Page 14 of Dark Stars

"You get the backstabber, we'll round up the cultists, bring everybody here for a come to Jesus meeting. Though less with the Jesus and more with the primordial dark."

Bobby laughed.

"Sounds good, but don't think I don't know you just want to spend more time with the bloodmate you've been carefully not looking at all this time."

"Shut the fuck up,"

Jones hissed, eyes glowing for the barest moment before he stormed out, door slamming behind him.

"Don't say another word about it,"

Harold said with a sigh as Bobby slid a glance his way, then headed out the same door, though he closed it quietly behind him.

Pulling on jeans and t-shirt, Bobby dropped a kiss on Alejo's mouth, snickering fondly when all that got him was sleepy mumbles before he rolled over and burrowed into Bobby's pillow.

He jotted a quick note, left it on the nightstand where Alejo would hopefully see it, and left.

Outside, he snaked tendrils deep, deep into the ground, letting them spread, connecting to the whole of this little town he called home, seeking out interlopers.

The cultists were easy enough, but the other two didn't need his help in that regard. Certainly a possessive, territorial vampire didn't, especially when he had a brand new bloodmate to protect, even though Harold would knock his fangs out for trying to pull any of that protective crap on him.

Man, he'd known they were into each other, but he had completely missed the real strength of their bond. Most hilarious plot-twist ever.

There.

Amusing thoughts of his friends broke off as he found the unmistakable presence of a demon-touched. The lake. Why was he all the way out there? Leviathan had strong ties to water…surely the stupid bastard wasn't going to try and repeat the summon that had started this whole mess?

Jaw tight, an urgency in his blood now, Bobby sank down into the dark, moving through it like an eel through water, traveling swiftly across town to the far western edge.

He emerged from the shadows by the south end of the lake, riddled with picnic areas that by day often were filled with birthday parties, weekend barbeques, sporting event after-parties, and so forth. There was an artificial island in the middle of the lake that kids loved to swim to as proof of their capabilities or to race for bragging rights. Paddle boats, floats, other assorted water equipment that could be borrowed or rented.

It was a charming area, and the great serpent that lived at the bottom made for great company some nights.

Bobby sent out a gentle pulse of power, a soft request. Company would be nice, but it wasn't required, so he left it to his beloved fireflies to decide whether or not to show up.

They drifted in slowly, in two and three, until he had dozens of them flickering about his space, trailing along idly, a few clinging to his hair and clothes as they made their way around the lake looking for something—someone—that didn't belong.

The fireflies found him first, but only by a matter of seconds. Once Bobby turned the bend in a walking path that looped around the lake, the man was hard to miss. He was one of those frosty blonds: pale hair, pale skin, pale blue eyes. Beneath the moonlight he practically glowed, looked more like a story book ghost than a living, breathing person.

He was achingly beautiful, Bobby would give him that. He wouldn't look out of place as a prince on a throne, beloved of those he kept in power, hated by actual people who could see the rot beneath the surface.

And this boy, this fragile, pathetic child, definitely smelled of rot.

Bobby approached silently, only the gentle flickering of his beloved fireflies to herald his arrival. One would think a witch, a hunter, would have more situational awareness, but to be fair, when Bobby didn't want to be seen, he wasn't seen.

"Little human,"

he said when he was five or so feet away, "you are far from home and wandering into places you should not be."

The man whipped around, eyes wide and dark with a fear quickly masked by that petulant anger all rich, entitled brats seemed to master by the time they were ten.

"Who are you?"

"You are the intruder, you tell me who you are,"

Bobby replied coolly. It said a lot that in all of this, Alejo had never once told him the name of his old, backstabbing friend.

"I don't hand my name out to strangers, especially not fucking weirdos skulking in the woods. Tell me who the fuck you are, or you'll find out real fucking fast that I'm not to be trifled with."

Bobby laughed, letting some of his power trickle into the sound.

"Little child of thin wiccan blood, you wouldn't even be a snack to me. I don't need your name to break you into pieces, reduce you to a drooling shell locked away where your parents can pretend you never existed in the first place."

"Who the fuck are you?"

the man repeated as he took a step back, and then another, the fear returning sharply, as pungent as fresh spilled gasoline.

"What the fuck am I would probably be a more accurate question, but regardless, the answer remains the same: none of your business. Now, will you tell me your name, little witch far from home, or shall I ask the dark to tell me?"

"The dark? What the fuck does that mean?"

