Rei Lemon

♡ Zayne ♡ Xavier ♡ Rafayel ♡ Sylus ♡ Caleb

Polyamory fic ♥︎Amore Immortale♥︎

🎃 2024 Kinktober 🎃

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The storm had already swallowed the forest by the time Xavier found you.

Rain crashed violently through the trees, and somewhere deeper in the woods, thunder rolled hard enough to shake the branches. The sound that drew his attention toward you had been small in comparison – a yelp followed by a dull thud.

For a moment, he simply stared.

You looked fragile lying there in the rain. One wrong step and the storm had knocked you unconscious.

Xavier crouched beside you. The sight seemed to unsettle him, though whether it was the blood running from your temple or the simple fact that a human had wandered this far into the forest alone was impossible to tell.

A quiet sigh left him then, barely audible.

“Poor little bunny.”

When he lifted you into his arms, your head rolled weakly against his shoulder. A faint sound escaped you – half-whine, half-confused protest – and your eyes fluttered open for barely a second.

He smiled despite himself at your delirious question ‘are you my prince?’ before unconsciousness claimed you again.

*

“The living room looks dreadful.”

Sylus stood near the entrance with his arms crossed, staring into the dust-covered room with visible displeasure. The sharp line between his brows deepened further as his gaze traveled across the old white sheets covering the furniture.

Rafayel stepped briefly beside him, a small wooden box of art supplies balanced against his hip. He peered inside only long enough to grimace.

“Yeah,” he murmured, already backing away. “I’m not helping you with that.”

The comment earned him a low scoff from Sylus as Rafayel disappeared farther down the corridor.

Rafayel eventually drifted toward the kitchen, stopping in the doorway when he spotted Zayne standing at the counter. “Whatcha doin’?”

“Sorting herbs.” Zayne barely glanced up from the collection of paper bags and half-filled glass jars spread across the counters. “You’re welcome to help.”

Rafayel adjusted the box in his arms. “No, thank you.”

A quiet chuckle escaped Zayne before he returned to his work.

Rafayel wandered toward the window instead, watching water stream heavily down the panes.

“I wanted to go outside,” he said after a while. “There’s a boutique not far from here.”

“In this weather?” Zayne asked flatly.

Rafayel sighed dramatically at the storm outside. “Well, I’m overdue for new clothes.”

“But when I asked you before we left whether you needed something from the tailor, you said no.” Sylus appeared beside him, his voice carrying a teasing tone. “Now you want to run through a thunderstorm for something off-the-rack?”

Rafayel rolled his eyes when Sylus poked sharply at his side.

The exchange might have continued longer if not for the sudden shift in Rafayel’s expression. His attention drifted back toward the rain-darkened windows.

“Xavier should’ve returned by now.” The ease in his voice was replaced by quiet concern.

The silence that followed Rafayel’s words lingered heavily through the kitchen. Neither Sylus nor Zayne offered a response. Sylus remained standing near the doorway with his arms still crossed, while Zayne’s hands slowed over the glass jars spread across the counter, though neither man looked away from the storm beyond the glass.

Then, somewhere beyond the corridor, came the strained sound of the front door trying to open against the wind.

Sylus was the first to move. His posture straightened instantly before he crossed the hallway in long strides.

The moment Sylus pulled the door wider, the atmosphere inside the mansion shifted completely.

Xavier stood on the other side drenched from head to toe, rainwater streaming from his coat and dripping from strands of silver hair plastered against his forehead. One arm held a fishing bucket while a woven basket hung from the other, a fishing rod resting against his shoulder. Yet none of those things were what drew the eye first.

It was you.

Your body rested limply in his arms, soaked clothing clinging heavily to your skin while your head lolled weakly against his shoulder. Mud stained almost everything – your boots, your coat, your hair.

For the first time that evening, Rafayel looked genuinely startled.

His usual teasing ease disappeared entirely from his face as he stepped away from the kitchen doorway, gaze darting quickly between Xavier and the unconscious figure in his arms. Even Sylus, still holding the front door open against the storm, seemed briefly caught off guard by the sight standing before him.

Xavier did not explain.

“Where’s Zayne?” He asked, his breathing heavy.

