Unseen Scenes—End of Book Two, Treaty version (Mason PoV) (Patreon)

On the Other Side of the Cave Compound. Outside.

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For a nomadic group, the Maa-Alused sure have a lot of shit.

“Here,” Mason grunts, shoving a large crate into the hands of a spindly-legged maa-alused, who almost buckles beneath the weight.

“Thank…you…” the man groans in reply before waddling away beneath the wooden box.

Mason heads back to grab another container full of who-knows-what before a familiar voice echoes across the clearing and makes his chest ache. It’s a sensation he’s getting more and more, so he swings around and flicks his narrowed gaze about the area until he spies [MC’s Name] on the other side.

-

If Falk is attracted to the MC

They’re standing at the mouth of the main cave system, looking as tempting as ever. But a prickle heats uncomfortably against Mason’s skin as he spots the tall, annoyingly regal-looking Maa-alused leader beside them.

That asshole has been drooling all over the Detective since they first met.

If Falk isn’t attracted to the MC

They’re standing at the mouth of the main cave system, looking as tempting as ever.

Another voice overcomes theirs after a moment, and Mason’s nose wrinkles. The annoyingly regal-looking Maa-Alused leader is butted up almost right beside the Detective, probably trying to convince them into making Unit Bravo clean the caves after doing all the work of moving them in.

-

“Tch.” Mason clicks his tongue and leans back against the heap of crates behind him. He can only hear the whispered fringes of the conversation and not any actual words. An uneasiness about that almost has him stepping closer so as he can listen in.

But his path is blocked. So he shifts his gaze to the obstacle—a grey-uniformed agent who is fidgeting on the spot in front of him.

“What do you want?” he growls.

The agent flinches before pointing an only slightly shaking finger to the boxes behind Mason. “I need to move that one, uh, sir. Sorry. Sir.”

Mason rolls his eyes but does move out of the way so as the agent can bustle forwards and grab the box.

He doesn’t bother acknowledging the agent’s grateful nod, instead dragging a cigarette out of his pocket and lighting it up. The quick hit of nicotine flurries through his system for only a millisecond before it’s gone.

Being a vampire has its perks. Not getting to enjoy the numbing effects of alcohol or cigarettes for more than a moment is not one of them. Still, it’s at least something.

“Do you want me to move too?” Mason asks, forcing his gaze away from staring over at the detective and switching his focus to Sanja.

The fortune teller shakes her head. “No. In fact, I would prefer you stay. I have something to gift to you.”

Mason smirks, expecting the usual flush of flirtation and desire to well up in him at those words.

But there’s nothing. No attraction, no need to reply with an invitation, no nothing.

Just the urge to rid himself of her presence so as he can find an excuse to make his way over to [MC’s Name] instead.

His smile falls. “What is it?”

“Something precious.” She smiles, a slight glimmer in her gaze before the light dulls. “As well as a warning. But let us begin with the gift first, shall we?” Her hand stretches out, her long fingers grasped around a piece of paper.

Mason snatches it from her, only to realise it’s not paper at all, but instead a photograph. The photograph of him and the Detective from the carnival.

And now he feels something.

What it is, he’s not quite sure, but it wriggles and swirls inside of him, sending a warm, buzzing sensation through his limbs and torso, until his chest feels so full with it that he has to catch a breath.

He lifts a brow, but shakes away the feelings as best he can.

It lingers as he looks over the photograph again.

“Why would I want this?” he asks, the question genuine.

“Because you will need this memory. You will need to remember this time.” Sanja meets his eye and holds it before turning with purpose. “And you will need them.”

Mason glances across the clearing, following the fortune teller’s eyeline to where it lands on the detective. And once more that buzz takes up in his chest, making his head foggy.

He scoffs as best he can through the confusing emotion. “I don’t need anyone, least of all a human.”

“Are you sure? If your family was taken from you, could you cope on your own?”

“Family? I don’t—” His words grind to a halt behind his gritted teeth. He rolls his lips together and turns away.

Sanja steps closer, the hit of her autumnal sweet scent almost making him recoil. “You understand then. But your family won’t be able to give you what theycan.”

They both once again look over to the detective.

-

If Mason had Fortune Told

“The stirring shadow is…” her brow knots, “it is a familiar one for you. And when it comes, there will be no one who can stop it from suffocating you beneath its depths. No one but them.”

If Mason didn’t have Fortune Told

“There is a shadow stirring in your future. In the future of you all.” Her brow knots. “It is a familiar one for you. And when it comes, there will be no one who can stop it from suffocating you beneath its depths. No one but them.”

-

She rests a hand on his arm, sending a stinging pain to radiate out like cracks against his skin, so he snaps it away from her touch.

“So you’re saying, what?” He folds his arms and juts his chin up. “That they’re going to save me?”

“No,” she replies with a soft shake of her head. “I’m saying that you will save each other.”

His arms drops back to his sides as he can sense the fearful rush of blood through her veins. Whatever it is she thinks she has seen…it really scares her.

“You need to understand what it is between you two. What this bond means. And you must do so with haste.” A desperation edges into her voice, her eyes widening. “They cannot save you if you will not allow it, and if you lose them…it will cost you more than you could ever imagine, vampire. You will not recover from it.” There is no desperation in that statement. Her voice is as sharp as her stare.

He pushes past her words which float hauntingly inside his head. “How about you be a whole lot less enigmatic and tell me what the hell it is you see?”

“It does not work that way, as much as I wish otherwise.” She sighs, sending another rush of sweetness wafting across his senses and making his nose wrinkle.

“Then what use is that? Either tell me something I can use or piss off.” He swivels away, crossing his arms across him again but tighter this time, putting a definite end to the conversation.

It’s a while before he hears her footsteps tread away, and as soon as she’s gone he lets out a breath and drops his shoulders.

Sanja’s words creep into his head, clawing into his thoughts, refusing to leave.

In one hand, his cigarette has nearly become just a tube of ash, so he stamps it out on the ground. In his other hand, he still clasps the photo.

He examines the picture, smooths a thumb across the image of [MC’s Name], and then stuffs it into his jacket pocket. The pocket closest to his heart.

Not that he realises it.