He backed up another step, so he must have some sense, even if that was only instinctive self-preservation. Licking his lips, he said haltingly, "Michael."

Bobby blinked, then gave a small chuckle.

"I honestly thought it would be Worthington or Chadmoore or some other rich brat type of name. Hmm. If you have come in search of answers regarding Leviathan, you'd do better to take your questions and leave."

Anger overrode fear again, and Michael surged forward, stopping just short of touching distance.

"What did you do! I felt everything fall apart. You have no idea what you're mucking with!"

Okay, that was genuinely irritating. How stupid and arrogant was this child? "Just because you don't know what you're doing when it comes to demons doesn't mean I share that ignorance. Leviathan and I brokered a deal."

"A deal? What kind of deal?"

"None of your business. You know, despite everything, I was willing to be kind about this, or at least tolerant. I would have let you go. But all you've mentioned so far is Leviathan. You have been angry and afraid in turns, but all your concern is for yourself. Not once have you asked about the man you betrayed, the man you hurt. If you had displayed any sort of worry for him, I would have let you leave here relatively unscathed. Now, though, when you leave—if you are permitted to live—you will bear the scars, inside and out, of having made the mistake to draw my anger. Time to go, little witch."

"What—"

He broke off as he was smothered in darkness, then was screaming in terror a moment later as Bobby drew him, drew him down, down into the dark and cold.

When the reemerged back at his house moments later, Michael's hair was no longer pale blond, but true white, and he shivered as though moments away from hypothermia.

"What— what—"

"Shush now,"

Bobby said, not unkindly, and led him into the house.

"Bobby!"

Alejo surged forward, then stopped and reeled back.

"Michael? What the hell happened to you? Why did you come all the way across the country? How did you find me?"

"Give him a minute. He didn't take well to my little shortcut."

Bobby half-led, half-dragged Michael into the kitchen and sat him at the table before going to make a fresh pot of coffee.

"Thought you'd still be asleep."

"Woke up to pee, saw your note on the way back. Was about to call when I heard you come inside. What happened?"

"Not much, really,"

Bobby replied, and explained the short encounter by the lake. When the coffee had finished brewing, he poured a cup with plenty of cream and sugar for Michael and slid it across the table to him.

"Drink up. If you can keep that down, I'll give you food."

"I don't think you're supposed to give coffee to someone you think might throw up."

Bobby shrugged.

"It's more about comfort than anything else, and humans do like their coffee. At least here in the States. Drink up, child."

"St-st-stay away from me, you fr-freak."

Snorting softly, Bobby poured himself a cup of coffee and dug out his phone to text Harold. How goes the cultist hunting? I've secured package #1

SSDD. Be back in thirty or so.

"Looks like Jones and Harold will be back in the next half hour-ish with the cultists who managed to find their way here."

He set the phone aside and took a sip of coffee, looking over the rim at Alejo. He hovered in the doorway, gaze flitting between warily watching Michael and glancing almost shyly at Bobby.

He held out his left arm, beckoning Alejo in.

"Come here."

Smiling happily, Alejo immediately obeyed, resting his hands on Bobby's chest as he was looped in.

"Hope you didn't have too much fun without me."

"Not much at all, really. Afraid this one is all work, no pleasure. Not unless I can break his mind into pieces and eat him, but that's probably excessive."

"Jury's still out,"

Alejo murmured before meeting the kiss Bobby bent to give him, sighing happily into it.

"What in the fuck,"

Michael bit out, voice still shaky with terror but underscored with genuine anger.

Bobby ignored him, focused entirely on kissing his lover, the warmth and softness of his mouth, the way Alejo's fingers curled into his chest, loosely gripping at his shirt, the pleased noises he made as Bobby marked him from the inside out.

When they finally drew apart, he'd nearly forgotten about the annoying little brat in his kitchen.

"What the fuck, Alejandro?"

Michael asked.

"You left town like a couple of weeks ago. Now you're here swapping spit with some non-human weirdo? Your mom—"

"Is deeply disappointed she can't kill you herself,"

Alejo snarled.

"You bound me to a demon. We were friends since childhood. I told you how I felt and you ghosted me for two weeks, and then I still defied my entire family to help you, and you sacrificed me to save your own stupid, reckless self. You lost any right to comment on my life, and you're lucky Bobby hasn't already dismembered you and turned you into soup stock."

"Oh, that's a good idea,"

Bobby said thoughtfully, rubbing the back of a finger under his chin.

"There's quite a few creatures around here who would love a soup made with human stock for a base. Hmm…."