“Kitchen,” Sylus answered immediately.

Xavier moved at once, wet footsteps echoing sharply through the corridor as he carried you deeper into the mansion, abandoning the fishing rod near the entrance without so much as a glance back. Water trailed behind him across the old wooden floors while the bucket hanging from his arm knocked once against the wall as he turned sharply toward the kitchen.

By then, Zayne had already turned around.

His eyes widened for only the briefest moment as they landed on Xavier approaching with you in his arms, before his posture shifted completely and the last traces of quiet domesticity vanished from the mansion.

“Put her on the table.”

Xavier obeyed without hesitation.

The old kitchen table groaned softly under your weight as he lowered you carefully onto the dark wood. Rainwater gathered around you, dripping from your clothes onto the aged surface.

The fishing bucket slipped from his arm first, soon after followed by the woven basket, both landing heavily beside one of the chairs.

He then stepped back toward the table almost at once, drawn immediately to your side again.

Zayne had already leaned over you by then, his attention settling fully onto the wound near your temple. His fingers moved carefully through rain-soaked strands of hair, searching for the source of the blood. For several long seconds, the kitchen filled with nothing but the storm outside and the sounds of examination – soaked fabric shifting, Zayne moving around you, Xavier’s heavier breathing gradually slowing.

Then Zayne finally looked up.

His gaze landed briefly on Sylus and Rafayel still standing near the kitchen doorway, both of them unusually silent now.

“Warm water,” Zayne said. “A bucket, soap, towels.” His eyes flicked briefly toward the upper floor before returning to them. “And prepare one of the bedrooms. Get the fireplace going. She needs dry clothes and heat before the cold settles in properly.”

Sylus moved first, already turning toward the back corridors of the mansion before Zayne had fully finished speaking, his footsteps disappearing quickly into the depths of the house.

Rafayel lingered – only for a moment.

The stormlight spilling through the windows caught strangely against his face as his gaze drifted toward you lying motionless on the old wooden table. Whatever expression crossed his features remained difficult to name – shock, perhaps.

Then he finally turned away as well, disappearing upstairs without another word.

Zayne’s attention returned to you immediately, fingers pressing gently near the wound at your temple while Xavier remained standing close enough beside him.

“Alcohol,” Zayne said without looking away. “And bandages.”

Xavier moved instantly.

He crossed toward one of the cabinets, hands already searching through drawers and shelves. Somewhere upstairs, muffled footsteps echoed through the mansion while thunder rolled heavily beyond the walls.

*

The kitchen no longer resembled the quiet room it had been less than an hour ago. Wet clothes lay folded across nearby counters beside jars of herbs and hastily abandoned bundles of dried plants, while the scent of medicinal alcohol had long since mixed with steam rising from the basin of hot water resting near the edge of the table.

You remained unconscious through all of it.

Bandages had already been wrapped carefully around the wound near your temple, the bleeding finally slowed to little more than faint traces staining the white cloth. Towels had been arranged under you to keep the old wooden table from soaking through entirely. Warmth slowly returned to your body thanks to Zayne’s careful hands.

His sleeves had been rolled to his forearms as he carefully cleaned away rainwater, mud, and the lingering traces of blood from your skin, moving your arms and legs only when necessary.

Across the room, Xavier stood near the counters with his back turned toward the table, having changed into dry clothes, though the ends of his silver hair still remained damp against the collar. His gaze drifted absently across the kitchen counters crowded with spare linens, herbs, and your basket he had brought with him.

Only the occasional sound of water shifting softly inside the basin interrupted the silence between them now, accompanied by distant thunder rolling somewhere beyond the forest.

Then, eventually, Zayne spoke.

“You’re aware this was reckless.”

For a moment, Xavier said nothing.

His shoulders rose slightly before slowly easing again.

“Well,” he answered at last, “what should I have done?”

A pause followed.

“I know each one of us would’ve done the same.”

Zayne did not respond.

After several more moments passed Xavier glanced back.

His eyes drifted toward the table only for a second, concern surfacing visibly across his features at the sight of you lying there on the towels and bandages before he quickly looked away again, his attention returning toward the scattered linens near the counter.

