Chapter 87
Previously: The Rose of Whitby – Chapter 86
That he finds Gregory just hovering outside of Darcy’s door John’s not surprised by, well, sees him hovering until Gregory notices him and pulls one of his cat vanishing acts. He’s done that pretty much every time since John tried to punch him. Suits him just fine. He loves to be Gregory repellent. Helps protect his girl.
What does surprise him is the giggling from Darcy’s room. What’s going on here? Alright, he’s heir, he has a right to check up on her, nothing suspicious about him doing that, so he knocks and asks the Lady Darcy if he may come in. That’s another giggle, but not just from her, is that…? Oh fuck his life, yes, that’s the molly in the room with her, at her vanity, one of her makeup brushes in hand and giving him a challenging look as to what he’s going to do about it…
Well, if Darcy is uncomfortable, he’ll do a lot about it, including showing that arse the door via kick. Not that Darcy couldn’t take that beanpole in a fight any day, no worries there, but maybe she didn’t dare socially, she can be shy there… Just, no… Darcy’s beaming.
Uh, what now? Does it look real? Yes, he knows that smile on her, that’s real, and she’s bouncing up and running over to him and that seems very relaxed in front of a stranger. What did that molly do… Oh… Of course. Darcy’s been the only girl in the castle. Not even her mother has been around lately, and not that often before. It’s not exactly fair towards her that she has nobody to do all those girl things with, is it? She’s twirling in her dress and showing him how pretty Quincy made her with the makeup and she’s not wrong.
Big fucking surprise that the molly is good with makeup but still, ugh, did she have to? No, that’s petty. If this is his girl’s chance to have somebody around she can share some things with that nobody else in the castle could enjoy with her, then John doesn’t want to be in the way of that. And he knows she’s too fucking obedient towards her husband as is… Also, and okay, maybe it’s callous of him, but John can’t help remembering the dried blood on her thighs, and if he has to stand by as somebody in this house gets raped by Gregory, well, your loss, molly. Anything’s better than his girl suffering.
So he tells Darcy that she looks beautiful and that he’ll be close by, so if there is any trouble (yes, he’s glaring at the molly,) she can call for him.
Closing the door behind him again, John decides to get himself some more info from Arthur before he’ll get to the study, which yes, is close enough for Darcy to be able to call him easily. Although, and he chuckles at that thought, his girl could mop the floor with that pansy.
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Arthur has cleaned out Quincy’s horse’s feet and is just lingering over brushing him because the horse really seems to appreciate that- he’s got his head drooping and one back hoof cocked and all. Arthur wonders if anyone spends a lot of time with him- he’s not in a state like the London cab horses, but still, Arthur wonders if anyone loves this animal. So Hannibal can give him all the “don’t forget about me!” looks he wants, he’s taking his time here. So that’s what he’s doing when the stable doors open and John walks in. Arthur gives him a questioning look without stopping the long strokes of the brush along the horse’s back.
“Where the fuck did Gregory pick the molly up? Right now the girls are playing makeup and that’s fine by me, but one constantly lurking scandal is enough. We really don’t need that.” As he says it, John leans himself against the stable wall and crosses his arms.
“Molly?” Arthur asks, surprised. “Uh… do you mean Quincy…?” Well, by process of elimination, who else would John mean?
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Right, Arthur’s fabled non-existent social observation skills, he supposes he’ll have to spell this out, because he needs the back up. He wants full crew on deck for this. “Yes, Quincy, the guy who basically introduced himself as Gregory’s longer-term, hired-on whore. The guy who is about as obvious about being a molly as it gets and thereby even worse than Gregory for our social standing.”
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“Uh…” Arthur considers asking how John knows that, but apparently it’s ‘obvious’, and… is this the thing he’s been missing? “We met him at the theatre? In London? He’s an actor, I don’t know how Gregory knows him, just, uh…” Whore? “I thought it was an art-patron thing?”
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Facepalming, John grumbles, because it’s not as if he hasn’t noticed Gregory’s habit of gifting Darcy jewellery instead of apologising, ever, he only just did up the financial report to the Order about that, after all. Let’s see how many of those end up with the molly. “Same fucking thing. Actors are just more expensive whores with a side hustle. My father fenced off enough patron gifts, I know the drill.”
