![](https://static.wixstatic.com/media/ad8b02_038349c75f2b441488bff16413f63cd1f000.jpg/v1/fill/w_1280,h_720,al_c,q_85,enc_avif,quality_auto/ad8b02_038349c75f2b441488bff16413f63cd1f000.jpg)
![](https://static.wixstatic.com/media/ad8b02_038349c75f2b441488bff16413f63cd1f000.jpg/v1/fill/w_980,h_551,al_c,q_85,usm_0.66_1.00_0.01,enc_avif,quality_auto/ad8b02_038349c75f2b441488bff16413f63cd1f000.jpg)
Pleurotremata.
He should have been on cloud nine. He had managed to turn the city “Camarilla” and free Delilah Harkness in less in months than many of the Waypoint had been alive in years. He was Seneschal, he was going to look good to Clan Ventrue, and he had tied up several Anarchs in Camarilla protocol and structure.
Yet he had a look of stone.
He knew better than to think his work was done. A meeting with the “Keeper” of the local Waypoint made it evidently clear that he was not trusted. Which he was happy about as Kindred who trust within months are simply Hunter fodder. But little statements rattled in his brain like runaway trains. Smashing from side to side and refusing to let him rest.
The first was from Lilianna. The statement of the “loose Camarilla structure” she planned to adhere to filled him with anger and dread in equal measure. Not only because she was an Elder and should, quite frankly, know better. It meant her adherence to the rank she was placed in was possible lip service until her little brood figured if Ethan was a pain worth removing, or the better devil to know.
The second was Anthony. “His sparring partner” as he had so quaintly branded him, due to his wit, however crass that wit may be. He knew Anthony was an Anarch even though he claimed so dearly he was “Anthony of Edinburgh”. Simply put, Ethan was sure that Anthony had not been told that independence is tantamount to Sabbat membership, and he was frankly too good of a conversationalist to be Sabbat. But Anthony had reminded him that not all “Camarilla were good guys,” and that galled him from the new Sheriff. For in the statement, Anthony played the old game of “bloody Cammies”. That the traditions that had saved the Kindred from the Spanish were far more of a crime than the war of atrocity and Diablerie that the Anarchs waged on their Elders.
And now this man was responsible for the Law of the Camarilla. Law that he would no doubt use to break Ethan wide open should he care to. Which made him uncomfortable when he knew he was supported by a powerful Elder who played her cards close to her chest.
Then there was Shark…
As much of an illusion as the new Prince, Ethan found that Shark was a living contradiction in terms turned into a boogey man by Chinese whispers and mixed messages. But Ethan did not discount him as a danger. The rumours of magic, the gang connections, the financial skill, the supposed Kindred support, the demons, and the supposed Hunter interactions. All possibly real, yet no proof of any of it that Ethan had seen. Even the parts of the contract signed by Ethan and Shark no doubt was filled with lies and vagueness because Ethan knew he would do the exact same should the roles be reversed. Leaving Ethan looking at a living lie smiling with razor teeth.
Lilianna, Anthony, and Shark.
All predators in the same water that Ethan was swimming in. Just waiting for the first sign of blood. He closed his laptop as the considerations reached a crescendo in his head.
Simply put, it would cost him nothing to get out of the water. To leave the three predators circling and return to the sea better equipped to deal with what awaited him. With luck, one would injure the other and their instincts would take over. Recognition of a familiar creature would be lost, and they would tear the injured party to pieces. Rent muscle and sinew clouding the water so that Ethan could return without notice and able to work as he did best. Without eyes on him.
But at what cost?
Lilianna could turn Edinburgh to an Anarch city and not think twice. Anthony could make a mockery of a sacred position simply to settle grudges with the Tremere that wronged him in the Clan split. Shark, though currently the lesser of the evils would simply manipulate ends to suit and without Ethan. He would move the city so far from the Kindred, Ethan would never see the Camarilla rise here again. Not to mention the great unknown.
Delilah.
A sigh escaped his lips as he thought of the Malkavian. A medium and a Malkavian which could give insights into Ethan he would prefer never to see the light of day. A “combat capable” Kindred that knew there way around the blade and savvy enough to know her way around the court. Moreover, Delilah was part of the rag tag “family” that supported the new Prince. Being the Prince herself, the new Sheriff, the Malkavian who served as her Keeper, and a Nosferatu child who had made her thoughts on the Camarilla very plain.
Running was the wise and prudent move. The deck was stacked against him, and his chances of succeeding were slim.
So, why wasn’t he running.
First there was Anna. She could learn here.
Second, he had been driven from here before, and the thought of leaving again raised his beast more than he would have liked.
But most of all, he was Ventrue.
Ventrue were the creators of the Camarilla, regardless of what the other high clans said. They were the leaders of the Kindred. Not because they wanted to be led, but because it needed to be done. It was the principle the Clan was founded on, and the Clan had done that very thing since the Inquisition had burned the ground that the Kindred once walked. And principle was important to him. So, his action was clear. He had to fight for the Camarilla, even if it got him killed. For dignitas and the Clan demanded no less.
He would stay in the water. He would swim with the sharks. Until their teeth tore him asunder.
With the decision reached, he called Katherine.
He had some preparations to begin making.