As Jacob drove along the empty street, the two men in the shadowy corner of the sidewalk caught his attention - he knew he had seen one of them before. He didn't slow down, but felt adrenaline rush through his blood as he recognized the man - it was the pimp who had harassed Rachel the other night.
He was just driving through this part of London. True, he had been here before, with Ian in one of their first nights as vampires, seeking sustenance in a hooker's blood. Perhaps his subconscious self, the Wolf who still lurked in the shadows of his mind, although he had - for now - subdued its will, had made him choose his course in hope that he would find the man. Which he did.
He parked at a safe distance, around a corner, away from the men's eyes. He stepped out of the car, pulled over his raincoat and began to walk towards the two men.
Jacob could feel the lust of the Hunt fill his thoughts. He could feel his fangs sharpening ready to bite, and his undead muscles tensing in preparation. It was part of his Beast, this bloodlust. It had cost him dearly before - and in fact almost killed him - so now he was more mindful of it. Like a good wine or liquor, it was to be savored slowly rather than wallowed in.
He recalled his past actions. At the firefighters HQ. As he burned the Pharmacy. When his father was captured. At the police station. At the clinic, where they had found Emma Sullivan again. He saw the times he had been rash and impetuous, and what it had cost him. He also saw the times he had taken no action, for lack of courage or capacity, and the great hurt it had caused him. Jacob was used to getting his way. Jacob was used to being more than able for each task set before him.
Incapacity hurt him deeply, coming with the added realization that he had always got his way because he chose it so he would, and that he had always been more than able for each task because he set his own tasks and made it so. The life he had led as a human had been partly a fantasy, and now he had woken up. And now he loathed that fantasy. That was partly what pushed him away from taking up Mathematics again. He had literally used it as a drug before. He did not wish to fall into that habit once more.
Hunting had changed his perception. It seemed clean, pure and unforgiving. No room for bullshit. Just him against his prey. When he killed, he could be certain it was because he was *better* than his victim. When he caused fear, he could be certain it was because he was stronger. Jacob wondered, as he walked along, if the Lust for the Kill that he felt came from his Beast or from his rational self...
He had come to terms with being cold and distant. He had come to terms with his mother's death, and with not grieving over it so much as he probably should. This he had confessed to his father. This his father had understood.
But he had never told his father he had a knack for killing. Didn't that make him a psicopath? No, not now, now he was in control of it. He could feel the Lust building up within him and release it at will. And, he thought as he approached the two men, it wasn't like he preyed on the innocent...
He was in control, indeed. But he felt the Lust intensely. And he felt more human than he had often felt when he was alive.
In this case, there was a particular bonus to the whole thing - because of Rachel. Somewhat to his surprise, Jacob found he cared for her. He cared that she was well and unhurt. He cared that she was home when he arrived. He smiled as he remembered her reactions, all so human, yet with an icy coldness to match his own and make him feel "normal". Could vampires love as humans? Why not? Jacob felt he did love her.
But that was not why he now seeked the man with only one outcome in mind. Jacob was not the "knight in shining armour" type - even if he were, he knew Rachel would value more her independence than his gesture. But he *was* possessive and territorial. And the man had threatened, or hinted at threatening, his lover and friend - for he considered Rachel a faithful friend above all else.
He felt the burning blood of Wrath rise in him as he approached. He felt his fangs draw out, unseen behind the raincoat, and his eyes become bloodshot, when the two men noticed his presence. They stood for a moment, unsure what to make of him. He carefully recoiled his fangs. There would be time for that, just a little later...
Jacob was now some thirty yards away. The men eyed him suspiciously. The pimp looked nervous, but did not seem to have recognized him yet. The taller man, probably the bodyguard, casually put his hand inside his jacket.
Good that you remind me, he thought. Now for Resillience...
He felt like a true predator, savoring the hunt and the progressive dawn of Fear in the eyes of his prey. Jacob was not all that much for cruelty, as a cat might show to the bird it catches. But he did like the sensation of inspiring Fear. He thought of his brother, entering Hell with firewings spread like an Angel of Death. He had been truly afraid, then. But in the aftermath, what did he feel? A lot of mixed feelings, for sure, but one very identifiable hint of envy.
Quentin was the greatest unknown in the Great Equation of his (un)life. He saw the truth in what John Constantine had said, the monstrosity of Petrekov's possession - yet he still saw his brother behind those eyes. He had told the Dracul he was unable to lure his Archmage brother into a trap - yet he hated himself for it.
Then besides his mixed feelings towards Quentin, there was the Other Big Equation of "why?". Did he still hope to save his brother, or did he merely want to understand and learn the Power that now resided in Quentin's body? Did he not betray him out of love, or out of fear? Jacob felt his head swirl. For a moment, he began to see a fiery aura rise above the pimp and his bodyguard...