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Hunter, Hunted
Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

The table was set. The candles were lit. The calls were made. Even in his old age, Ruben certainly knew how to make social arrangements on a grand scale. One would think they were entertaining royalty tonight.

“I must admit, master, I never did think my little black book would come in handy again,” Ruben remarked, straightening a silver platter just so, and re-adjusting a fork or two on the table.

Donovan watched intently, making sure everything was perfect for their little party, “I am pleased you still maintained it. Truly, I should have done this sooner but really, I know it was best to wait.” He adjusted a fork, “they are all coming, yes?”

“All of them,” Ruben hesitated, “except for the werewolf. Unfortunately, he is in no condition to travel, but he sent his regards and loyalty.” The old man wrinkled his nose, “I disposed of the dead rabbit immediately, of course.”

“Augustine always was an honorable man. He need not fear retaliation from me for what happened.”

“I informed the wendigo that he will have to bathe, but he was the only other who gave me any difficulty. The rest of them shall be here at the stroke of midnight, as planned. Even Cinderella would be here at your command, I imagine. Very few doubt your power, master.” And a small number of those few would be tonight’s guests of honor.

“Ahh, but I have been gone for quite some time, it would not surprise me if they think this whole thing is a farce, that I have grown weak. I'm sure many have forgotten exactly why I am to be respected.” He began setting out small name cards, making sure each was perfect while Ruben took care of the finishing touches.

Three great mirrors lined the back wall of the dining area. Their sparkling gilt frames were lavish enough to fit in the halls of Versailles. One of Donovan’s few tokens from another time, polished to perfection just for the occasion. His reflection shown back at him strong and proud. Only when a vampire was starved of sustenance for a prolonged period did the myth about mirrors ring true. He had dined well after the hunters had departed that evening.

“Master,” Ruben retrieved a covered platter from a long mahogany table against the wall opposite the mirrors, “where would you like this?”

“On a small cart by my right hand, I desire easy access so when the time is right it will be readily available.” He said, taking his seat at the head of the table, his chair more decorative than the others, more throne like without actually crossing that line into ostentatious. The intent tonight was to make a statement, not to paint himself as a caricature in some ill-conceived melodrama.

When the doorbell rang, Ruben wasted no time in ushering their guests into the room. Twelve in all. Some who had met and known Donovan in the past, others far younger, and others merely curious attachments to the former. Even a monster could enjoy a pretty companion.

The old man bowed his head, stepping outside of the dining room and sealing the door behind him once the last guest had entered. There was a soft clunking sound as he placed a bar through the handles outside to ensure nobody departed before they were allowed.

Donovan smiled, “if you would all please find your seats we can begin this lovely meal Ruben has prepared for us. The reason I called you all here tonight can wait until we are all properly fed and sated.”

Two members of the group took their seats without so much as batting an eye. A ghoul too stupid to have any concerns, and a vampire rather resembling Donna Reed in a flared green dress having stepped off of the cover of a 1950s fashion magazine. He didn’t remember her name, as they had met only once.

The rest, one-by-one, finally took their seats, after several dirty or terrified looks were exchanged. The last among them to sit was the leader of the windigo, scratching viciously at his patched tweed suit all the while.

Donovan watched them all with a critical eye as Ruben served the food. Those who had betrayed him were seated closest to him, it made it easier to cut a swath through them when he was ready. It was almost amusing to watch them squirm in their chairs. That they’d even showen was quite a surprise. Perhaps they didn't fear retaliation, if they had they'd be like their little leader, Braedon, and disappear. It was too late for them now, of course.

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“You. Alive?” The ghoul was the first to speak. The way his dark, slimy lips struggled to form the words was a testament to his fear. Ghouls rarely spoke. Most no longer possessed the ability, which could very well be why this one was in charge of the city’s ghoul population in the first place.

Donovan smiled, almost sweetly, “oh, yes, I am very much alive.” He redirected his attention towards the vampires in the room, the betrayers, “I'm afraid what you did to me forty years ago didn't stick. You are still alive as well, I see. Honestly, I'm quite surprised.”

