Chapter Text
Rome, Italy
1959
Standing in the hallway and holding her tightly, Maria presses her cool cheek against Sabine's. She's hotter that Maria remembers her touch being. Gone is the cool calm beneath the grey mourning clothes. Now her heart thunders, obnoxiously loud. A hand reflexively squeezes, making Sabine's heartbeat thump against her throat. Maria inhales deeply, taking in the intoxicatingly floral aroma that mixed with fear.
Maria snaps her eyes open, glaring at Ysabel who stands in the doorway, mouth agape. Her once caramel hair now chocolate, but Maria still wants to devour it all. It tumbles from a messy bun and she wears an apron, ever the dutiful maid. Ysabel grips the doorframe, hand outstretched in silent pleading, but she does not come to Maria's aid.
Of course she doesn't. Why would she? Maria doesn't deserve that. Not to be given things. It is never so easy. It's better to just take. Her lips twitch into a grimace. "Do you see?" she coos to Sabine in her arms. "She does not love you." The words were more to herself, than anyone. Ysabel would never love Maria. Not like she does.
"That isn't true," Ysabel gasped. "Giada, look at me."
Giada?
Giada.
Time is a houses of cards, and it collapses. The suites tumble down across each other, a messy stack of experiences strewn out across the floor without order. Without purpose.
“If she did, she would come out.” Maria nuzzles into Sabine's cheek. No, no. That isn't right. Sabine nuzzles into Giada. “If she did, she would have kept you safe. Would have made you like her. Like me.”
Like them. Strong. Powerful. Unrivaled. Hunters.
“Sabine,” snarls Charlotte. “Let her go.”
An order, or a threat? Sabine tugs on Giada's head, making her whimper. Sabine's teeth graze across her neck, leaving red welts.
"Don't."
Sabine is getting bored. Bored of the game. Bored of this waiting. She wants to feel the blood in her mouth. A soft cherry bursting between her teeth, yielding its succulent juices. And then another, and another. She's laying atop a thatched roof, lazy in the sun. Bored, but free.
But she's not free. She's chained to this annoying dreg of a woman.“What do you think, Giada?” teases Sabine. “Will she do it, if you beg?”
Her grip loosens, just enough for Giada to look Charlotte in the eyes again.
“Mia Carlotta,” she pleads softly, “will you—”
"STOP!" the ferocity of Charlotte's voice startles Sabine enough to hesitate. "I promise."
The beginning of an oath, a lingering note. The trail of prey through the forest. Sabine's nostrils flare. "What's that, Charlotte?"
"I promise if you don't bring her harm, I'll leave with you."
Just like her Charlotte. When they used to play chess, Charlotte would eventual grow bored and push herself into a checkmate. Now, she does the same thing, "Now why would I trust you with that?"
"If I could forsake a promise, that would not be the one you should be worried about." Charlotte tries to be threatening, but her voice trembles and her mind is screaming, the poor thing. Distraught and frantic as a cornered beast. Sabine almost kiss Giada there out of spite for making Charlotte act so weak.
"See?" Sabine whispers against Giada's ear, making her stiffen and break again. If Sabine doesn't get to kill her, she'll at least leave a few cuts. "You think she loves you? She'll leave with me tonight. Not you. She is mine." Sabine then stands taller, strong chin jut out. "Fine."
Some force compels her to push Giada away, to get the human woman away from the seething urges beneath her skin. Giada flies forward, through the doorway and directly into Charlotte's arms. Immediately, she dissolves into tears. The two of them clutching together, murmuring softly. Charlotte's eyes, however, lift to meet Sabine's even as she kisses Giada's temple, brow, whispers against her forehead and then bows her head. They press together a final time, and then Charlotte peels her away, stepping through the doorway and into the hall.
The feeling of victory, smug satisfaction swelling in Sabine and her face splits into a wolfish grin. Charlotte takes off her apron and tosses it into the apartment before turning, brushing past Sabine without so much as a word.