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“…I mean I know people don’t think too much of actors, but I still thought they were… well, actors first. Like… why bother if you can make your money, uh, otherwise?” Arthur wonders. “Anyway, er. Theatre. …Where he seemed nice?” he offers, blushing a bit- did he misread Quincy? Or should he be defending Quincy being nice more? Is John being too harsh and dismissive? Arthur gives a mental sigh at the fact that he can’t tell. “Though, um, what do you think of his hair colour?”
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“Huh? Hair colour?” That really hadn’t been up on John’s radar. Why would he look at a guy’s hair?
Arthur tilts his head and asks: “You don’t think it’s very red? Like… suspiciously red?”
“Great, now I’m going to think about that later and have to look at him but…” Narrowing his eyes, John tries to remember. He didn’t pay attention to that specifically, but he has a good memory for colours. “That’s not your normal Irish red, is it?”
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“That’s what I’m wondering,” Arthur agrees, props his arms on the back of the white horse and leans against him. The animal is warm and likes it and he’s covered in horse hair already anyway. “It’s not the same shade as Darcy’s, but it’s got the same sort of… unnatural intensity? I don’t think his eyes are purple, though… But there’s some kind of vampire or something, maybe, around. Or is it coincidence and I’m being paranoid?”
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Involuntarily snorting, John shakes his head. “In this fucking place? Nah. I told Darcy I’ll be around so she can call for me so I’ll be close by in case that guy tries anything.”
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Arthur nods, relieved. “That sounds like a good idea. Or if he is a dhampir that isn’t… awakened, he could be in danger, too. So either way, I think we should keep an eye on him.”
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Although John grumbles that looking at the guy is about the last thing he wants to do he nods and gets his arse over to the study… and then tries really hard not to melt because he can occasionally hear laughter drifting over from Darcy’s room, and he doesn’t want to get in the situation where he might actually appreciate that molly.
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Eventually, Arthur puts the white horse back into his stall, and then gives Hannibal the necessary cuddles so he doesn’t have any neglect to complain about. Once his nightmare is pacified, Arthur heads back inside and gets changed out of his horse-hair-covered riding clothes and heads up to the study to join John in work and also to get his input on some of the results of the adoption research. It seems well feasible, but there will be paperwork involved, and they’ll have to contact Harker for his legal services, too.
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Darcy is out of the dress, and it didn’t even feel strange to have Quincy help her with that. He’s just… She doesn’t know what it is, but she feels so drawn to him. He smells so good, she wants to just sit there close to him and keep breathing him in. Although she really wishes she didn’t have to constantly fight her fangs. Yes, he smells delicious, but she can’t just let him know that!
Not that she doesn’t think he suspects her… Probably thinks she’s a harlot and those hungry looks are about something else. Why wouldn’t he? He’s here because of Gregory and she knows what that means for her. She has to do her duty, so maybe she shouldn’t even hide. Maybe she should let him believe she’s looking at him that way. Not that she knows why she would, he’s not very attractive after all, all soft and slim.
But he, and that makes her blush, he’s flirting with her, she thinks. He doesn’t judge her for those looks and he’s not using her like Llew for them, either. He’s just… nice. And he knows so much about theatre and stories. There aren’t a lot of books they’ve both read, he’s not much for books, he said. He wants the people with a story.
That is so wrong to her, it’s funny, so they started discussing, and playing with her hair and her outfit and it just… feels a bit like sitting with her papa. She’s feeling so curious and open, and he’s flirting and makes her feel bold enough to flirt back. Is it so wrong to maybe enjoy that?
If she thought she was bold, that’s nothing compared to him, though. He knows what he’s doing and his hands are in her hair and worse, on her face. She knows she’s making little sighing sounds, she knows that she’s closing her eyes and relaxing into his touch. She doesn’t care about the inappropriateness of it. She’s a harlot and he’s here because of Gregory. If that’s the only thing she’s good for for her husband, then why should she have to always suffer from it?
