The hush Liam left behind was thicker than any growl. Scott looked at the doorway, then at Damien, his Beta senses still resonating with the leftover cold of Liam's presence. Stiles was stuck, mouth slightly open, a look of deep shock scrawled on his face.
"Vampires?" Stiles finally was able to croak, the word feeling foreign on his tongue. "Seriously? So we've got werewolves, hunters, a psycho Druid sacrificing humans, a Lycan who's a superpower on legs, and now. Dracula's distant relatives? Is this just a supernatural creature buffet now? What's next? Zombies? Fairies? Please tell me no sparkly fairies."
Scott rubbed a hand over his face, attempting to think through. "Liam… Liam Dunbar? From our high school? He's a… a vampire?" The idea seemed too ridiculous, too like something out of a poor horror film.
Damien stood before their stunned stares, his golden eyes inscrutable. "He is an envoy. And yes, a vampire. An ancient one, if Carmilla is indeed his 'mother.' Their sort are few, elusive. They do not venture into the affairs of others often unless something important catches their eye. The Darach's rise, and maybe my own arrival, have done just that.
"But you're going?" Scott asked, his voice laced with desperate concern. "Alone? To meet an *ancient vampire queen*? That's like signing up for 'Worst Decisions Ever' and then getting the bonus level."
"We require knowledge, Scott," Damien said, his voice firm. "Peter is intelligent, but limited. Carmilla is a different sphere. She is an ancient force, with ancient understanding. If she is focused on the Darach, her understanding could be priceless. And if she is indeed a 'queen,' then she might be able to bring a level of direct action to bear that we cannot."
"Or she could suck you dry and turn your Lycan energy into dark magic for herself!" Stiles broke in, already pacing a nervous circle. "Aren't those, like, Vampire Queen 101? She sucks up the strong, absorbs their power, buys designer capes, the whole nine yards."
Damien accorded Stiles a stoic, disarming smirk. "Then I guess we will find out whether or not Lycan essence goes well with designer capes. This gathering is unavoidable, Scott. It is important. Her people don't issue invitations lightly.
He looked at the wall clock. Midnight was closing in. "Stay here. Keep researching on your own, Stiles. Scott, be alert. The Darach is not cautious. Don't underestimates her. And don't trust Peter."
With that, Damien turned and departed, Scott and Stiles watching the empty doorway, the oppressive silence lending tension to their nervousness.
---
Liam waited by the edge of Beacon Hills Preserve, among a group of gnarled, ancient oaks. The temperature was crisp, with the smell of moist soil and far-off fear. When Damien arrived, Liam merely nodded, his ruby-colored eyes shining dimly under the moon.
"The estate is close by," Liam stated, his tone suave. "My primary values being on time."
They traveled at night like specters, Liam in the lead with preternatural quiet, Damien keeping pace with ease. Liam glanced at Damien every so often, a flash of interest in his old eyes. He recalled the raw, unbridled power he'd picked up on when Damien originally burst into Beacon Hills, a energy that had vibrated in the very ley lines of the ground. Carmilla had not been so intrigued by a new supernatural appearance in a very long while.
The estate seemed to materialize out of nowhere, a large, gothic manspread unobtrusively deep in a heavy grove of huge trees. It was incredibly ancient, yet precision-maintained, its black stone walls drinking in the moonlight. No tangible security, no guards, but Damien's perceptions howled with the heavy presence of old power, hidden wards, and the residual sense of very, very many centuries.
Within, the quiet was deep, interrupted only by the gentle whisper of their footfalls across rich carpets. The air was chilly, imbued with the smell of something similar to old parchment, dust, and a subtle, sweet metallic bite. Liam guided Damien along shadowy hallways, the towering stacks of shelf-steadied books packed with dusty volumes of forgotten knowledge and tapestries full of images lost to time.
They came into a great room, poorly lit by gimleting sconces that threw long, leaping shadows. At the back of the room, on a throne of what appeared to be dark, polished obsidian, was **Carmilla**.