Sabine narrows her eyes. "Something's burning," she warns, and then turns to follow her Charlotte, eager for what comes next.
Charlotte speaks to the driver in Italian, which is fine. Already they're falling into comfortable, familiar roles. Sabine needn't bother with the details. Automobiles are both noisy, cantankerous eyesores and marvels of luxury, depending on if she is outside or inside of one. Now, she stretched out, crossing one leather-clad leg across the other.
"She'll still die. What's one death over another. At least mine would have been quick and painless."
"We are what we were when we died. You know that, right? We're stuck," Charlotte replies with her own question, still avoiding looking at Sabine.
The childish games. Sabine runs her tongue across her teeth in irritation. "…and?"
"I'm a coward," Charlotte spits. "and I'm running away. Again."
"Now, if that were true, you wouldn't be sitting here with me."
Charlotte shake her head, curls swaying, staring out the window at the passing cityscape. "I'm just running from other things that aren't you. There's worse things."
Sabine watches Charlotte's theatrics play out. She'd always been a delightful entertainment. Wondering how this performance will play out, Sabine plays along, feeding her the next line. "I can't decide if that's an insult or a compliment."
"Seeing her die is worse. Watching her grow old is worse."
"Then you should have made her like us. I will have this car turn around. I'll go back and change her."
"No you won't. You can't."
Sabine grits her teeth. They squeak like crushed mice.
Charlotte shrugs. "I'm too much of a coward for that, too. I'm too scared I'll end up like you. Knowing she'd watch me wither away is worse." She tucks an errant curl behind her ear and scoffs. "I hope I ruined your fun."
"I'll find other ways to have fun."
"I know," Charlotte says, resigned. She sinks back into her seat and closes her eyes. A single bloody tear escapes before its siblings are clenched away. "You'll peel me like a fruit and make me dance on strings." Charlotte opened her eyes to glowering slits. "Because only you get to have a choice. Only you get to feel safe. Isn't that right, Sabine?"
Sabine stays silent, rage boiling up inside of her. How is anything she feels not okay? Charlotte does not dictate her existence. The city fades into countryside, and Charlotte relaxes beside her. The farther they get from Charlotte's toy, the calmer Charlotte gets. She didn't trust Sabine. It should sting, but it doesn't.
It emboldens Charlotte, who turns her eyes, dark like a freshly turned grave, onto Sabine at last. "Did you ever love me? Truly? Or just the idea of having me. I know you loved the idea of not being lonely," Charlotte cants her head, appraising Sabine, hoping to see her in some new light but Sabine knows there was only shadows. "You've never told me about when you were changed. Were you lonely, Sabine? Scared and small? Is that all—"
"Enough." Sabine cuts her off, lunging forward and catching Charlotte's jaw with one hand.
"No, I promised to come with you. I didn't promise to shut up. Bite off my tongue, if you want. But we went a century without so much as a single real conversation, and I won't take that anymore. Not after knowing what's it really like to open up to someone. To feel heard and appreciated. This is what you're stuck with."
Sabine's fingers thrusting into Charlotte's mouth with the other. Charlotte struggles, muffled cries of protest, but she doesn't bite down on Sabine's fingers. She can't. "Oh, Charlotte. You really shouldn't give me ideas." Sabine pinches, tears, and rips. Charlotte coughs, head falling forward so she doesn't choke on the blood filling her mouth and dripping from the corner of her disrespectful mouth. Sabine rolls down the window, casually throwing the tongue out. It would buy her some peace and quiet.
Travelling through the day left them both ill, but they both had their reasons for wanting the trip to end quickly. Sabine told Charlotte to drink from their driver when finally arrived in Paris, the old city glowing with a pre-dawn light. She told Charlotte she'd let him go after. It was an easy lie. Charlotte knew she was lying, but her willful ignorance was nothing new.
Sabine guides Charlotte into a flat with dusty pink walls and furniture, though fine, at least a decade out of date. It has a feminine elegance, if not a bit stodgy. Still, the plush opulence is welcome and Sabine unbuttons her purple jacket, slipping it off and throwing it across the back of a chair she passes by.
