The Fox and The Hunter

Viktorya Renfield had Jonathan Hunter’s heart in her hands. It was the strangest switch, going from complete apathy, senses dulled, her only care being to kill the man beneath her, to the absolute nausea of understanding what she’d done.

Walters grabbed the heart before she could do anything with it. She was too focused on Jon to fight anymore.

Obviously there was no heartbeat on Jon as she felt his neck, but there was no breath from his mouth or nose either, no rising of his torso under her. She reached for his chest, feeling the inner part of his flesh. The nausea came in harder force.

“Fuck,” she said faintly. Unlike the vision, she wasn’t crying. She couldn’t understand why not.

She scrambled off of him, moving to the edge of her bed against the wall.

“No happily ever after for the Fox and the Hunter,” Walters said, “Not that it was ever meant to be anything but this.”

She gripped her sword.

“I need one more thing out of him,” Walters said.

Viktorya shook her head. She killed an immortal. He could have handled her fine. He let her kill him. He’d survived bullets, how the hell was she able to kill him with a sword?

“You’re having a breakdown,” Walters said, “I understand, but if you don’t do as I say, all you’ll have is a corpse and a declining father. At least get his health out of the deal.”

He sounded uncomfortably like Jon. For a moment, when she didn’t look at him, it felt like Jon himself was telling her to go through with it.

She didn’t know him at all, but she was convincing herself Jon would want her to save her father, because he could make it. He was a Champion, a god. What could a little murder do to a god?

“Fine,” she said.

“I need a leg bone.”

She paused.

“What good is a heart without the right blood?” he explained.

She carefully sliced through Jon’s leg, removing a tibia. Even without the forced apathy, she found it an oddly clinical process. She expected more blood as she cut him open.

The leg didn’t heal. She hadn’t expected it to heal, but she needed it to heal.

“Our business is almost concluded, but I need you to get off the bed.”

This was the second part of the vision. At least getting shot would make her feel better.

She groaned as she moved off the bed, suddenly aware of where Jon had kneed her before realizing who she was.

He fought back until he realized she wouldn’t stop.

He’d let her do this.

She’d never forgive him.

“We don’t need to inconvenience the landlord. The bathroom’s easiest to clean.” He gestured with the gun Viktorya hadn’t noticed, but recognized.

She walked calmly to the bathroom. The best thing she could do for Jon and herself was get Walters out of here as soon as possible.

“Can’t have someone new coming after me for vengeance.”

He shot her through the stomach. It hurt like hell as she collapsed to the floor. Luckily, the bullet went all the way through.

He teleported away, and Victoria put a hand on either end of her bullet-hole, pushing what little energy she had left to sealing the damage at least.

Once she was sure she wouldn’t bleed out if she moved, she ran to the bed.

Jon hadn’t started breathing. There was no change. How long had she taken to heal herself? Should there have been a change?

None of the math mattered. He could heal from fatal injuries. He told her as much.

She’d cut through his sternum. She grabbed it from within him, and put her other hand where his heart would be.

“Please,” she begged over and over again as the orange light poured from her fingertips, her entire hand.

Nothing happened as she stared at the clock, but if she killed him she might as well exhaust herself trying to get him back.

An hour of begging through the fatigue, and she felt something incredibly small. A child-size heart, but a heart that beat between her fingers.

The healing faltered from her as she watched the heart, still holding his bones in her hand.

She pulled the hand out, fitting the sternum back in place, healing it back together.

She laid her hands on either side of his ribcage and poured the energy out again. It wasn’t as strong, but it was enough to help the heart grow faster, the veins and arteries reconnecting to it.

She heard a gasp as the diaphragm began working again. She could see his lungs inflating.

She pulled her hands away enough to help pull his skin back together. It stitched together without any power from her.

Now she cried. He was alive. She’d done it.

Before she could collapse, a hand brushed some of her tears away.

Jonathan Hunter looked concerned. Viktorya was sure she looked insane, but since the last time he saw her she was killing him, this had to be a vast improvement. She felt a gentle press on her stomach.

“I heard a gunshot,” he said, voice impressively clear for someone who only just started breathing again.

“You heard it?” she asked. By then he was dead.

“It was loud.”

She was surprised her neighbors hadn’t come over to check. Lucky for her, honestly.

“My leg hurts.”

“He wanted your tibia, said he needed blood to pump through the heart or something. Well he didn’t specify that he needed the tibia, but I that’s where you usually take marrow from—”

He kissed her. His lips were dry, and his mouth seemed to be overproducing spit, and nonetheless she deepened the kiss in response. He was alive. He could do whatever he wanted to her.

He pulled away, touching his forehead to hers.

“That was a weird reaction to hearing I handed off your bone to someone else.”

“I was killing time until I could manage it.” He pushed her hair behind her ears and kissed her again. His lips already seemed to have healed some. His hands were reaching under her shirt, and she had no right to object no matter how tired she was, or how she could tell her wound hadn’t healed.

He pulled away. She tried her best not to seem relieved.

“You flinched.”