She was stunning. Her skin was impossibly pale, a faint shimmering almost translucency, her crimson eyes carrying the wisdom and weariness of seven hundred years. She wore a gown of midnight velvet that seemed to ripple like liquid shadow, her long dark hair cascading around her shoulders. She radiated an aura of ancient power, cold elegance, and unstinting authority.
"Lycan," the voice of Carmilla was a low, song-like whisper that drew the light in the room into itself, pulsing with a power that suggested millennia. "Welcome. I am Carmilla."
Damien stood his ground, his golden eyes locked and unyielding. He could feel the fierce power emanating from her, a raw, untamed force that could, if not surpass, at least equal Peter Hale's Alpha presence. But hers was colder, more polished, keener, like ancient ice. "Carmilla," he greeted, his tone a low growl. "I am Damien.
Carmilla waived a slender hand, beckoning to a gilt chair across from her throne. "Please. Liam's dispatches were. interesting. Your arrival in this town was quite. dramatic. A Lycan. So unusual. So strong. I admit, my interest was most strongly provoked."
Damien sat, his senses tingling, registering the slight, disturbing buzz of undiscernible power encircling Carmilla. "And your curiosity, I assume, goes beyond fascination?
Carmilla's lips smiled into a thin, wolfish smile. "Always. We are creatures of great heritage, Lycan. We know the fine balance of the supernatural world. The Darach's actions disrupt that balance. Her means are clumsy, her power raw, and her ambition… disruptive. She attracts unwanted attention. And taps into the very forces of Beacon Hills, warping them."
"You talk as if this town belonged to you," Damien said.
In a manner of speaking," Carmilla agreed, a subtle glint in her scarlet eyes. "We have watched this land for centuries. The Nemeton. it is a strong nexus. Its corruption affects everyone. Including my people." She leaned forward slightly, speaking in an almost conspiratorial whisper. "Liam has explained your. special talents. The control you possess. It is a special gift, Lycan.". A psychic command that warps others to your will. I could feel its subtle strength even at a distance. A very interesting evolutionary leap for your species.
Damien experienced a spark of discomfort. She was examining, analyzing his power. He had only just started to comprehend it himself, these waves of command over others, over things, over the very elements.
"What do you suggest?" Damien asked, attempting to change the subject.
"An exchange," Carmilla replied. "Your intelligence concerning the Darach's real motives and vulnerabilities. My resources, which are substantial. For. understanding. Understanding of your heritage. Of your strength. And an alliance for the time being against this disrupting influence." She hesitated, her eyes cutting. "The Darach desires to corrupt the Nemeton by means of old bloodlines. To essentially break its connection to natural harmony, she requires a very particular type of sacrifice.". One whose family is irrevocably tied to the Nemeton's beginning.
Damien's jaw clenched. This was new intel, a cold fact that had echoed something Peter had suggested, but much more precise. A particular bloodline tied to the Nemeton's beginning. He stored the information away, aware it was crucial, and perilously precise.
"What type of bloodline?" Damien asked, his tone even.
Carmilla smiled, a cold, calculating expression. "That, Lycan, I would reveal only after our partnership is guaranteed. For now, be aware that the Darach is determined to finish her last ritual, and it will be a great sacrifice of one of the most important guardian bloodlines. And she is close to securing her last target." She lingered, her scarlet eyes fixed on his. "Are you willing to place your faith in an old foe to vanquish a current enemy?"
Damien looked at her, the burden of the choice heavy on his shoulders. Trusting Peter was one thing, but trusting an old vampire queen with an overt, hungry interest in his own strength was quite another. But the Darach's unstoppable push, and the sheer volume of information Carmilla provided, were impossible to ignore.
"If our interests are as aligned, Carmilla," Damien said, his voice low, "then aye. For the time being, an alliance. But my heritage… and my strength… belong to me. They are not subject to analysis."
Carmilla merely laughed, a low, cold sound that seemed to reverberate off the large room. "We shall see, Lycan. We shall see."