Charlotte rubs her mouth, thumb brushing away the last flecks of her own dried blood and the driver's fresh. Sabine's attention is drawn to the four-post bed with ruffed pillows, arms crossing contemplatively.
"Not your usual style," Charlotte says quietly, voice rough and strained. She tests each syllable, curling her fresh pink tongue around them like morsels of food. "Was she nice?"
Sabine sneers, taking off her tall boots. "No. An egotistical widow and a hag."
"I was asking about the woman's whose flat this is," Charlotte says cheerfully. Too cheerfully.
Ignoring the jab, Sabine parries, gesturing at the bed. "You should have come back to bed."
Charlotte steps up to the bed, fingers brushing across the dark polished grain of an antique post. "I know why you made me make the promise I did," she ducks her head, curls spilling into her face. "I just wish you could have been honest."
"Honestly, Charlotte?" Sabine sighs, peeling off the leather pants and sauntering around the bed. The sun peeked over the horizon, and weariness set in. "You talk too much now. Where's my demure girl with her nose in her books?"
"She read them, grew up, and then you killed her again," Charlotte replies flatly.
Sabine rolls her eyes. "Your hysterics are becoming bothersome." Long bare legs slipped between the sheets. She would rest well knowing her Charlotte was nearby. It gave her a sense of security she'd forgotten she could have. There had been a time she trusted a whole house, but that had long since eroded, brick by brick.
"Did you make me say those words; were they of my own volition?" Charlotte hovered at the end of the bed, waiting.
Fluffing the pillow, Sabine settled her crown of fiery curls across the down-filled satin. "If I compelled you to speak it, it would not hold. Nor did I trick you."
"I know, Sabine," Charlotte walked around the bed. Not to the empty side waiting for her, but up beside Sabine. "But I wanted to make sure you knew. I said them of my own accord. Do you know why?"
Sabine sighed, rolling her head back to stare at the scroll work on the headboard. "I am sure you are going to tell me."
Fingers brushed over Sabine's forehead, and she frozen. The cool touch swept the severe line of her brow, her temple, brushing her hair away from her face. "Because I loved you. And you were scared, and you needed reassurance. Reassurances I wanted to give you! Reassurances you deserved."
"Oh, Charlotte, I really grow tire of you pretending to know my thoughts." Done with this, Sabine rolls over away from Charlotte, willing herself to rest. It isn't long before the mattress shifts, the slight weight of Charlotte joining her own it.
"Its true. I don't. You hide them from me," Charlotte's voice is low, right in front of Sabine. Sabine opens her eyes, finding them almost nose to nose. Here, she can see every freckle, long since memorized, long since forgotten. "Why have you never let me in?"
And Sabine lifts her,hand, she places the pad of her forefinger against the pomegranate bow of Charlotte's mouth. Oh, how she'd dreamed of being able to touch it again. To feel the silk petals of them against her skin, to hear the mewling pleading escape from between them. "If you keep talking, the next time it's your whole jaw."
Charlotte stiffens, but for once listens to Sabine and stays silent. Sabine smirks, closing her eyes again. She is keenly aware of how Charlotte is staring at her, watching her sleep.
Sabine rests well.
When she awakes, it is evening. Though the heavy curtains remain closed, she can feel it in her bones. But she is rejuvenated, and excited. A new night, a new hunt. Venice calls. Her fangs itched to tear something, her tongue dry with the need to feel a pulse quake across her it. As she dresses herself, she hears soft music beyond the doors.
There wasn't a ball tonight, was there? She didn't remember. Matteo so often hosted revelries. She would join he and Alessandro later. The music continued, catchy and quick. Sabine smooths down her jacket, toying with her necklaces before sweeping out the door and into the seating area.
The tune filled the room, it pulsed like a heartbeat and drove Sabine towards the door out and beyond. She barely noted the figure sitting in a chair, feet up on a table and book tucked against their thighs.