They are on the sofa by now, shoes off and sitting so terribly close. And then he asks her if she thinks that the colour lipstick they picked for her would look good on him, too, and she doesn’t quite know what to say to that. That only makes him grin and tell her that they’ll have to check, don’t they? His lips are on hers, and she doesn’t even flinch because he’s so very, very close, his smell blocks out the world, and she wants to forget everything else, she wants that scent all for herself! More! Wasn’t there something she needed to fight? She isn’t sure anymore, she just knows that she needs more. More. More. Everything! All of that smell, that scent, that taste…
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Quincy didn’t think she’d actually be fun to kiss, just that she would be willing, but after the first little shyness, she gets going. There’s a surprising amount of strength to the way she curls her fingers tight on his vest, as if she doesn’t ever want to let him go again. Phew, and there he thought Cobb wanted him! This was easy, so easy, he’s in control here, he feels so bloody powerful right now. So very powerful and nothing can stop him. Nothing! He’s feeling so strong that he thinks his head is spinning a bit, she must be kissing him so hard that he’s not breathing enough, no matter, he’s in control.
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John and Arthur are working along in peaceful enough silence when Darcy starts screaming. Arthur jolts, so surprised at the sudden noise that it takes him a moment to make out her words- “John! John, get Arthur! Help, please! Please, hurry!” is what she’s calling, and Arthur is out of his seat and dashing down the hall to her room.
Behind him, he hears John curse and follow after, but he doesn’t bother waiting for him, crosses the distance between the study and Darcy’s room as fast as he can. It’s the same corridor, but it seems unreasonably long, even if it can’t be more than seconds before he bursts through Darcy’s door- she’s just taking breath to yell again.
Her eyes are wide and panicked, she’s sitting on her sofa, and Quincy is slumped across her lap, whiter than Arthur thought a person could be- a living person, anyway… At least Darcy’s okay, runs through his head, at the same time as: Oh no! Quincy! He slides to a stumbling stop at their side, reaches for Quincy’s throat to check for a pulse even as he demands: “What happened?!”
“I… he… smelled so delicious… I didn’t…” Darcy just about manages to press out, hands shaking where she’s holding Quincy tight to herself.
Arthur can’t find a pulse, but maybe that’s because his own heart is beating too hard, his hand too urgent, he’s not even sure he’s found the right spot… Whatever, he takes a deep breath and forces himself to concentrate. Spell matrix like this, fixed in his mind, yes, and the magic… the magic takes, it starts rushing into Quincy, and Arthur gives an absent sigh of relief.
Also, he isn’t sure what Darcy’s trying to say, but he doesn’t have the room in his mind to wonder about it right now. It can wait. Right now, his magic is healing whatever the problem is. It’s a sizeable problem, but if Quincy were dead, the magic wouldn’t have anything to do. It’ll just be a few moments, and Quincy should be okay.
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“Fuck!” John curses again as he makes it into the room. Not because Darcy apparently did end up mopping the floor with the molly, no, because she clearly looks like she didn’t mean to, and worse, both her and Arthur are not looking at the right signs. Part of his brain is (ridiculously) relieved that now he doesn’t have to look closer at Quincy’s hair. As if that mattered. But yes, clearly Arthur was right on the dhampir front, because that’s fucking claws and he can tell when a dhampir is hungry.
He really, really fucking doesn’t want to do this, but he knows what can happen when that hunger goes overboard, and they don’t know what Quincy might do, so he sprints over, ripping his sleeve up and yells at Darcy to hold tight as he stuffs his wrist between the building snarl on Quincy’s lips.
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Arthur is aware of John arriving and moving and cursing once more, but it’s only when his spell finishes that he realizes that Quincy’s awake– and why John crowded in like that. Well, that answers that question. Quincy’s narrow eyes are lavender now, definitely a different shade than the blue before, though much paler and less obvious than Darcy’s deep purple.
Also, well, there’s the way his mouth is clamped around John’s wrist. Arthur can’t see his fangs, of course, but he’s sure they’re there. “You okay?” he asks John, because it kind of looks like that bite should hurt, and lays a hand on his biceps to start healing him instead.