The Donna Reed lookalike, who was the only innocent vampire in the room, spoke up, “I was always under the impression you took an extended vacation. Do you mind terribly filling us in on what this is all about? I’ve got a tupperware party tonight to take care of.”

“Yes, I suppose now is as good a time as ever. There are a few in this room who decided my rules were too harsh, who wanted to flout the laws I had set down to keep us safe from hunters. My vacation consisted of being held in a forced sleep, I was aware, I had thoughts, dreams, and plenty of time to plan.” He stood slowly, his hand moving to rest on the cover, “I had thought to make it a sport, a little, entertainment, however that wouldn't be as enjoyable for me. For this crime against me I felt it needed a personal touch. Those of you at this table who betrayed me, you know who you are, will be dealt with accordingly. Those who were not part of the plan have nothing to fear tonight,” he removed the cover, his fingers closing around the handle of the small hatchet hidden beneath, “those of you who were, however, well, you can't avoid the fate you have carved for yourself.”

The five in question immediately tried to flee, knocking over chairs and scrambling under the table while the remaining guests innocent of any known crimes against Donovan made no effort to help them. Donovan moved with the grace of a predator as he smoothly grabbed the leg of one and pulled her from under the table, the hatchet coming down the moment she was out from underneath.

It took an awful lot of force to kill a vampire, when a stake wasn’t handy to pierce the heart. A clean cut to the neck was required, which was not something most mortal men could accomplish with such a small ax. Donovan, luckily, was not mortal, and he made quick work of her. The blood splattering the chinese rug beneath the dining table would have to be painstakingly cleaned later, but fortunately most of the pattern was already red.

Two of the vermin had managed to make it to the door, their nails forming into claws to frantically claw and scrape at the thick wooden barrier. Yet another annoying little expense to take care of later.

“You do realize you're making this harder than it needs to be, right?” He grabbed one from behind, slamming him down onto the floor and removed his head in one smooth strike.

“Please, you don’t have to do this, it was all Braedon’s idea!” The other explained, practically shrieking as he backed up against the door, claws firmly embedded in the wood now while the remaining two cowered in a corner opposite them.

“Help us,” one of them pleaded with the other guests, scrambling towards them. “Help us!”

“They won't help you, they know what will happen if they do.” He stated, looking at the cowering pair before turning his gaze back to the one at the door, “and where is Braedon? Did he scamper off like the coward he is?”

“I-I-I don’t know,” he replied, tearing his claws from the door and throwing himself at Donovan’s feet, “he left the night he trapped you. No one has heard from him since! It wasn’t our fault, we just went along. He was going to kill all of us if we didn’t. He-he-” the coward hesitated, “he blackmailed us! Didn’t he? Didn’t he?” He looked about, eyes wide and searching, as if the witnesses to the bloodbath had anything to do with this little charade.

Donovan raised an eyebrow, “he blackmailed you? How? What did you think was going to happen to you when I woke up? Would it have been better for Braedon to attempt to kill you or is this better, me actually killing you? You could have come to me with his plans if you had truly desired not to go against me, I would have protected you, as I've always done, but no, you made the decision to help Braedon and now you must pay the price for that.” He gave the hatchet a small flick with his wrist, sending blood splattering across the vampire, “why should you live without punishment?”

He flinched at Donovan’s words, flinched as the blood colored his face with spots of red. There was nothing of the lion in this vampire, but merely the festering soul of a dead rat, “because-” he hesitated, “because-”

“Come now, out with it, I have two others to get to after you, you're holding up these proceedings.”

“Because I don’t know where Braedon is, but I know people who could find him for you.” His bottom lip quivered, “I have money. A fortune. They’ll find him in no time, and all because you let me live!”

Donovan flipped the hatchet in his hand, adjusting his grip, “you're lying, besides, even if you were telling the truth, I have my own ways of finding him.” With one smooth swing he severed his head, watching it roll away before turning to face the rest of the room, “who’s next?”