Chapter Text
“What do you know about him my dear girl?” asked Myrtle, bringing you out of the constant daze you were in.
“Hmm? Oh, nothing,” you responded, telling her the truth.
“We began to do some observation and research after Madison disappeared,” she started.
“There had always been rumours that the Langdon family had been involved in devil worship since time immemorial. It would explain their power and wealth. Count Lucien’s father promised the souls of his decedents in exchange for more. He wanted immortality.”
“Immortality? What a strange thing to ask for” you perked up.
“Yes. But the irony is, they all died anyway. But he had passed it onto his children. Caesar Langdon was killed by his wife. Lucien Langdon was killed by vampire hunters. You see, these beasts of the night have existed for centuries. There is always someone there to stop them. It’s a curse, to have to feed off the living to keep yourself going. They thought the Langdon line would end with Lucien, but no one was counting on Vivienne on being with child,” she explained.
“What about Tate?”
“He was far too unagreeable for anyone to willingly give him a child. The hunters would have killed him anyway if Michael hadn’t.”
“Michael? Michael killed his own uncle?”
“Of course, he did! Well, we can’t prove it, but it was probably revenge for what had been done to his mother,” Myrtle said casually, while stirring her tea. “He was born with this affliction dear, chosen by the devil to do his bidding.”
“H- he said he had to feed his clan. What did he mean by that?” you questioned.
“Creatures of the night have a complex society. They stick together in ‘Clans’ for protection and sustenance. Michael oversees the Cooperative, which is the name of his clan. They’re the reason we can’t keep you in France for too long, the Cooperative have their claws everywhere. They have been around for far longer than I have dear girl.”
You looked at her confused, “Why didn’t we know, no, I know any of this before?”
It was Cordelia’s turn to speak. “we only pieced it all together recently, we wished we could have gotten to you sooner. It seems that opium can convince lawyers and accountants to spill their secrets”
She was talking about Jeff and Mutt
“Did my brother know all this?”
“He knew enough to have his tongue cut out.”
You looked at her wide eyed, unable to speak after hearing the news.
“Why? Why did he choose me?” you began to cry again, what had you done to deserve this.
These were only answers Michael had.
////
Michael was born with his affliction.
His lust for blood was uncontrollable as a child. Maid after maid was drained dry. His own mothers’ wrists and neck scarred from when he would feed of her. His grandmother would look at him with disgust after a feeding frenzy; his little round cheeks glossy with blood. He was always a messy eater.
With the bloodlust came rage. So much rage. He almost killed Constance after she commented on his feeding habits. He had killed the dog when Tate had killed his mother, he was biding his time for a longer revenge plan.
Mrs Mead had come to work for them when he was 15. She was one of the only staff members Michael hadn’t got his teeth into. Encouraging him to give into his desires, just as his grandfather would have wanted him to. She encouraged him to kill Tate, helping him devise his plan to slowly and painfully kill him.
He took great joy in his killings.
Hawthorne had let him meet more boys like him. Xavier was like him, a creature of bloodlust. Duncan was a wolf of a great American dynasty. Richard came from a family of hybrids, unstable and unable to survive in either society. But Michael offered him and his siblings a chance, taking them in as staff and the eyes and ears of his projects.
No matter how much blood he had consumed, Michael’s cravings were still not satisfied. He craved one thing above anything else.
He craved companionship. Someone to share the rest of his eternity with.
If cousin Elizabeth could find someone, why couldn’t he?
But things were never easy for Michael, they never were. Turning women just seemed to be harder than turning men.
All his attempts at turning had been unsuccessful. They were often dragged away by deaths cold hands. The ones that didn’t die were left in a constant state of comatose. Laying between the veil of the living and the dead. There was one benefit to these failures. They became a permanent and constant blood source. They couldn’t move, they couldn’t speak, but they could hear and feel everything. It brought Michael a great sadistic joy that they could feel all the pain he inflicted on them.
He had spent his free time looking for the perfect match. The unsuccessful ones usually became a source for him and the clan.