Michael looked ready to scream or cry or both.

"What in the fuck—"

He broke off as the door slammed open, and Jones came barreling into the kitchen with a man draped over his shoulder. Harold was right behind him with another, kicking the door shut behind him before they heaved off to deposit the captives on the floor in the front rooms.

"Guess everyone is here,"

Bobby said cheerfully, and got a cup of coffee ready for Harold.

"So how'd it go?"

he asked as they strode back into the kitchen free of their burdens.

Harold grunted and took the coffee.

"They worship your stupid family, all right. These two have been doing it for awhile, to judge by how far the corruption has progressed."

"Oh, yeah? We didn't run into anyone that far along, so they must have been working elsewhere or were being kept hidden. The ones we dealt with were all baby faces."

Jones grunted.

"Hidden would make sense. These two have been drinking mommy's milk for a long time. A few years, at least."

"Which means someone even more corrupted is lurking in the shadows,"

Bobby said grimly.

"Damn it, I need to get back to Marsh."

"May as well interrogate these bastards first."

His eyes slid over Michael.

"Speaking of baby faces, this is the chump that summoned Leviathan and forced Alejo into an engagement? He looks like he couldn't curse a mouse."

Michael bristled.

"I come from a long line of Wiccans, you stupid jackass. I can take anything you try to throw at me."

Jones laughed, a low, mean sound, and his eyes glowed faintly red as he replied, "Little boy, I probably drained some of your ancestors dry."

"Vampire,"

Michael hissed.

"I'll stake you—"

"Be quiet,"

Bobby cut in, "or I'll remove your tongue."

Michael's mouth closed so hard his teeth clicked, and he stared at Bobby like a bird watching a cat.

"What are you?"

"Little boys who backstab their friends and treat with demons don't get to ask questions. Now sit there, drink your coffee, and we'll deal with you after we're done with our little cult friends. Alejo, do you want to stay with him or come with us?"

"Should he be left alone?"

Alejo asked.

"I'd rather go with you, but…"

"He can't do anything I won't know about, and just to be completely overzealous about it…"

Bobby stepped in close, grabbed Michael by the throat, and hauled him upright. A quick flick of a clawed thumb had blood seeping from a small cut in his cheek. Bobby licked it away.

"Stay in this kitchen and behave. If you try anything, I'll know. If you try to leave, you won't get far. I have the taste of you now. I'll know you anywhere, no matter how you try to disguise or hide. I can follow you, find you, wherever you go. So behave."

He dropped Michael back in his chair and led the others from the kitchen into the rest of the house.

The cultists were tied up, both physically and with arcana, and they stared wide-eyed at Bobby.

"You're one of them! You are the same blood as our Great Mistress the All-Mother. Are you one of her holy spawn?"

Bobby laughed.

"No, certainly not. The Black Goat would rather eat me than acknowledge me."

The second cultist, smaller and quieter than the first, "But you bear the same energy markers as the Lord of the Forest. Different in many ways, but unmistakably the same."

"Do I?"

Bobby asked softly. That was a problem. If they could see such things, they were even more advanced—corrupted—than Jones had theorized. Which meant they could also hide their true powers.

"Who are you, then? Corrupted Humans turned Adoring Spawn of the All-Mother? And why shouldn't I kill you outright for the atrocities you have wrought? The All-Mother enjoys her bloodbaths, the chaos that comes from worship and hunger and greed. How many lives have you taken? How many more would you take to please her? To continue drinking her milk?"

"Who are you?"

the first one asked.

"I am Ctheldush, son of the Secret One."

The two shared a look, some silent conversation, before they turned back to him and the smaller one said, "So it's true, all the whispers in the dark. The Secret One took her pleasures in a human and bore a halfling monstrosity who brings deadly light to the dark places. The Lord of the Flickering Lights."

Bobby recoiled. He was talked about? He had a title? The dark had never told him that.

The urge to run, to confront the dark about this, was strong, but he would not show such weakness before these little humans. Instead, he stood his ground and only replied, "I prefer Bobby. What are your names?"

"I am The Lady's Moon."

"Of course you are,"

Bobby said with a sigh. His mother would be so entertained by all of this.

"You then?"

"I am The Eclipse of the Final Dawn."

Harold rolled his eyes.

"I forgot how fucking stupid they get."

Jones snorted.

"Moon, Eclipse. Whatever. You're going to tell me everything I want to know, one way or another. Who wants to go first?"