"Sabine?" The voice called to her, an echoing worry.
Sabine threw open the deadbolt, waving away the voice. "Save me a dance, Renata. I will return."
Once wet her appetite. A second tempers her hunger. But a third? A third will certainly quench her thirst that night along the riverside. She prowls the riverside in London, Paris, Rome, Lisbon, Vienna. They all are the same and it all smears together, a monotonous backdrop of grey that she can paint with red.
She's being followed. She's known it for awhile, but curiousity and amusement let it continue. She gave them a body to trip over, but still they pursued her, lurking just out of sight. But she can feel the presence. Not the hypnotic siren's call of a heartbeat, nor the warm familiar sense of ownership of well-traveled stones, but the gentle pull of ownership none the less. No, this is like a kite's string that she could imagine rolling around her finger, drawing it or she closer together until at last it would be in reach.
Without sound, her shadow came around the corner. Sabine waited, ready. She caught them by the throat, driving them back and slamming them against the brickwork beside a patissier's window display.
Eyes grow in surprise, delicate hands clutching Sabine's wrist as she slides the shorter woman up against the stone until her heels scrape where they dangle off the ground.
"You've been following me," Sabine snarls, not hiding her fangs.
"And you're messes make it ridiculously easy."
She doesn't resist Sabine. It would be so easy to tear out her throat. The only thing that gives Sabine pause is her own reflection in the polished glass panes beside her. Her eyes snap towards it, reflection staring back. Its one of a monster with black eyes. Sabine doesn't recongize it.
"Sabine," Charlotte croaks, "let go."
Sabine hisses, dropping her back to the ground. "You idiot," Sabine curses, but she can't hide the affection in her voice. Charlotte, who came looking for her. Charlotte, who worried for her. She grabs Charlotte by the collar, twisting the fabric and pulling herself in closer to keep Charlotte pinned against the wall, now inhaling deeply the scent of her curls. The smell washes over her, a purifying baptism that brings back a wellspring of emotions and memories.
She's still clutching onto Charlotte when Charlotte's hands hesitantly lift, wrapping around Sabine's midsection and palms settle against her shoulder blades.
"The rot comes for us all, Sabine. I just… it's okay to be frightened."
"Frightened?! I'm not. And I'm fine." But she lingers in Charlotte's embrace. How long she wanted this. She wouldn't say need. Never need. But wanted, yes.
"But fine isn't good. There are those that have knowledge. Experience. They can teach us. Being alone doesn't make us strong."
Sabine pulls away and snorts. "Well, I have never felt more strong than these last few years chasing you, Charlotte. And then you had to go and take my fun away." She turns, making her way back through the streets towards that haunted little corner flat with the majestic view of the city. Her shadow stays close behind.
"You could have said no and killed her." Charlotte says, closing the door behind them, locking it. The freedom of the world and the hunt now out of reach.
Sabine digs her nails into her palms and paces. "I considered it."
"Why didn't you?"
Sabine does not answer. she's making sure her walls are up. It is not the time to come untethered and fall apart. She must be composed. Secure.
Charlotte turns, leaning back against the door. Her head hangs and she digs the heels of her palms into her eyes. "I am, Sabine."
"Hmm?" Sabine needs to act cool. Long, long ago she learned to play the part of indifferent and aloof. She learned to 'fake it until you make it' before such pithy quips became over-used and trite. She drops down on the couch, throwing one arm across the back of it.
"I'm scared. I'm— the nights when I'm not myself. When it feels like there is an animal inside of me that doesn't think and just acts. Tearing at my chest." Charlotte grimaces, rubbing at her sternum. She comes closer, sitting on the coffee table in front of Sabine, their knees bumping together.
Sabine stare at the points of contact. So familiar, yet so alien. What game did Charlotte play? Her eyes narrow in suspicion. She's fishing for a weakness. Sabine knows she's fishing for some weakness to take advantage of, some hand-hold to pry open her shell and tear out her insides.