He thought that might have changed with Madison. When he first laid eyes on her, the hunger he felt was one he had never felt before. The intense need to have her right there and then overwhelmed him. He went to all extremes to have her. Even promising marriage if she came to him. And she did. She left it all behind for him. So easily willing just like the rest.
So, when she was another failure, Michael was shocked. The grief of it all sent him on a killing spree on his grand tour. A bad day and his night visitors never made it home.
The feeling he felt after seeing your picture was indescribable. This was more intense than the one he had with Madison. Your image had devoured all logical thought there and then. Looking for girls that looked like you just to satiate him.
When he finally had you, he thought he’d kill you. Your scent overwhelmed him, he felt like a wild, ravenous dog in front of a piece of meat. He watched you eat on your first night. He watched you undress, licking his lips with every piece of skin that slowly revealed itself. His fangs ached as he watched you bathe. He feared that if he had gotten too close, he would have ended you. He had almost killed you the night you had consummated your marriage, leaving painful bruises around your neck and breasts.
After seeing the bruising, he knew had to control himself if he wanted to spend an eternity with you.
Patience was something he never had. His lack of patience made him sloppy. Sloppy enough for him to have his brains shot out.
////
You had seen more of the world than you ever thought you’d see. More than you wanted to see. You spent no more than a week in one place, before the paranoia of being watched or followed took over you. You couldn’t trust anyone now.
The cooperative always made themselves known when they were around. Places you had stayed would be burned down, or the people that you spoke to would turn up dead. They wanted revenge for what you did to their patriarch.
You had become a living omen, forced to wander for eternity, leaving a trail of fire and blood behind you.
Eternity.
Blood.
The smell of your verbenas repulsed you now, but you carried then just incase.
Your teeth ached.
You couldn’t help yourself.
You got hungry sometimes, uncontrollably so.
You tried not to take too much, but sometimes you’d go weeks without feeding. Your next meal ending up dead before your teeth let go.
Your hearing got sharper too.
You heard the Cooperative before they could get too close.
You heard about your parents’ death. The carriage accident left no survivors. You wondered what excuses had been given for your absence. You wondered if your family line would end there. Would anyone marry your brother? A man with no tongue?
Cordelia and Company refused to kill you. Michael had cursed you in more ways than one. His words rang though your head, when he mentioned a portrait in spring, to represent new life. You understood now what he meant. You understood the other secret everyone hid from you.
The Langdon family curse carried on, on Easter Sunday.
The cries of a baby boy rang through your secluded cottage at 3 AM. The irony of the event wasn’t lost on you.
He looked just like his father, blond curls and blue eyes. A cherubic little thing. Adriel had dimples when he giggled, it made your heart soar. He was your priority now, choosing to settle just for a little bit. The cooperative hadn’t reached the Caucasus mountains yet.
You sent news of your son and your decision to settle to Cordelia; the same way you sent every other message, in an intricately embroidered piece of cloth.
The sun was bright and warm in the sky and the flowers were vibrant the day you got your reply.
The envelope had smelled of smoke and burned flesh. Inside was your ‘letter’ that you had sent, the fabric returned to you singed. Your hands shook as you looked for any other clues. You looked at the envelope again and noticed the seal.
Cordelia’s seal was white.
This was black; the Langdon coat of arms. The unique form of the seal that was on Michael’s signet ring.
He must have been alive. He knew where you were.
You had to leave; you were no longer safe here. You ran to grab your son. As you brought him to your chest, you felt the air shift around. The birds had stopped chirping. The breeze had stilled. Storm clouds had quickly engulfed the sun.
He was already here, nearby in the forest. You could feel it in every cell of your body, the pull towards your ‘creator’.
He wasn’t close enough yet, so you ran in the opposite direction to the pull you felt. But the further you went, the fussier Adriel got. His cries ringing through the silent forest, giving away your location.
A flash of brown stopped you in your tracks. A great wolf had landed in front of you. His teeth were sharp, and his eyes were red. You hadn’t felt fear like this in a while.
You slowly stepped back, looking around you for a way out. But with each step you took, he took one forward, glaring at you.