“Is she going to be alright?”

Zayne placed the sponge back into the basin before answering.

“She’ll likely develop a fever,” he said calmly. “A day or two, perhaps longer depending on how hard the fall was on her body.”

Carefully, he adjusted one of the towels before continuing.

“But it’s manageable.”

Another brief silence followed before his gaze lifted briefly toward the bandages wrapped around your head.

“The concussion concerns me more.” His tone remained steady, clinical. “If she wakes soon, there shouldn’t be lasting damage. Her memory should remain intact.”

An exhale left Xavier’s lips, though the concern remained on his face.

*

Upstairs, one of the mansion’s forgotten bedrooms slowly shed the last traces of abandonment under the warmth of the fire Sylus had lit not long ago.

Rafayel finished smoothing the last crease from the fresh bedsheets before stepping back, his gaze lingering on the bed – his mind seemed elsewhere entirely.

Nearby, Sylus moved around the room with a feather duster in one hand, clearing away the last thin layer of dust gathered atop the dresser and table near the fireplace.

Sylus broke the silence first.

“So,” he said, adjusting one of the candles near the nightstand, “I suppose now you have one more excuse to visit that boutique.”

Rafayel let out a soft breath through his nose that almost resembled a laugh.

“I suppose I do.”

His voice remained quiet, distracted. He glanced once more toward the bed before lowering his gaze, fingers absently brushing over the edge of the fresh sheets.

Rafayel’s brows pulled together faintly as his gaze drifted toward the rain-streaked windows.

“What was she doing out there alone?”

“In weather like this,” he continued after a moment, almost as though speaking more to himself than Sylus, “most people would’ve turned back long before reaching those woods.”

A frown formed on Sylus’s face, but he remained silent.

Neither man spoke again for a while after that. They simply continued preparing the bedroom in silence while downstairs, beyond the old floorboards, the rest of the mansion slowly began rearranging itself around you.

*

By the time all four men returned to the kitchen, the storm had calmed down. Darkness had settled fully around the mansion by then, swallowing the woods outside.

The kitchen had returned to order as well.

The towels soaked with rainwater and diluted blood had disappeared, the basin emptied, the old wooden table wiped clean once more as though the chaos from earlier that evening had never touched it at all. Only the faint scent of antiseptic in the warm air hinted otherwise.

Zayne had resumed the task interrupted hours earlier – sorting dried herbs from paper bags into glass jars. The repetitive motion seemed almost meditative along with the quiet rhythm of rain outside, though the slight tension in his posture betrayed that his thoughts remained elsewhere entirely.

Nearby, Sylus leaned against a kitchen counter with his arms crossed tightly over his chest, his expression unreadable. Across from him, Xavier sat at the kitchen table in silence, one forearm resting against the wood while exhaustion lingered visibly in his posture despite the warmth finally surrounding him. Rafayel was seated beside him, leaned back in the chair as he gazed out the window.

“Did you make sure nobody followed you?” Sylus asked, looking at Xavier.

Xavier nodded once.

Sylus’s gaze lingered on him for another moment before drifting toward the darkened windows.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if she was bait.”

Sylus continued when no one said anything, “A young woman alone in the middle of the woods during a thunderstorm?” His brows pulled together further. “It doesn’t make sense.”

Xavier lifted his gaze then, tired but steady.

“I made sure no one was behind me.” His voice remained quiet. “I checked several times before reaching the mansion.”

For the first time since sitting down, Rafayel finally spoke as well.

“I searched the grounds from upstairs.” His gaze still fixed on the window. “I didn’t see anyone either.”

Sylus fell silent after that, though he didn’t seem reassured entirely. The tension remained visible in his shoulders and the distant look settling in his eyes, the look of someone already calculating possibilities several steps ahead of everyone else in the room.

Eventually, he exhaled through his nose.

“I’ll be very surprised if a hunter doesn’t appear at our door sooner or later.”

The soft clink of glass interrupted the statement as Zayne closed one of the final jars and set it beside the others lined across the counter.

“Even if someone unwelcome does appear,” he said calmly, “we already know how to handle it.”

