princekiller | it's not a date unless somebody dies

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it's not a date unless somebody dies

Since Erasmus's arrival, there had been little opportunity for Damen to spend time alone with Laurent. A boy raised as a slave, raised to serve to such a degree as Erasmus, could not be left alone to fend for himself in a world as strange as this. And so Damen had taken him in, taken him under his wing to an extent. Laurent, upon learning that Damen now shared a dwelling with the boy who had been raised to become his personal body slave - even if that boy was still unaware of Damen's true identity - had sworn to not set foot in Damen's apartment.

In truth, Damen did not quite understand the upset, though he knew Erasmus was likely to drop to his knees out of sheer habit should the man he knew only as the Prince of Vere were to enter his presence.

It was partially that reason, but largely that Damen had found himself longing to be near Laurent more and more with each passing week, that found him in Laurent's terrace, lounging upon the chaise with Laurent pressed against his side. Dutch had shown him quite some time ago how to operate the television and had suggested the notion of staring at with Laurent as a courting activity.

Though it had taken some time to find anything both he and Laurent could agree worth watching, Damen could now see the appeal. It was a quiet even. Relaxed. The majority of Damen's focus was centered on the press of Laurent's arm against his own, Laurent's slow and even breathing, the light brush of Laurent's hair upon Damen's shoulder. But even so, he was hardly uncomfortable.

'If I happen to fall asleep right here, will you attend me?' he asked after a long, silent moment, his lips quirked into a faint grin as he smoothed a hand down Laurent's arm.

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It had taken time for the blonde one to leave. Dutch's plans had only included the tall one, the one that she'd seen before but hadn't gotten much of a chance to play with. That was all due to change today. She's not sure how much longer she'll be able to be here so the time to strike is now.

It's been far too long since she's really played and she's started to get antsy. So, when the blonde one leaves, she slips her way into the room, keeping to the shadows and watching Damen's lazy sprawl.

There's a knife in one hand, pointed at the floor, an action she's soon to correct. Stepping lightly, she comes up behind the couch, behind Damen and tilts her head, smiling down at him pleasantly.

And she waits. Waits to see his realization and to see what sort of action he'll take.

Sounds filtered from the television, filling the room with a constant chatter that Damen found oddly comforting. It wasn't so different from conversations held around a campfire, Damen picking up on the conversation here and there as he drifted in and out of consciousness and sunk deeper into the cushions of the chaise.

He tried to remain aware of the door, of the sound of Laurent's return and, though he wasn't aware of the knob turning, he did hear footsteps soon enough.

'How was your walk?' he asked, tipping his head to the side, though he kept his eyes closed. The chaise really was alarmingly comfortable.

He really was quite the oblivious one right now, wasn't he? Dutch doesn't answer immediately, choosing to admire how innocent and peaceful he looks. Whatever he and the other one had been talking about doesn't seem to have bothered him too much.

But, she's been asked a question and Dutch's manners have always been impeccable when she's chosen to use them. So, she brings the dagger up, holds it just beside his cheek when she says, "Oh, it was very pleasant."

She waits and watches for his eyes to open, for recognition to register. She wants him to know who's there before she starts in the pain.

Damen interpreted Laurent's silence as continued irritation, the time he'd spent out clearly not having much of an affect upon his mood or his upset with Damen's decisions regarding Erasmus.

And then several things occurred at once: Damen sighed and something cool pressed against his cheek and voice that most certainly did not belong to Laurent sounded through the room. Damen's eyes snapped open and he jerked, the movement enough to press the blade against his cheek cutting through skin.

'Dutch,' he breathed, his blood cold with shock.

It took only a moment longer to realize the Dutch above him was not the Dutch he considered a friend, but one from the other city. The one he'd met only a week or so previous. It wouldn't take much to disarm and overwhelm her, but Damen stayed as he was, a trickle of blood slithering down his cheek. Dread pooled hot in in his belly. 'What have you done with him?'

"Oh, is that any way to greet your friend?" Dutch smiles and presses the knife just a little more against his cheek. There's a fine laceration on his skin, a sluice of blood sliding down and painting the cool metal of the knife red. Oh, that's a good start. A very, very good start.

"I haven't done anything to him," she replies, taking out the other dagger and letting it rest against the prominent vein in his neck. She doesn't think he'll risk making a move but almost any he does will be countered and turned into a devastating injury for him.