She didn’t remember flinching.

“Why did you save me?” he asked.

“I killed you.”

“But you brought me back. Why?”

He looked at her like he thought she had an ulterior motive. The truth he wanted, which was part of the truth, was that she did it because she loved him. It was only part of it.

“Because you could come back.”

She could save him, so she did. That was the truest answer she could give.

He watched for something else.

“Was I really just a mark?” he asked.

The answer he wanted, and the true answer, was no. Jon had never been a mark to her. He’d been destiny. He’d been beautiful. She loved him, and he loved her, which she didn’t deserve.

When she looked at her hands, she knew the base of those blood stains was from his heart.

If she said no, they could be together, and she couldn’t risk that.

“The prophecies were real,” she admitted.

His expression turned sour, but he didn’t push her away.

“I am sorry this had to happen,” she added. That was another truth that could be twisted, “I can help heal your leg.”

“Your hands are shaking.”

She lifted them into view. He told the truth. They were more stained than she thought, too, leaving red marks on the tatters he still wore of his shirt.

“I…”

“You should rest.”

The words hit deep enough to make her fall asleep immediately.

It was dark when she woke up. So dark she couldn’t find a clock.

“It’s 3am,” Jon said from the couch. When did he move there?

“I’m impressed you stayed.”

“We didn’t finish our conversation,” he said.

She’d rested. It would take a lot less effort to lie now.

“Yes,” she said, “You were always a mark, and I healed you because I didn’t want you dead, the same reason I healed that little girl.”

It was easier when she couldn’t see his face.

“Is that what we’re going with?” he asked as the light turned on. He stood over her, next to the light switch.

Of course he wouldn’t give up easy, but that didn’t change that she couldn’t live with herself if she were happy after this, not for a long time.

“You don’t know me as well as you want to,” she said, “You’re projecting whatever it is you’re feeling onto me, and I feel terrible about what I did to you, but it doesn’t change my feelings for you.”

“Dick said he didn’t make you do anything to me until just before this happened, so how could I always be just a mark?”

She sighed. He didn’t make himself easy to push away.

“He’s a liar, probably thought it would hurt more thinking I loved you than that I was manipulating you, also making sure you didn’t throw me off before I could…” she made a stabbing motion.

“I’d rather you reject me outright than lie to my face.”

“Jon.”

“What’s the problem?” he asked, “Genuinely, what’s the problem?”

If she explained it, he would forgive her or something just as stupid.

“You’re aggravatingly stubborn, you know that?”

“Seems I need to be when it comes to you.”

“It’s because you don’t care,” she said, “I kill you, and you kiss me. You apologized for blood on the sheets as I killed you.”

Jon leaned in, putting a hand on her cheek.

“I’m alright now. You got shot, and then exhausted yourself to bring me back. We’re even. If I see Dick again I’ll kill him though.”

She could hear tears in her laughter. Maybe they were even, but that didn’t change anything. She shook her head as she pulled his hand off of her.

“Viktorya.”

“I can’t,” she managed between sobs.

She still had his blood on her hands. It had dried to brown, and was flaking off, but it was still there.

“Do you love me?” Jon asked.

“I don’t know.” She almost wiped her tears away, but stopped before she coated blood on her face. Jon wiped them away for her.

“Why did you have to be good?” she asked.

“I’m not trying to be.”

“That’s worse.”

She was still crying, so she couldn’t see Jon’s real expression.

“You shouldn’t be alone,” he said, “After everything—”

“No,” she insisted, “Just leave me alone, and forget this shit so we can both move on.”

His hand stopped.

“Viktorya—”

“Stop it!” she pushed him away, finally getting off the bed, “Stop acting like its nothing, like just because you came back I didn’t actually kill you. Maybe I love you, but I can’t…” she didn’t want to say it, but she’d just keep hurting herself if she didn’t push him away, “I can’t be loved by you, not after this.”

“That’s ridiculous, Viktorya, you—”

“You were dead Jon. I killed you. Your cousin may have messed with my head, but that doesn’t change the fact I had your heart in my hands, and I handed it off. The one that’s beating right now is only there because of a miracle.”

“Your miracle!” Jon yelled, “Yes, I died, because I let you kill me, but you brought me back. In the end the only one of us still hurt is you.” He gestured at her stomach. Her shirt was still stained with that blood, now turning brown.

He didn’t care, but she cared, so much.

“You’re not going to make things go your way, Jon. I can’t be with you.”

Her tears had cleared up, so she could see all the pain on Jon’s face.

“Please,” he breathed.

“Goodbye, forever, Jonathan Hunter.”

He walked past her to grab his bag, and left the apartment.

Viktorya stared at the sink, at the blood-stained bed, and the clock that told her it was too early to go to work.

“I need to get out of here.”

Viktorya focused her examination on proving the shard was as old as she was sure it was. None of her companions had found more parts of the original item, and she was becoming desperate enough to pursue visions of where any other parts could be found.

“Viktorya, my namesake!” An incredibly Russian accent said. She’d almost managed to forget his voice.

