Belmont

The arms around me felt so strong, so safe. 

All night he'd lain there, comforting me and simply being present in silence. I knew he was awake, but he gave me what I needed: his closeness and warmth. As soon as I closed my eyes, I watched my hands tore apart the human body. It had been so easy. He had been so frail, so weak, and he hadn't had a chance to defend himself. It felt so damn sickening. That it was me who had done it. 

How many times had I not heard that I was weak and not as strong as Anthony or Clock? I had always compared myself to them, even Rami and Marianne; in my eyes, I was the youngest and the weakest. But I had never compared myself to a human, our pray. I was fucking a predator. 

"Do you remember that day on the terrace?" 

 Clock shifted slightly, letting a cool breeze flow between our bodies. 

"Which one?" 

 "When you said we were going for a hunt." 

 "That was a bad joke, Little One."

 "I want you to teach me." 

 Clock said nothing but shifted so he leaned on his elbow and looked down at me with serious eyes. "What exactly do you want to learn?" 

 I turned over so I lay on my back, looking into his eyes. "Everything Anthony should have taught me. How to maximize my powers, how to use them. I don't even know what powers I have, Clock. I know nothing; all you taught me were combat techniques and how to fight with human weapons." 

 He smiled faintly at me and brushed a lock of hair from my face. "Then we need blood, Bel, and not just a bag now and then." 

 "I can handle it." 

 "I know you can, but..." He sighed and fell heavily back onto the pillow again. "I have—" he started, "there's something that I—" He hid his face in his palms, rubbed his face, and sighed. "I've lied to you, Bel." 

 "I know," I mumbled, turning so I could lay my cheek against his chest. His arms slowly moved down, and suddenly I felt his fingers playing with my hair. 

"I'm sorry," he mumbled quietly, and I knew those words were so damn hard for him to say, and that's why they meant so much to me. 

 "No more secrets," I whispered, letting my fingers touch his skin. 

 "No more secrets." His fingers stopped massaging my scalp, and I heard him sigh. "I have to leave soon, but it's a quick job." 

 "Who are you working for?" 

"He calls himself Papillon de Nuit." 

 "The Moth? Sounds pretty lame to me..." 

 Clock chuckled. "I guess." 

 "Same shit as in France?" I sighed. 

 "Heavier stuff," he muttered. "I don't know what kind of vampires they are, but he has old blood, I'm sure of it."

 "What do you mean by heavier?" He leaned down and kissed my forehead. "Do you really want to know?" 

 "If it involves you. Of course." 

 "They're professionals; everything is smooth and well-planned," he began. 

 "Like with the cleaning crew you called?" He nodded and continued, "I get an envelope with a name and a location; I go there and kill the person without witnesses, and then he pays me." 

 "So you work alone?" 

 He looked at me amused for a moment. "I could always get a sidekick." 

 I closed my eyes and pulled the blanket tighter around me. "I'm never going to work again." 

 A warm body moved closer, and arms wrapped around me again. "Good, because you won't have time to stand in front of any camera if you're going to train with me." My pulse quickened, and I felt the anxiety rise in my chest. "Hey... Bel." He took hold of my chin and turned my head so our eyes met. "That bastard deserved worse."

 I nodded, feeling the tears roll down my cheeks. The arms tightened around me, and my tears formed a wet spot on his shirt, beneath which I felt his muscles tense with each tear. "No one will ever hurt you again, Little One, no one." 

 Exhausted, I fell asleep in his arms, but when I woke up, I was alone. What the hell? No Clocksworth, but instead, a blood bag awaited me. I glanced down at it and noticed the hastily written words: Enjoy. 

"Marianne!" I called out, frustration edging my voice.

After a few minutes, a sleep-drunk Marie stumbled into my room on heavy feet. Her hair stuck out in all directions, and she was wearing mismatched socks, one dangling precariously halfway off her foot.

"What?" she mumbled, rubbing her eyes and yawning like a child caught sneaking cookies.

"What is this?" I pointed at the bed, my tone sharp. She squinted at it, then at me, clearly struggling to focus.

"He got blood as payment this time," she yawned again, her voice nonchalant. "Enjoy, Chérie." She gave me a half-hearted salute before turning to shuffle back toward her room.

"Wait, where is he?" I demanded.

She stopped in the doorway, one hand gripping the frame as if it were holding her up. "He left," she said with a shrug that sent her oversized pajama sleeve slipping off her shoulder.

Suddenly, all my feelings surged forth. I sank to the floor, staring blankly at the bed. "Have you two talked?"

"About what?" Her tone was light, but I caught the flicker of guilt in her eyes as she avoided my gaze.

"What he does for a living?" I asked, narrowing my eyes. Her gaze flicked to the ceiling, her lips pursing in mock contemplation.

"You can't teach an old dog new tricks," she said finally, with a dramatic sigh, her voice dripping with faux wisdom.

"Does that apply to you too?" I shot back.

She rolled her eyes and gave me a playful pout. "So many questions, Bel. Can I go back to bed now?" She crossed her arms, her stance exaggerated, as if to remind me how much effort it took her to respond.

"So he's back, the old Clocksworth," I muttered, glancing at Marianne, who leaned lazily against the doorframe. Her chaotic energy was tempered only by the sweetness in her eyes as she watched me.

"Does it matter?" she asked, her tone softer now.

I shrugged, bitterness seeping into my voice. "I don't want to go back to our old life."