Sylus glanced toward him briefly but did not argue.

Zayne wiped the remaining traces of dried herbs from his fingertips before continuing.

“But no one came yet.” His gaze shifted briefly toward Xavier and Rafayel in turn. “And if both of them checked the grounds, then I doubt anyone followed her here.”

For a moment, the room grew quiet again.

Rafayel’s attention drifted subtly toward Sylus then, as though checking whether the reassurance had softened any of the tension lingering in his composure. It hadn’t, at least not entirely. Sylus still looked lost somewhere deep within his own thoughts, his jaw slightly tense.

Eventually, though, he nodded once.

“We were supposed to scout the surrounding area anyway,” he said at last. “If someone is nearby, we’ll know soon enough.”

No one disagreed with that either.

The tension lingering through the kitchen had eased after a discussion was held regarding hunters and scouting routes, though not enough for anyone to truly relax. Something irreversible had already settled into the mansion that night, and all four of them seemed aware of it.

Rafayel eventually leaned farther back in his chair, stretching one arm behind his head before the other followed, the posture deliberately casual. He tilted his head toward the others.

“So,” he asked, “what exactly are we going to do about her?”

No one answered immediately.

Xavier’s gaze remained lowered toward the surface of the table while Sylus continued standing near the counter with his arms crossed, distant thoughts still lingering visibly behind his eyes.

Then, he spoke first.

“It’s risky if she stays.”

Xavier looked up at that.

“She can’t leave yet.” The answer came quickly enough to suggest he had already reached that conclusion long before the discussion even began. “She needs time to recover first.”

Rafayel glanced between them before sighing dramatically.

“Well,” he murmured, “I wouldn’t exactly complain if she stayed.” He shifted in the chair, lips curving into the faintest trace of amusement. “I’m starting to get bored looking at the three of you all the time.”

That finally earned the smallest reaction from Sylus – a quiet scoff with the brief twitch of amusement at the corner of his mouth.

Nearby, Zayne finally turned away from the counter entirely, leaning back against it as his attention settled fully on the others.

“She’s a risk either way,” he said calmly.

The statement quieted the room again.

“But it’s not in our interest for her to leave too soon.”

His gaze drifted briefly toward Xavier.

“If she suddenly returns to town bandaged up after disappearing into the woods, people will ask questions.” He finally rolled down his sleeves.

No one disagreed.

Sylus exhaled quietly through his nose before speaking again, his tone thoughtful now.

“If we tried to bribe her, that would only make us seem more suspicious.”

His gaze lowered briefly toward the floorboards.

“And threatening her…” He trailed off for a moment before shaking his head once.

“No.” Zayne said calmly, with finality in his voice.

Zayne folded his arms loosely across his chest. “If she wants to stay until she fully recovers,” he said, “it would likely be better for everyone involved.”

His eyes drifted briefly upward, toward the second floor where you still slept.

“I need to monitor the concussion regardless.”

This time the silence that followed no longer carried the same uncertainty as before. The discussion had already shifted away from whether you would remain in the mansion at all.

Now it had simply become a matter of how long.

*

The front doors of the mansion opened hard enough against the wind that the sound echoed through the otherwise silent halls, followed almost immediately by Sylus stepping inside first, one hand braced against the heavy wood as cold night air rushed in. Zayne entered beside Xavier only a second later, supporting most of his weight while Xavier leaned heavily against him, one arm slung weakly across Zayne’s shoulders as the three men crossed the threshold together. Rafayel followed close behind, damp curls clinging to his forehead from the rain by the time Sylus finally pushed the doors shut behind them with a low thud.

The moment they entered the kitchen, Zayne guided Xavier toward one of the chairs near the table.

“Sit.”

Xavier obeyed, lowering himself heavily into the chair while one bloodied hand caught the edge of the table for balance. Only then did Zayne finally straighten fully again, already turning his attention toward the cabinets nearby.

“Rafayel,” he said calmly, though urgency simmered beneath, “my medical bag. Upstairs.”

Rafayel disappeared from the kitchen almost instantly.

Meanwhile, Zayne had already returned to Xavier’s side, his attention settling on the blood staining through the front of Xavier’s shirt and coat in dark, uneven patches.