"He's just left you behind like the uncaring person that he is," Dutch coos, smiling down at him. "He'll come back to quite the sight, won't he?"

Any thought Damen had to ducking free and disarming her evaporated at the press of another sharp blade to his throat. Muscles drawn tight, Damen hissed in a breath and pushed back against the cushions, glaring up at Dutch.

Her words had little effect; whatever Laurent's reasons for leaving, they had nothing to do with her, he was certain. And it would only be a matter of time before he returned. That notion did like to comfort, however, given that Laurent would return unarmed; as skilled as he was, he would certainly struggle against two blades.

Keeping still, Damen considered his options and refused to show any bit of weakness as he breathed carefully. 'Yes,' he said, his voice quiet and even. 'He'll return to the sight of you dead upon the floor. Is that your plan?'

Dutch laughs though the sound is anything but pleasant. It's dark, edged with a mania that is both dangerous and terrifying. It's a sound many before him have heard just before she's cut their throats from ear to ear. A red smile that marks the end of their life.

"Are you planning on killing me while you bleed out from the large open wound in your neck?" Dutch asks, sliding the knife against his neck back and forth. The blade whispers over his skin, cutting very superficially. "That's quite the ambitious aim you have there, friend. I don't think it's going to go like that but it's cute anyway. No, no. I thought I'd open up your pretty little neck and leave your friend with the stains."

In the many months Damen had known Dutch, he had never heard from her a laugh like that. It caught under his skin as surely as the knife upon his throat and he swallowed tightly, unease winding hotter in his belly.

Once again, Damen considered his options. He had no weapon within easy range, no blade or even blunt object. If this Dutch was anything like the one he considered a friend, her training was extensive. Damen would have a single chance to defend himself and strike in return, and likely not much more.

His fingers twitched at his side, head dropping back to avoid the sharp edge of the blade even as bit into his skin.

'You're dead the minute he steps through the door,' Damen said, his eyes still on hers. 'He's ruthless. He'll kill you without a thought.'

"But, he's not here, is he?" Dutch croons, glancing at the door. Maybe she should have knocked this one out and locked the door but she was well into her plans now and stopping would only make the fun stop. She doesn't have plans to make this last long, not with the blonde one returning soon but she's not about to cease her activities completely.

Dutch taps the knife against his vein thoughtfully before moving the other one up to his ear, letting the blade trace a path around his ear. She didn't press hard enough to cut but she was thinking about it.

"What if I could take this?" she asks, pressing the point of the blade against his earlobe. "As a souvenir, that is. I don't usually take things but this would look positive divine on my nightstand."

Damen's words were more promise than threat even as they felt strange on his tongue. Months ago, Laurent would not have raised a finger to help him. Months ago, Laurent might have helped, in fact. Here, Damen was of no use to Laurent, after all.

A chilling thought struck Damen in that moment: the notion that Laurent was at the heart of this attack, that Dutch's blade pressed to his skin by Laurent's bidding.

It would hardly be the first time Damen had been betrayed by a lover.

His heart seized in his chest just as Dutch trailed the tip of the knife to his ear, pressing now not hard enough to break skin, but nearly. 'Not good enough wouldn't wear about your neck like a pendant?' he replied, an attempt to ignore the fresh wave of unease clawing at his throat. 'Think I'm insulted.'

"You know, while I do love talking to you, I don't think I'm going to let you continue to stall me," she drawls, drawing the tip of the knife around his ear with the intent to cut, to bleed, to hurt. It's not deep enough to fully extract the body part but she'll get to that.

"This is much more fun," she decides, keeping the other knife right at his throat, pressing hard enough to separate skin torturously slow. "Tell me, do you prefer me to do this right handed or left handed? I'm able to do both, you know. And I'm feeling quite generous tonight."

She matched her words with action, pressing the blade hard enough against Damen's throat to break the skin. With some effort, Damen managed to not so much as flinch, though the muscles in his thighs clenched tight and his eyes remained locked on hers.

He kept his breathing as slow as he could manage, not wanting to give her any sort of warning even as blood welled and spilled over.

And then he moved, tipping his head back away from the blades as he brought up both hands to her wrists, his grip nearly tight enough to render immobile. It was the only chance he had, he knew. His only means of possibly coming out of this alive as he pushed up to his feet, twisting Dutch's wrists sharply to both dislodge the knives and hear the satisfying crack of bone.

