Blaise Mathieu Richelieu

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As soon as he was able, Blaise had given his orders that Rory be brought here to his manor, if he agreed, of course. There was still a chance the Scot would decline and Blaise wouldn't push the issue. He would just make sure there was a close Ventrue confidante in Scotland available to ensure Rory was well taken care of as he required under a Kindred influence like he was. But apparently Rory hadn't declined, and even more to the point, Buffy had been with him when he had woken. The doctors kept Rory another night when he expressed a wish to just want to sleep, so they let him. When he had been unconscious, it wouldn't have been a restful slumber. Not after being drained. Now he had to recuperate and regain his strength, ironically just like Blaise.

But now Blaise was awake and on his feet, which was a start. He was adorned in a midnight blue silk bathrobe tied loosely at his hip as he stood by and watched a nurse he had employed check over Rory in the king sized bed of the guest room he had offered him. Once again, the Scot just slept on, barely having said a lot when he was brought here. He needed assistance, which is why Blaise had the nurse brought here. She was Kindred, but worked in a mortal hospital. She was one of the best of her kind and more than happy to take the job Blaise offered her. Rory's blood pressure was still a little low, but he was healing well otherwise. Sleep would be a good thing. Blaise cleared his throat and glanced at his personal assitant standing beside him a few paces from the bed. "Jaquelynne. Bring me Mademoiselle Summers. I must speak to her in regards to Monsieur Buchanan."

( Blaise's eyes remained on the sleeping Scot, watching the nurse with him... )


Word Count | 3,792

It was like a Mexican Stand-off. Logan sat on one side of his brother’s hospital bed staring hardly at the enigmatic Frenchman sitting in the same position on the other side, staring back just as intently. Logan had his elbows resting on his knees, and really had no shame in staring the guy out. So what if he was trying to figure him out with actually trying to talk to him? He was a Secret Intelligence Agent. Secretive shit was what he did, and if he didn’t feel like talk to the other guy yet, then he fucking was going to talk to him yet. And if having someone else in the room was bothering him, he certainly wasn’t going to let on to the fact. In fact, he kept his emotions schooled to complete blankness, so no Kindred senses were piqued without invitation. It wasn’t an easy skill to hone, remaining blank and calm, but Logan was highly trained to even cheat lie detector tests, so he had the ability to pull it off.

( Between them, Rory lay unconscious and with his sedatives stopped that morning as promised, it was just a matter of waiting for him to wake up... )


Word Count | 1,954

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Juliette would have never expressed any sort of shock when the security team alerted her to the fact that there was a Rory Buchanan and Buffy Summers waiting at the front gates. She had honestly wondered if she would ever see the Scotsman again, and the fact that the ex-cheerleader now Slayer was here was all the more interesting. She had gone to check on Blaise but given his worsening condition he really hadn't been in the mood to discuss the new arrivals. She'd just taken his silent glowering as consent for the guests to be invited in and made her way down to the foyer in order to welcome them.

Juliette had barely left Blaise's side unless it was for business, watching over her mate like a hawk. She'd never seen him like this and if she were completely honest she still thought it had something to do with claiming the young woman that he had dismissed from his presence so readily when she'd insulted him yet again. Not to mention the fact that he had to return home to France. The distance would have taken its toll, and she was more than interested to see how the Slayer was physically. She had to at least be up and walking to have made it here.

( She smoothed down the red silk blouse she was wearing along with a tight black pencil skirt to make sure there were no creases... )


Word Count | 10,120