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Holding on against, yes, Quincy thrashing around for a moment before he must realise that he’s getting blood, Darcy is still in shock. She hadn’t even realised she was biting him! She… she nearly killed him! Blue to lilac, she awakened him! He’s so lost to his hunger that she’s looking at his drac, and that, that is beautiful! But… more importantly, she can see that John might be under the influence of a hunting bite, but he’s still uncomfortable.
Her poor John having to be this close to a man, oh no, this is her fault! She was bad, not just for Quincy. She’s so sorry, and she must have taken so much blood, it should be her feeding Quincy! He’ll need lots… She has the faintest memory of hunger, all-encompassing hunger, and that’s about all she remembers from when she awoke.
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Well, at least Quincy settles down with getting blood- Arthur’s back to concentrating on his healing spell, though he sees Darcy manoeuvre her own wrist next to John’s, like she’s getting ready to switch out with him.
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John’s not sure if this is better or worse, letting the molly touch his girl makes him feel just as uncomfortable as having a guy’s lips on his wrist (nope, don’t think about it, don’t think about it,) but she’s looking so unhappy and worried, and he gets that she wants to do something rather than just sit there. Nevermind that he’s pretty sure she would have been the only one able to restrain the baby dhampir if he really had ticked out in search of food.
Gross, this entire situation is just gross, but she did seem to enjoy herself around the guy and typical, for once when they might get some good out of Gregory, the fucker’s nowhere to be seen. He supposes he does want to get a few steps away, so he tries if the molly will let go of him… and snorts. “Molly, that was a pathetic excuse of a growl.”
The snort turns chuckle pretty quickly when the situation turns from dire to just plain ridiculous faster than John thought it could. Seriously? He’s playing tug of war with his wrist and some dainty little molly fangs while Darcy is talking to Quincy as if he was one of their puppies to coax him to let go and take her wrist instead. He knows that she thinks of her own drac as a wolf, so he kind of gets it, but if Quincy keeps making those bad impersonations of puppy growls and whines, John is going to lose it and laugh rather than just chuckle.
This fucking household! Only in this fucking household do you go from ‘Fuck, did we kill somebody?’ to ‘Dracie dracie dracie’ in fucking five minutes!
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Snickering is really not good for one’s concentration, and Arthur actually loses the healing spell- but he doesn’t really feel he can be blamed for that. How’s he supposed to keep it up with John fidgeting around and insulting Quincy’s growling, (okay, Arthur has to admit that Darcy’s growls are a lot more impressive, Quincy really doesn’t sound scary at all), and Darcy doing puppy talk to Quincy? “This shouldn’t be funny…” he manages, before he breaks into another round of snickers, because whether it should or not, it is.
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Shaking her head, Darcy tries to keep a straight face but even she feels a bit better, wonders if maybe, just maybe, she can get through this, through having been so bad. John doesn’t seem to hate her for it, and while Quincy’s drac is being stubborn, it seems to be just fine. Quincy seems to be just fine.
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“I can’t heal you if I have to laugh,” Arthur tells John. “I’ll do it once you have your wrist back.”
John just about manages to swallow a quip about Arthur better, because the molly obviously knows how to suck. But then he’d just make both of them uncomfortable, and he just managed not to be completely grossed out anymore because now it’s far too much like a puppy, not a guy, having his teeth clamped down on him.
And he spoke too soon. Great… Now he finally got his wrist back, but only because apparently drac dinner is over and now it’s other dhampir-needs time… Maybe he should be glad that Quincy let go of his wrist to pounce on Darcy but still, gross! He doesn’t want to get that molly to go hands-on with his girl!
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Things turn from funny to uncomfortable for Arthur right there, a sour bubbling in his stomach at how Quincy looks at Darcy, how he tries to kiss her… except she giggles and scolds and tells him: “No, bad puppy! You’re not thinking!” which… which is just… very strange. But enough of a distraction to look at John’s wrist. Which is fine, no bite mark to be seen, though John’s facial expression is very grossed out.
