Path of Lava Crossover Ficbit – Tall Tales

Blood always showed true.

Except for Caitiffs, Julian recalled, the thought of Japanese Gangrels bringing another small band of Kindred maintaining the Masquerade in Japan Center to mind. But Caitiffs like Noriyaga Hino are accidents. A weakness of blood in the Embrace.

A weakness whose evidence was usually destroyed. Hino-san was fairly tightlipped about just how he and his tiny band of Caitiffs had survived to get to San Francisco years ago, but the fact that no one had seen or sensed his presence until the Caitiff had approached Daedalus and then-Prince Archon spoke volumes.

Good at cloaking himself, politically savvy and – ever since Archon accepted his pledge – reliably neutral, Julian thought. A pity he’s not Ventrue.

But that would be impossible. There was no way for a Caitiff to join a Clan, any more than there was for one of a Clan to lose the inborn traits of their blood.

Except that a week ago, Daedalus had quietly hinted there might be a way. Rites that could weaken ties of blood, even the nature of the clan within a Kindred. Methods few of the Camarilla would admit to knowing; after all, if a Kindred could forsake her clan and become Caitiff, how could the Primogens expect to hold power?

I don’t care about power-

Well, no; that would be a lie, and Julian tried not to lie to himself more than he had to. He was Ventrue. He was Prince. He did care about power. He also cared about living, and Sasha was currently a Brujah-sized blind spot in his bodyguard’s line of sight.

But that’s not why I want Daedalus to find an answer. Sasha’s the last of my mortal children to carry my name; the granddaughter my grandson August helped stand on her own feet when all her other relatives turned their back. And Fiori’s people took that away from her.

I can’t give Sasha back her life. But… I’d do anything so she could be happy again.

Including putting a restraining hand on Cash’s shoulder when Sasha’s wry chortle floated through the smoking room door. “Seriously?” she snickered.

“Certain as the Ara floods,” a young man’s light voice answered; English almost perfect, with just a trace of British accent. “There I was, expecting the pack of them to rip us apart – they were hengeyokai, after all-”

“Hmph.” A darker voice. “If our acquaintance hadn’t argued for the treaty with a katana, they would have.”

“But anyway,” the younger man went on, “there we went, tumbling down the river like leaves in spring flood. And every time I could get my head above the water I could see this little redhead just standing back on the bank, smirking….”

A/N: I think we all know who the redhead was….

Advertisement