“More or less now, yes.There are ways that make it easier,” my eyes slide to Midnight as my mind floods with images of her cunt on my face and me grinding on her fingers, “but nothing that I can do in here.I have gained enough control of it for this.”
“Good, then there’s nothing more we can do but try.Midnight, you ready?”he asks.
She nods but flashes Cordelia a less than pleasant grimace.
Alistair takes a deep breath in as Eleanor deposits the first chair.She gestures for Cordelia to help her, and they disappear out the door.Alistair sweeps his arms across the room and yanks fresh threads from the wall.They fly across the space between us at light speed and wrap around his wrist and then aim for me, suckering onto my wrist too.
My head kicks back as the power tears through me.My whole body lights up like the dawn, hundreds of runes flashing across my arms and legs.My neck cords, shoulders stiffen as the throb of power surging through me vibrates my entire skeleton.
Midnight lurches towards me, but she can’t stop this, not now.“I’m fine,” I force out.
Her shoulders rise and fall with her rapid breathing.
“Now, Midnight!”Alistair says and whips his hands across the air in a series of shapes, creating mess and threads and knots and black ribbon-like structures.
Midnight steps into the gap between us and closes her eyes.She centres herself, then opens them and focuses on the air in front of us.
Dozens of threads of power splinter off from where Alistair and I are joined and coil around Midnight’s body when she raises her arms.
She moves with grace and elegance, drawing her arms together before splitting them apart.The room trembles and a thunderous crack rings out so loud the window shatters and glass sprays the ground.
She stumbles, blood splatters the floor but she stays upright, pushing her arms further apart, ensuring the cut is big enough for her to step through.Alistair’s hands move at a frenetic pace, stitching and threading and reinforcing Midnight’s cut so nothing frays.
“GO,” he shouts.
Midnight turns to give me a final glance.
“I’ll be fine,” I say, and I really believe it.I’m strong, the drain isn’t too much.It’s like the more I understand and access the runes, the more power I’m able to channel.
She forces her gaze away and steps into a new city.
The first two hours are fine.By the fourth, Alistair’s nose is running blood and I’m talking to myself to stay present.By the sixth, we’ve both stopped talking.When I finally hear Midnight’s footsteps on the other side, neither of us is fully upright anymore.
When I think Alistair’s seconds from passing out, Midnight finally steps through the Veil with dozens and dozens of vampires.
“Holy shit.”I’ve never seen so many drainers in all my life.Sure the odd one who came to campus to do a visiting lecture.But they keep coming.Flooding the clock tower with vampire soldiers and then a rather dapper-looking vampire with a mop of dark hair dressed in an elegant red suit.
He’s followed by another slightly taller vampire looking equally as handsome with his chiselled jaw and long trench coat.Next through is a female vampire with curves for days and long dark hair and right after comes a short masc-presenting vampire?No, I don’t think she’s a vampire, but she’s also not human.She has an undercut and blonde shaggy hair on top.
The soldiers all stand to attention when they see Eleanor and her entire demeanour shifts.
“Follow me,” she commands and they file out of the tower and into the dark courtyard, immediately getting to work corralling the Societas members and mortals on campus.
They continue to file out for what feels like at least half an hour.Dozens of soldiers all in uniform with stern expressions and sharp white fangs.
“I can’t hold on,” Alistair says, blood flecking his mouth.
“Cut it off there,” Cordelia says.
One of the vampires nods, halting the line of soldiers.
“Thank you, you can return to base,” he says, his voice like creamy gravel.
Alistair yanks his hands back, ripping the reinforcements on the tear away and promptly collapses, unconscious.
Midnight lurches into action, whipping threads from the clocktower walls and stitching as fast as she can.Her hands move with such deft grace and speed.She ties off the final knot, and the cut vanishes, leaving nothing but empty air.
“Cooool,” the short masc woman says.