“Take this off.”

Xavier exhaled quietly through his nose before reaching for the buttons. After fumbling briefly with the soaked fabric, he finally pushed the coat from his shoulders while Zayne stepped closer to help pull the ruined shirt away from the wounds. Blood had already dried in several places across Xavier’s torso by then, darkened crimson spreading along shallow cuts near his ribs and shoulder while fresher streaks still traced faintly down one arm.

In the background, Sylus paced restlessly near the counters without seeming fully aware he was doing it, one hand occasionally dragging through damp hair while the other flexed faintly at his side. His boots tracked rainwater across the floorboards with every slow turn through the room.

Rafayel returned quickly with Zayne’s medical bag in hand, descending the stairs fast enough that the sound of his footsteps echoed through the corridor before he reentered the kitchen and set the bag carefully atop the table beside Xavier.

Without wasting another moment, Zayne opened the bag and began cleaning the wounds with practiced precision, first using clean cloths soaked with alcohol to wipe away the blood gathered along Xavier’s skin while Xavier remained seated in exhausted silence. Occasionally his jaw tightened faintly whenever the cloth pressed too firmly against one of the deeper cuts, though otherwise he barely reacted at all.

Nearby, Rafayel remained standing beside the table watching quietly, his attention shifting repeatedly between Zayne’s hands and Xavier’s injuries as though waiting for instructions before stepping in to help wherever necessary, while behind them Sylus continued pacing through the kitchen.

For several long moments, the only sounds filling the kitchen were the steady rainfall against the windows, the rustle of cloth and bandages shifting between Zayne’s hands, and the creak of floorboards from Sylus’s restless pacing. The tension lingering through the room had not eased since they entered the mansion. If anything, it seemed to sharpen further the longer the silence stretched between them.

Then Zayne finally spoke.

“Next time,” he said without looking up from the wound he was tending to along Xavier’s ribs, “we can’t afford a slip-up like this.”

Sylus stopped near the far end of the room, one hand braced briefly against the edge of the counter before he let out a quiet breath through his nose.

“If you’d let me handle it,” he said darkly, “we would’ve been done hours ago.”

His gaze shifted briefly toward Xavier before drifting away again.

“But no – ”

“Stop it.” Rafayel’s interrupted him. “It’s useless to argue now.”

He turned his attention back toward Xavier afterward, concern settling faintly across his features as Zayne pressed the cloth more firmly against one of the deeper cuts along Xavier’s torso. Xavier flinched at the contact despite himself, the reaction brief but noticeable enough that the room seemed to still around it for half a second.

“I’m fine,” Xavier murmured, exhaustion roughening his voice. “It’s nothing, really.”

The reassurance lost some of its conviction when his shoulders tightened again a moment later under Zayne’s hands.

Rafayel exhaled quietly before resting one hand against Xavier’s shoulder, fingers pressing carefully into the tense muscles there in a slow motion that seemed intended more to steady him than anything else.

Nearby, Sylus’s pacing slowed the moment he noticed the reaction as well. He remained still for a second, watching silently while Zayne continued tending to the injuries, and only after seeing that Xavier remained upright and conscious did he finally resume moving again – slower now, though the frustration had not entirely left him.

“I still don’t understand why we hesitated,” he grumbled.

Rafayel glanced toward the staircase.

Then, with a pointed look in Sylus’s direction, he raised one finger briefly toward his lips before lowering his voice.

“We have someone sleeping upstairs.”

For a moment, Sylus said nothing.

Then he exhaled slowly and lowered his voice as well.

“It would be very inconvenient,” he said, “if we had to move again so soon.”

“Yes,” Zayne answered calmly, not once pausing his work. “I’m aware of that.”

The cloth in his hand came away bloodied again before he reached for a fresh one nearby.

“That’s precisely why I wanted more information before acting recklessly.”

Sylus let out another low breath through his nose, though this time the irritation seemed directed more toward the situation itself than anyone in the room. His eyes drifted briefly toward the kitchen windows.

“I’ll go back out in a few hours.”

No one interrupted him.

“I’m not letting that snake disappear into the woods without knowing where it slithered off to.”