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Now, John’s glad that his girl is clearly still mopping the floor with the molly but enough is enough, grabbing Quincy by the back of his shirt, he yanks him backwards and off of Darcy, adds a “Down, you dog of a drac!” for good measure, but makes sure to hold him at arm’s length before he decides to just re-aim that dhampir need. Ugh, okay, John should have known that there had to be a down-side to dhampir libido, but did it have to be so molly-shaped?
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Arthur feels very torn. On the one hand, he’d really like to leave now, given Quincy’s, uh… mood. On the other hand, he wants to be there for him when it comes to explanations, because he wants to know whether Quincy knew anything about being a dhampir, whether he knows who his vampire parent is, whether he knows anything of what’s going on with Darcy. And also, he wants to be there if someone still needs healing. So he ends up shifting uncomfortably where he’s crouching, looking between the others, but not ready to make his excuses and get out.
Finally noticing his discomfort, Darcy smiles at Arthur, thanks him for always being there for her, too. “But you really can wait outside until he calms down… I… I think I need to clear my head, too. I did this to him, after all.”
John grunts and nods, grabs one of Quincy’s wrists to hold him easier. “Yeah, I got this here.”
Arthur bites his lip. “You’re sure? You’ll be okay? No more healing needed? Also, you’ll let me know when, um, when he’s calmed down? There’s… well, some questions I’m curious about…”
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After slipping into her shoes and getting up, Darcy puts a kiss on John’s cheek, ends up giggling because Quincy is getting whiney again about her getting away, but smiles at all of them. “John can handle it. He’s big and strong.”
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Well, obviously, now even if he couldn’t handle it, John would fucking rather die trying than admitting otherwise, so he nods and indicates the door to Arthur.
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Well, if he’s given that much opportunity to leave… Arthur gets up, and nods at them, and says: “Um, I’ll just be down the hall in the study, let me know when…?”
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Nodding again, John watches both of them leave and right, now he’s alone in Darcy’s room with an amorous molly, well fuck his life. Although, he’d say that that one’s calming down, calming down hard, woah, and now he fainted. Well, great. Okay, put him on the sofa and wait it out, he guesses. And because right now nobody can see him do it, he makes sure that Quincy is stable and can’t choke on his own tongue, just in case, just because Darcy would be upset.
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Arthur holds the door for Darcy and then closes it after them, gives her another concerned look. “Are you okay?” She just said she was, but she also said she did this to Quincy, and… and he’s not sure how to express his support, or… maybe he should have done something different, something to prevent this?
With her eyes on the floor, she sighs. “Not really. I’m going to my music room. Please tell Quincy I’m sorry and I know that doesn’t come close to being adequate, and if he hates me I deserve that. I don’t know what came over me.”
Arthur reaches out a hesitant arm in offer of a hug. “We’ll, um… we’ll figure out what happened? I mean, there’s got to be some kind of factor at play here, ’cause it’s not like you to…” He’s not sure how to put it. He can’t say ‘hurt people’, because if they’re in a fight, Darcy does that. And sometimes she’s reckless. But this is still not like her. “Do something without a reason,” he decides on.
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“Thank you.” She allows herself to lean into him, puts her arms around his waist and sighs again, just holds on for a little bit before letting go again. “I trust you. I just need a little bit. I’m not sure I’m ready to talk to Quincy right away. Or if he even wants to.”
Arthur hugs her back, then nods. “Of course, that’s understandable. And I’ll be here whatever the outcome is,” he assures her.
Maybe she shouldn’t say it. Maybe he will feel like she’s trying to claim him. Like she’s not respecting that he’s Gregory’s friend, not hers, but still, taking his hand again with a shy smile, she nods. “I know that I can always depend on you. Thank you, Arthur-dear.” Squeezing his hand once, twice because she wants to, she gives him another smile, but then gets worried she’s too much and lets go to turn and run off to her music room.
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Arthur smiles back, glad to hear that Darcy thinks that, and then lets her go to do her own thing- he doesn’t want to intrude, after all. Instead, he heads back to the study to wait. He tries to pick some of the work back up, but finds he can’t concentrate on it as he keeps listening down the hall for any new developments.