"Bel..." Her voice was tender as she squatted down beside me, her hand brushing a strand of hair out of my face. "Talk to him instead."

"We've talked."

"Not enough?"

"He left for work," I grumbled, sounding more petulant than I intended.

"He might not have a choice," she said gently, her tone coaxing.

"Why hasn't he said anything before?" I snapped, anger bubbling to the surface. "Doesn't he trust me?"

"I don't know, sweetie," she said, her voice a soothing balm. "But he's always been a lone wolf. Honestly, I was really surprised when Lu told me about you two."

My heart ached at her words, but a small smile crept onto my face as memories of France flooded back. "Lu... I wish he were here."

"Me too, darling," she said softly. She leaned in, kissed my cheek with a warmth that only she could bring, and then slipped away into the shadows of the hallway, her mismatched socks padding softly against the floor.

 Slowly, I pushed myself up to my feet. I would wait; we would talk when he got home. Even though I hated much of our old life, we might not have a choice. We could be a team, a deadly team. 

I opened the wardrobe and pulled out my favorite shirt, putting it on. I still missed him, but Marie might be right. It was probably time to move on; I didn't want to cause trouble for Conor anyway. He deserved better. I settled into bed among piles of blankets and pillows. With the blood bag in one hand and the remote in the other, I prepared for a night of Netflix while waiting for Clock to come home. 

 I inhaled the scent of the shirt and smiled before sinking my teeth into the bag and turning on the TV. I emptied the bag quickly, too quickly. The world began to spin, and life felt fantastic. 

Ten minutes later, everything started to clear up a bit, and I pulled out my phone and sent a message. I missed him so much.

Wishing everything had been different. Thanks for everything. I hope you're okay.

I woke up to the sound of my phone vibrating and, still half-asleep, I reached for it and glanced at the screen. Take care of yourself, Princess. My heart ached as I read the message over and over again. It was a goodbye.

"Are you okay?" Clock murmured next to me, and I stiffened. Would he get irritated? Had he read the message over my shoulder?

"I don't know," I whispered, changing the subject. "Is it morning?" I asked to lighten the mood.

"Not yet," he replied calmly, placing his hands behind his neck, probably to give me a bit of space.

"Okay," I rolled over and snuggled closer to his warm body, hiding my face in the pillow. I needed to move on, but it was so damn hard. I convinced myself it was for the best, for both me and Conor, but we hadn't gotten a proper ending.

"I get what you see in him, and what you need from him." Clock finally mumbled, and I looked up at him in surprise. "I'm sorry, Bel. I'm sorry I forced you to go with me. I should never have done that."

I nodded slightly, but I wasn't sure I'd ever forgive him. Not completely. "But it's probably better this way," I whispered. "I'm just causing problems."

He sighed and stroked my cheek with his thumb. "It's not you who's the problem, Bel," he whispered. "It's our legacy."I nodded a little but didn't quite understand what he meant. "Something's happened," he continued, looking really damn worried. "They've found us."

"Who?" I whispered cautiously, deep down I probably knew, but I didn't want to believe my intuition.

"The princes."

I nervously licked my lips and lowered my gaze. "What do they want from us?" I asked quietly.

I felt his fingers moving through my hair. "I'm not certain; I don't know why they're here." He was silent for a moment, and I noticed there was something he hesitated to tell me. "It could be something else," he muttered evasively, keeping his gaze fixed on the TV, which was on and buzzing as usual. 

I had gotten used to having it on when he wasn't home; it was somehow calming to hear the noise and voices in the otherwise dead-silent house. "So it's not about revenge?"

"No."

I laid my head back on the pillow again and defiantly looked up at him. "You promised, no more secrets."

With a sigh, he sank deeper into the pillows, hiding his face in his hands. "I'm his heir."

"We knew that, didn't we?" I muttered softly, and he nodded.

"Calvos has taken Anthonys assets, and I suspect he's not doing a good job maintaining them." He paused to look at me for a moment. "Either the others want me to kill him, or he wants me to join his family—move back home, and help him take over everything Anthony started."

"Or?" I asked cautiously.

"Or they want to kill us."

I sighed and closed my eyes. "I guess it's the last one."

"I'll stop them." He sounded so damn confident, but what I saw on his face was something else. Fear. 

I sighed and sat up. "We can run again?"

"Don't you think I haven't thought about that?" 

I tried to ignore his angry, frustrated tone. He wasn't angry at me; it wasn't me. It was them, I told myself, but I must have shown what I felt because suddenly his thumb was caressing my cheek, and his voice was soft again. 

"We can't run for the rest of our lives, Bel; they'll find us eventually."

"Okay, but isn't there anyone who wants to help us?"

"Why would they do that?"

"Because they like you and want you to be a prince."

He laughed and looked at me amused. "Never."

With a smile, I sat up in bed. "You're perfect! You won't make the same mistakes Anthony did; you can learn from him, and I'll help you! I remember everything he and Lu taught me."

"Bel, you sound a little too excited," he sighed, but I saw the smile playing on his lips, even though he was struggling to hide it.

I leaned down over him with a satisfied smile. "Come on, admit that the thought has crossed your mind."

He nodded a little. "But are you ready to go home, Bel? Are you ready to leave him?"

I licked my lips and looked down. "If the princes are after me, then he's safer without me," I whispered. "It's better this way." I looked up at Clock and tried to smile. "It's time for us to go home."