Viktor Savchuk Admoni looked a lot like Viktorya’s mother, unsurprisingly. Pale, almost white hair, wiry muscles, a thin face that made it impressive how many lies he got away with, but he had pale blue eyes instead of Kseniya and Viktorya’s brown. His entire presence set Viktorya on edge.

“Why are you here? I thought Gorbachev wasn’t letting you out.”

“Little Foxen, you underestimate your uncle, and overestimate the strength of government pigs. The union will dissolve in only a few years, and that is when I will make full escape. How is your father?”

“Better,” Viktorya admitted, “Since when do you care?”

“Since always, little one. Otherwise I would have come to you sooner.”

What on Earth did that mean?

“The confusion on your face, is not because of pottery, yes?”

“No, it is not,” Viktorya admitted, “What do you mean you would have come to me sooner if you didn’t care?”

“Anyone with the name is dangerous, especially one you have seen visions of, but it was the only way to heal your father, so I let it slide.”

Viktorya finally turned away from her work to glare at her uncle.

“You fucking bastard! You knew?”

He put his hands up.

“What are you mad about my knowing?”

“All of it! You knew what was wrong with him, you knew about Jon, and you never said anything!”

“I thought about it. I thought, ‘If I tell Viktorya that being close to Jonathan Hunter will save her father, she will not get close to him, and it will be better for her,’ but then your father would still be miserable, and Kseniya will kill me if she knew I stopped it, even for your sake.”

She could try to get information about her mother, or about what Viktor meant. She’d never gotten any information about her mother before.

“Did you know what was going to happen, or did you just not like Jon.”

“Our visions do not show us happiness,” he explained, “They are warnings of pain that we usually can’t prevent. They are vengeance for using our power, responsible or not. The man on your wall was never going to end happily.”

“Why are you here?” she asked.

“You are still in danger, my child—”

“I’m not your child.”

“No, you are not, but if I did not protect you as my own—”

“Kseniya would kill you.”

“And I would let her. I know why you have refused to train under me thus far, but you are fascinated by the workings of time,” He gestured at the pottery shard, “Like many Admonis before you.”

“I’m a Renfield.”

“Does your mother mean that little to you?”

Did the woman who abandoned her when things got difficult matter to her? Of course not.

“Cruel question. Apologies. My point is you need to learn now more than ever. You are wanted in many senses, and you will need to be stronger and wiser than all if you want to be happy.”

“Well that works out fine then,” Viktorya said, “I don’t want to be happy, so I have no reason to learn from you.”

She saw her uncle looking through possible futures for his best chance to convince her. She wanted to shove him to the ground while he was distracted, but it wasn’t worth the effort.

“You will need my knowledge some day, and on that day, it will come with conditions, unless you come with me now.”

“No way in hell,” Viktorya promised.

“Jonathan Hunter may forgive you,” Viktor said, “But his people will not.”

“Val hasn’t killed me,” Viktorya reported, “And I told her what happened.”

“Not his family, not the Shepherd, not the Thieves, his people. When death is rare, murderers are not offered anything less.”

That made her nervous. She closed her eyes, searching for any threats, but found none.

“It was great restraint to stay while your eyes were closed.”

“Don’t trouble yourself on my account.”

He sighed.

“You will meet Jon Hunter again, my child, and he will get what he wants eventually. Until then, think of my offer. You will accept that too, eventually.”

He disappeared when she blinked.

She did her best not to swear while the whole camp could hear her. She left to find somewhere less open to the public, only to find the next worst person to meet. She’d successfully avoided him for three years, so why now?

“Fuck me,” she muttered.

“How’s your dad?” Jon asked.

“Better now,” she admitted, “How are you?”

“Still breathing, how are you?”

“Uncomfortable.”

She tried to walk past him, but he put his arm out too fast.

“You told my sister?”

“She asked why I dumped you.”

He was scowling. It felt good to get a rise out of him.

“Why are you here?” she asked.

“I was in town, thought I’d say hi.”

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

She made the mistake of pushing the hair away from his face. He smiled at her touch.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” she whispered.

He gently pulled her hand away from his face to feel his heart-beat on his chest. If anyone saw them, they’d probably get the wrong idea. Viktorya was starting to get the wrong idea.

“It’s thanks to you,” he reminded her.

“You’re ignoring what else is thanks to me.”

He let her go, and she pulled her hand away.

“Can we—”

“No,” Viktorya insisted, “We can’t talk.”

“We’ve already been talking. I was going to ask if we can sit down somewhere.”

“This isn’t talking,” Viktorya insisted, “This is foreplay.”

Jon’s eyebrows shot up.

“You know what I meant.”

“Do I?”

She wished she had something to throw at him. She shoved him away.

“I can’t talk with you,” she insisted, “Especially not after…” she stopped herself from mentioning her uncle, “After what I did.”

“Viktorya.”

“Jonathan, just leave me alone.”

He sighed, but walked away backwards, staring at her the whole time.

“He will get what he wants, eventually,” she muttered. Maybe she was looking forward to it.