now," his mother told him, her fingers sliding down his cheeks, a gentle stroke at first but increasing in pressure until his jaw ached. She chuckled to herself, a sound that would've been the cackle of the insane if it had only been a bit louder. "You get to manage the Arena. You get to play with all the pretty puppets!" Antony's jaw dropped as his mother whirled away, her laughter rising until it finally reached the level of a cackle. Over and over, again and again, she said in a sing-song, "All the pretty puppets! All the pretty puppets!"

She stopped her spinning behind Torryn, her hands on the girl's small shoulders, and said with much more meaning to her song, "All the pretty puppets, Antony! All the pretty puppets!"

Antony's eyes met Torryn's, wide in utter horror. "No," she whispered, the word barely reaching his ears over the sounds of his mother's continuing song. "No..."

But he knew it would be true. He should've realized it sooner. He should've recognized the danger.

Would he become the terror his father had become? Would he be driven mad by the destiny he knew his mother would never let him deny? Would he lose Torryn in this vampire underworld his family had long been a part of?

"No," he murmured, but his voice held much less conviction than hers had. "Oh, fuck. No."