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His plotting has ranged from slowly drinking all of her blood, to changing her into a vampire so he could stake her and let her burn in the sun, to keeping her locked up to play out all of his twisted, violent fantasies until he was satisfied they were even on the scale of suffering.
Now, not even his most elaborate, painful torture schemes bring him joy.
He didn’t use to be so… unstable.
He changed after Celine’s death. I fear losing him completely, and even more scared that it may already be too late. There are too many people relying on Sebastian for him to go off his rocker and leave us hanging.
The horde needs their Bastard King of the French Quarter.
Sebastian has brought us a long way—farther than anyone else could—but I won’t stand by if his afflictions threaten to drag the rest of the horde down with him.
Maybe putting an end to the Dumont witches will finally rid our enigmatic leader of whatever malady still haunts him.
Closure.
When it got terrible, he played out a few of his fantasies on some unfortunate visitors to the dungeon of Hotel Elysian. Vampires, werewolves, and witches alike have experienced his mania firsthand.
Hell, I’ve been strapped up in that damp basement a few times after having pushed Bas beyond his tipping point.
Speaking of tipping point…
I wince as I look over my shoulder, taking in our group of assembled witches. They’re looking rough. They have kept up this spell from Elysian, through the French Quarter, and all the way to Tremé. Sebastian is demanding a lot of them today.
For all this effort, I hope this will allow the old Sebastian to finally make a resurgence.
When I turn back, Sebastian is staring at me.
Focus, his severe gaze says.
I give myself a firm mental shake and get my head in the game. This day has been twenty-five years in the making. There can be no mistakes, lest I end up hanging by my wrists at Sebastian’s mercy in the dungeon’s darkness.
Truthfully, I could go for a good, hard flogging at his hand. The pain is like an ascension, lifting me out of my body. It is a freeing experience. For both me and Sebastian.
Our sessions give him an outlet to quell his anger and remind both of us of our place in, and responsibility to, the horde.
It has been too long since our last rendezvous.
My reminiscing is cut short when the underlying buzz of electricity comes to a sudden halt and the full effect of the witches’ spell falls over the house.
Right on cue, chaos erupts inside the old Dumont estate.
“Vampires!”
Finn is quick to silence the wolf with a twist of his neck, but it’s too late—the warning brings a rush of werewolves snarling and lunging at us from every angle, some on two legs and some on four.
The air echoes with the clash of claws meeting flesh and the primal roars from shifting werewolves. Our force of vampires fight with lethal grace, each movement precise and calculated, our speed and strength unmatched even against the brutal wolves.
I go straight for the kitchen, following the unmistakable odor of the shithead who spewed his toxic werewolf-ness into my bloodstream and nearly put a premature end to my life.
There is a split second of gratification when his eyes go round before my fangs tear into his flesh.
It’s brutal, messy, and oh so satisfying.
Even in his human form, he tastes foul.
The wolf struggles against my hold, and I revel in the way his flailing panic pumps more blood over my tongue as his heart beats wildly.
Wolves taste like ass and their blood is no good for us, but ridding him of his life essence is as invigorating as even the most divine ambrosia, and I let myself indulge in the power of ending his life.