Again, no one argued.

Rafayel’s hand remained resting against Xavier’s shoulder while Zayne continued wrapping fresh bandages carefully around the worst of the injuries.

At last, Sylus stopped pacing entirely and leaned back against the counter instead, folding his arms across his chest once more before glancing toward Xavier.

“Do you want something to eat?”

*

The real reason Zayne suddenly couldn’t accompany you back to your cottage that day, arrived after midnight at the sharp tapping against glass.

Candlelight flickered across Zayne’s bedroom while scattered papers rested across the desk in front of him, stacks of notes and dried herbs occupying nearly every available surface.

He lifted his attention from the papers, his gaze drifting toward the bedroom window where the silhouette of a large crow perched against the glass. He rose from the desk and crossed the room before pushing the window open just enough for the bird to hop onto the wooden frame inside.

“Mephisto…”

The crow tilted his head once at the sound of his name, feathers dampened slightly by the lingering night air. Only then did Zayne notice the narrow strip of rolled up paper secured around his leg.

His brows pulled together faintly as he unwrapped it.

The message itself consisted of only a few hastily written words.

‘Meet us by the old tavern.’

Zayne stared at the note for a moment longer before a sigh left his lips. His fingers brushed briefly through the dark feathers along Mephisto’s neck in absentminded affection before he crossed back toward the desk, already reaching for another piece of paper.

That piece of paper was slipped under Rafayel’s bedroom door.

The next day, another note, this time written by Rafayel, rested on top of the kitchen table.

‘Thank you for not telling me why all of you suddenly had to disappear and leave me responsible for accompanying her to Linkon.

You are all very aware I have a business meeting in a few days, so someone will have to take my place in the city.

If not, I’ll have her join the theater.

XX

(None for you, Zayne)’

*

The three men moved through the corridor in heavy silence, their footsteps muffled from layers of dust and dirt that seemed to cling to every inch of the space hidden beneath an old, seemingly abandoned distillery. The air itself felt stale enough to settle heavily in the lungs, carrying the scent of mildew, smoke, and something sharper.

Only the candles Sylus carried offered any real light.

The small flames illuminated the state they themselves were in after whatever confrontation had taken place earlier that night. Mud still clung to their boots, while faint scratches marked exposed skin near Xavier’s jaw and Sylus’s hands.

Eventually, they reached one of the doors standing slightly ajar farther down the corridor.

Xavier stepped forward first.

The hinges groaned softly as he pushed it open wider before the three men entered the room beyond, the candlelight spilling across sparse beds lining the walls and three startled faces turning toward them at once.

The room itself was larger than the corridor outside but no less unsettling in its emptiness. Aside from the narrow beds, a few scattered blankets, and abandoned trays resting along the floor near the walls, there was almost nothing else inside.

Two candles were lit inside the room, showing three young people occupying the space – two women and one young man.

Though exhausted and visibly unsettled, none of them appeared severely injured. Their clothes looked worn from prolonged confinement and their expressions carried the dull strain of sleeplessness and fear, yet they remained alert enough that the young man immediately pushed himself to his feet the moment the men stepped farther inside.

“Who are you?” His voice came rough with distrust.

Xavier stopped several feet away from him and slowly lifted his hands in a calm gesture.

“Don’t worry,” he said quietly. “He won’t be bothering you anymore.”

The man seemed confused at the words.

“We’re here to take you home.”

None of the captives relaxed yet.

The young man continued studying the three strangers standing before them, clearly attempting to decide whether they were telling the truth or if they were simply another variation of the nightmare that had already trapped them there.

Nearby, Zayne stepped closer with the same calm composure.

“Do any of you have injuries I need to look at?” he asked. “Fever? Dizziness?”

The women exchanged uncertain glances before one of them shook her head slowly.

“We’re alright,” she answered quietly. “We just want to leave.”

Zayne nodded once.

Before anyone else could speak again, one of the women suddenly looked toward the corridor outside the room.

“There’s another person.”

All three men shifted their attention toward her.

She hesitated briefly before continuing.

“Further down.” Her voice lowered slightly. “I… I don’t know if he’s alive.”