You thought you’d hit a tree with your next step, but a familiar pair of arms wrapped around you.
“Did you have fun enjoying the sights and terrorising innocent villagers my love?” his honey like voice broke through the silence.
Adriel had stopped fussing as soon as he heard his father’s voice, as soon as the babe had felt his presence. To you it brought dread and fear, to the child it brought the greatest of comfort, to be held by both parents.
You tried to look around for an exit, but you were surrounded. Xavier and Richard to either side. The wolf was Duncan, you could small him.
Behind you was Michael. His nose was on your neck, deeply inhaling your scent, “Oh how I’ve missed you so little dove.”
There was no way out this time. You weren’t armed. You weren’t as experienced as these creatures. You couldn’t fight without risking Adriel.
“Our little game of hide and seek is over little rabbit. I’ve won and now its time for you to come home,” he whispered to you.
He had taken Adriel from your arms while you were distracted. You finally got a look at him, expecting to see the empty eyes that haunted your dreams every night.
Instead you were met with the same face you saw on your wedding day. His eyes seemed bluer than ever before. His hair was glossier, shining despite the lack of sun. His skin was unblemished, like marble. Not a scar or any discolouration around his eyes. His lips looked softer too. You had missed them so, missed the words that came out of them, the way they felt on your skin.
Adriel began to coo at Michael, reaching his tiny hands for his hair. You heard Richard gag at the sight.
Michael paid you no mind as he began to walk again.
“Where are you going?” you called out, following him like a lost puppy; you didn’t want to be separated from your son.
“Your doctor prescribed trip to the French riviera is over. Your fever is gone and oh, how wonderful, the countess has given birth to nice and healthy baby boy. An heir. As I said before we are going home.”
You had walked past your cottage and down the pathway.
“I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“Oh? And is Adriel supposed to have a wet nurse then?”
“He’s staying with me Michael.”
He stopped in his tracks and looked at you. He began to laugh hard enough to bring tears to his eyes, Adriel giggling with him.
His face turned stony again. “The child stays with me. You come now and I might be merciful when we get back. I’m sure you understand the concept of ‘an eye for an eye’. However, if you don’t come with me, I’ll let Shepherd and Mason tear you apart limb from limb. And when you get back to me, well … you’d wish that they had killed you. An eternity is a long time my dear, but my vendetta will last even longer if you don’t get in that carriage right now.”
You wished the ground would swallow you up, or that God would strike you down there and then. Your eyes began to well up. Michael walked towards you and shushed you, wiping away your tears.
“The world is a scary place for people like us dear Y/N. We must stay together,” he held out his hand to you.
The blood in your veins had yearned for him. It wanted to quench his thirst. His blood wanted to do the same to you. You realised then, that you were like two magnets. Always destined to find each other. What would you do without him anyway? Without his protection? His guidance? His ability to satiate all your hunger, no matter what kind or what the cost?
You began to laugh to yourself, looking like you had truly, finally gone mad.
The conniving bastard.
He had planned this all along. Your dependency on him. No matter how far, and for how long you ran, you would always have to go back to him. Child or not. Affliction or not. You would always return to him. There was no place for you to be alone in this world.
You finally stopped laughing, wiping the tears of your face. You took Michael’s hand with a bone crushing grip. You’d get revenge for those cracked and bruised ribs eventually.
You sat in the carriage in a comfortable silence. The road was long, and you were tired, oh so very tired. You no longer cared about his ‘punishment’, knowing he would have stop eventually.
You looked at the scenery from the window, Adriel at your breast.
You slapped Michael’s hand away, “Stop distracting him, he’s trying to feed,” you chided.
You looked down at Adriel, “And you, don’t go so fast, you’re just as greedy as your father,” you giggled.
“I’d like a turn later on,” Michael whispered to you.
You rolled your eyes and shook your head, “You’re disgusting. It seems that some of you brain is still splattered across the moor.”
He ‘hmphed’ and turned to face away from you.
////
What Kind of Man was Michael Langdon?
He wasn’t a man, he never was.