Though he had anticipated it, the sight of a slender form letting itself into his rooms sent a spike of adrenaline through him. Laurent waited in stillness until the intruder had shut the door behind her. There was little time to make an inventory, but he had spied on her person only a hiding place for knives - this would buy both he and Damen time.

Pulling out his mobile phone, Laurent sent a message to the only other person he trusted in Darrow, and John Riley did not disappoint. He had assurances in moments and, feeling more confident than he had minutes before, Laurent returned to his door and opened it.

He had already steeled himself to a number of tableaus, and the one that greeted him did not rank among the worst scenarios. Laurent could not enjoy the blood on Damen's face and throat, but the man was upright, and the snap of bones beneath his hands was unmistakeable. Laurent's gaze found the woman's face, eager to observe the moment that she discovered how deeply she had miscalculated.

He said, 'Do you have this under control?'

The sound of the door swinging open was lost amidst the crack of bone and Dutch's sharp, pained yelp. But Laurent's voice cut through, surprising enough to make Damen's breath catch, though his grip on Dutch's wrists remained.

He looked just the same as earlier, the walk having not blown a single hair out of place or brought any semblance of a blush to his cheeks.

Dutch struggled under his hold as Damen's eyes narrowed. 'Are you speaking to her or to me?' he asked, stomach twisting with a familiar, bitter twist of betrayal. Even now his mind didn't want to believe it. It had been months since Laurent's arrival, weeks since they had fallen into one another. Had it all been another plan? Damen held no kingdom here, but his identity had not changed. Was this Laurent's attempt at finally avenging Auguste?

This question provoked a stronger reaction than had the blood, found in a brief widening of Laurent's eyes. Perhaps he could not fault Damen for his suspicion - he had not gone through all that Laurent and the Damen of home had done - but despite any expectations that Damen might have of Laurent being false, he had not been false. He had been very much the opposite, and Damen was alone among all men to appreciate what that meant.

Laurent repressed a sudden, childish urge to request that John Riley adjust his target and said, 'You, Damen. If not I have summoned reinforcements.'

There was pain but she refuses to let it show on her face. The bones are in her wrists are grinding together, making black spots dance in front of her eyes. Her pain tolerance is high but even she has a limit and she's just hoping she's able to get to the other blades hidden on her person before she reaches that limit.

She refuses to accept this as a defeat. She refuses to think she's been bested.

"Is this a lover's quarrel?" Dutch asks, tone just the slightest bit strained. She twists around in Damen's grip, trying to slip at least one arm free. That's all she needs. That's all. "How cute. I'll be sure to tell this to all my friends back home once I've finished carving you both up. And here I thought I'd only get to do the one of you. How lucky for me."

Laurent's expression shifted, his eyes dropping wide in clear surprise. It, too, could have been an act, but instinct sat heavy in Damen's gut and he let relief wash through him.

'Reinforcements?' he asked, his voice softer as he cast a glance to the space beyond Laurent's shoulder and found it empty. 'Of what kind?'

His questions were largely overshadowed by the woman struggling against his hold. Her face was still disconcerting even knowing as he did that she was not the real Dutch, not the one he knew and considered a friend. His lips twisted into a snarl then and he moved sharply, grabbing the arm she tried to dislodge and yanking it behind her, not caring for any broken bones or ripped muscles. 'You'll be lucky if he doesn't rip your head from your shoulders,' Damen said.

'Indeed,' said Laurent mildly. 'You have been skulking after him for weeks, yes? You must have seen his back by now. If I will strip the skin from a lover, imagine what I will do to you.'

He stepped closer. He trusted Damen's skill - and bulk - to keep her in check, but the woman was remarkably confident for a prisoner with already broken bones. He would not like to underestimate her. Neither did Laurent answer Damen's question. Let the woman think he lied, that there was no one else to help them. It was preferable to keep surprise on his side, and the pair of them near a window.

'Is that all that you desired of him?' he asked. 'To apply your knife for sport and then be gone?' Laurent's eyes narrowed - he thought very little of sadists, and even less of their motivations. 'And now you have broken bones for the sake of entertainment. Was it worth it?'

"Very worth it," she says, defiant to the last. She's not planning on showing weakness, vulnerability. She's not going to beg for her life. If this is where it ends, this is where it ends and she'll die knowing that she had so much fun and took so many people with her.