Charlotte frowns when Sabine gives her none. "What will you do with me when it comes to that point?"
That point. What point? There is no point in discussing these things. Sabine tosses her head back, coppery mane gleaming as her hands are thrown wide. "We don't need to discuss these things. The world is ours! We should be out feasting on it, not locking ourselves in here."
Charlotte ignores her pivot, and doesn't follow Sabine's lead. Her hands are squeezed between her knees and she bites her bottom lip. "I won't make you promise, but I hope you'll be merciful, Sabine. I hope you'll kill me."
Rage fills Sabine. Carefree persona drops and she snaps forward, claw digging into Charlotte's thighs. "I won't be! I won't be merciful, because I won't be there, Charlotte! I will be gone! I was never a good person. I never pretended to be. I never wanted to be. You— You have more time than I do."
Charlotte softened, her hand moving towards Sabine's before she rips it away. "Sabine—"
"No. You have already lost me. You've already mourned and moved on."
"Mourned, yes. But moved on?" Charlotte laughs, the notion incredulous. "For better or worse, I can't. I've tried."
Sabine wishes she'd been slower. Slow enough that Charlotte could have taken her hand and held it. Why did she have to be so quick? So many things she couldn't take back, but now it was all too late. "And you're trying to rewrite history. You left me. Just like the rest of them."
Charlotte rolls her lips, finding the little hole Sabine gave her and starts digging at it. "The rest of who, Sabine? You've never talk of anyone else."
"It doesn't matter."
"But it does. Their memories are what make us who we are. We carry parts of them with us, whether we want to, or not." Charlotte tips in, hand moving to touch the tangled web of trinkets around Sabine's neck. "Just like these. They weigh us down, invisibly or not. I carry parts of you."
All Sabine remembers is the hunt. The rush before the kill and the singing in her veins. She doubts there's room for anything else. This time, her speed is to an advantage. She catches Charlotte's wrist, keeping her hand against Sabine's chest. "And what would you have me carry?"
"Remember them. Remember me. Remember Charlotte Hastings, the girl in the yellow dress that fidgeted too much." And Sabine does. She remembers the girl with a dimple in one cheek and eyes that sparkled.
"And who do you remember?"
"Jocelyn," Charlotte says quickly. Too quickly. It draws a sneer from Sabine. A flash of jealousy and hatred for a woman long dead. Charlotte digits, picking at her thumbnail. "Giada now, too. I remember everyone we've harmed. But mostly I remember this lovely, charming woman. Witty and sly. She was beautiful and poised and, God, to have but a bit of her attention would be to feel free. You, Sabine. I mostly remember you." Charlotte then dropped her eyes, toeing at the carpet. "Who you were."
Charlotte made an oath to not hurt Sabine, but her words sliced cleanly through to Sabine's withered heart. They struck her with enough force to knock her out the window and send her hurtling through time. Flickers of the past. Years and conversations, scents and scandals, all of them gushing out of this fresh wound. She does not know how long it takes to pick up the pieces, to stuff the sands of time back into the hole, but when she jerks her eyes back to Charlotte, she's clearly worried. She no longer sits on the table in front of Sabine but sideways next to Sabine on the sofa, feet tucked under her, watching.
Sabine glances down to find Charlotte's hand still in her own. "The widow. Hector and Renata. Matteo. Alessandro, even," Sabine laughs at the absurdity of missing that fool.
"Do you have regrets?"
Sabine considers. Did she regret being stronger than the widow? More cunning than Hector? More careful than Matteo? More in love than Charlotte? Sabine's throat tightened. "Perhaps," she admits.
Charlotte stands, turning her hand in Sabine's as she does. She steps away, bare toes sinking into the plush carpet. Sabine rises and follows as Charlotte sashays across the room to the radio and turns it on, letting the music swell to envelope the space. She turns back to Sabine and smiles. "Dance with me." Charlotte then reaches, guiding Sabine's other hand around her ribs so she could lead. "I need more practice."