"But to answer your question, yes, I planned to carve him up and leave a very wet surprise for you," she spits, laughing to cover up a grimace of pain. "It would have been fun. You're welcome to join me if you'd like. I've enough blades to share."

Dutch knows that she's not going to really be able to grip said blades but there are other ways to cut, to carve, to bleed someone dry and she knows them all.

She held her high, not unlike what Damen might have expected from Jokaste in the final moments preceding death. Jokaste would not have dirtied her hands, however; but would have gotten someone else to do it for her.

Laurent stepped closer, an easy movement as he continued and at her invitation for Laurent to join, Damen's hold tightened. His eyes met Laurent's, part question and part challenge. As seasoned a fighter as Damen was, as skilled as he knew himself to be, he would still be no match against two armed with blades.

But he would not go easily, a fact Laurent would also know.

'Quite the invitation,' Damen remarked then, his eyes still locked on Laurent's. 'What do you say? Have any desire to peel more flesh from my bone?'

'I had thought to give you a cloth to clean up, but you would only assume it poisoned,' said Laurent, returning that look with rare fire. Half broken or not, Damen's assailant was still a danger, and the situation required control. Knowing that Damen still doubted him made it more difficult to reach, but Laurent took a breath. He knew what it was to stand alone. He had not expected nor desired to do so again, but he could.

He turned his head, wishing for a reason for John to open fire and put an end to this. 'Shall I call their police service or would the pair of you like to insult me further?'

Months of knowing Laurent as a friend followed by weeks as a lover had attuned Damen to the man's many moods as well as his masks. His walls. More importantly, it had attuned him to Laurent's moments of vulnerability, rare as they were. But not so rare as they'd once been.

There was still a chance this was all a ruse, yet another carefully orchestrated betrayal, but Damen couldn't fathom what Laurent would have to gain here aside from simple vengeance. What's more, there was an edge of hurt in the sharp of Laurent's tone.

Damen's frown deepened.

'Did you truly go for a walk?' he asked, his focus solely on Laurent now and not the woman who's wrists he still held. This was not about her. 'Did you leave knowing she was here?'

The pain in her wrists is shooting up her arms and settling into a headache right behind her eyes. She's stopped moving so much so she doesn't pass out but if she doesn't do something right now, she's going to pass out and everything she's planned, everything she's wanted to do will be for naught.

Dutch watches them for a moment, watches them bicker and accuse and knows this will be the best chance she has to escape and cause further damage. Her arms are out of action but she still has her body, her legs.

Biting her lip against the pain that's going to come, Dutch drops her weight and spins, attempting to throw Damen off balance since his attention is elsewhere. Once she's low enough, she slams a foot down on his instep and then brings a knee into his groin before following it with several quick knee strikes to his abdomen. She finishes with a hard headbutt, driving her forehead right into his nose.

She moved like a cornered animal before Laurent could speak, striking hard and vicious. It was expected, and short of her producing any weapons he did not understand, Laurent was not concerned. He had seen Damen best far larger warriors, seen him kill his own brother, the greatest fighter Laurent had ever known. Yet her hits landed, and when blood burst red and bright across Damen's face, Laurent looked to the window.

The situation was not in hand, but with John's help it would be.

It's never been difficult for John to turn off his emotions when it comes to situations like this, because it's necessary. It's what he has to do. He hasn't been called to help solely because he's a friend, but because he's a killer and that is the man Laurent needs now. He considers Laurent a friend and is here on this rooftop with one of his best sniper rifles because he trusts the young man, because he's been asked, and because what John still wants to do above all else is help people.

But he can't pretend it doesn't bother him just the slightest to see that Dutch is his target. He's been assured she isn't the Dutch he knows and he's able to believe it, watching the brutality with which she assaults the other young man through his scope. That doesn't make it easy to have a rifle trained on someone he's met and whose company he'd quite liked.

Still he waits. He waits until he sees that look toward the window, that subtle indication now is the time for him to do what needs to be done and John breathes out slowly, watching her move through his scope, judging the distance and the speed with which she's moving, then he shoots.

The rifle is nearly silent, but the bullet shatters the window before it's buried in her kneecap, and John keeps to the scope, waiting to see if it takes her down. Waiting to see what Laurent might want of him next.

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