 “Stay here,” Xavier said calmly after a moment. “We’ll check.”

The three men turned and disappeared back into the corridor once more, the sound of their footsteps fading deeper until they finally stopped outside the smallest door at the very end of the hall.

For a moment, none of them spoke.

Then Xavier pushed the door open.

Darkness swallowed the room beyond almost entirely until Sylus stepped closer, raising the candle holder higher and allowing trembling light to spill across the cramped interior.

A figure lay collapsed near the far wall – motionless.

One arm curled tightly against his torso while the other rested awkwardly under him at an angle that looked wrong in the dim light. Dirt and dried blood stained the dark fabric of his clothes while his breathing came shallow enough that it barely disturbed the silence surrounding him.

Zayne turned his head toward Xavier.

“Go escort the captives.”

Xavier nodded without questioning the instruction. His gaze lingered briefly on the injured stranger lying on the floor before he finally turned and disappeared back into the corridor.

Sylus stepped farther inside first, illuminating more of the room while Zayne approached the injured man and crouched next to him. The candlelight revealed details gradually – dark combat boots streaked with dried mud, black clothing worn beneath a heavy coat now stained with blood and dirt, worn out dark leather gloves.

Sylus’s gaze lingered on it briefly before drifting farther across the room, and that was when he noticed something metallic discarded near the far corner.

A dagger.

The blade glinted faintly in the low light before the shadows swallowed it again.

For the first time since entering the room, Sylus exchanged a long glance with Zayne.

“So,” he said quietly, “what exactly are we going to do?”

Zayne’s attention remained fixed on the injured man as he answered.

“What we always do,” he answered. “We treat him like everyone else.”

Sylus’s frown deepened at that.

Zayne pressed two fingers against the man’s neck to check his pulse, his expression gradually tightening the longer he remained silent. Then his hand moved higher, briefly touching his forehead before the words finally came in a quiet murmur, almost clinical despite the gravity of them.

“High fever.”

His fingers returned to the pulse again.

“Slow heartbeat.”

Carefully, he reached toward the man’s injured arm next.

The moment he attempted to lift it, the damage became obvious under his touch. The arm shifted wrong before the man let out the faintest strained sound somewhere between a grunt and a broken breath.

Zayne’s brows pulled together faintly.

“Broken in several places.”

The stranger remained barely conscious through it all, his body limp against the cold stone floor except for the weak tension tightening instinctively around the injured arm.

For a second, Zayne simply watched him in silence.

Then he reached toward his shoulder and shook him lightly.

The man stirred weakly.

Slowly, heavily, his eyes opened just enough for the candlelight to catch against the muted ametrine color of his irises. His breathing remained uneven, distant somehow, as though consciousness itself had become difficult to hold onto.

Zayne held his gaze steadily.

“I’m sorry to say,” he began quietly, “but I don’t think I can treat your injuries. I don’t believe you’ll survive until morning.”

For the first time since waking, the stranger’s expression shifted faintly at that, but exhaustion still dragged heavily at every movement.

“There is one other option,” Zayne continued after a moment.

A brief silence followed before his gaze flickered once toward the discarded dagger resting in the corner.

“But given who you are…”

The candle flames trembled softly between them.

“You may not want it.”

“Zayne – ” Sylus interrupted.

“I know.” Zayne’s voice remained calm.

For several seconds, neither man moved. Then, eventually, Zayne lifted his gaze just briefly toward Sylus over his shoulder. Something silent passed between them there, and Sylus said nothing further.

Then, Zayne looked back toward the stranger.

The injured man exhaled weakly through parted lips afterward, exhaustion dragging visibly at every movement before his jaw tightened faintly as though forcing the words out required the last remaining strength left in his body.

“Do it.”

Without hesitation, Zayne carefully slid one arm under the stranger’s shoulders, lifting him from the floor with enough care to avoid worsening the injuries already ravaging his body. The movement exposed more of his neck while the stranger’s head lolled weakly against Zayne’s arm, too exhausted now to resist or even fully hold himself upright anymore.

Nearby, Sylus remained standing in silence, watching everything unfold without interruption.

Then, slowly, something shifted in Zayne’s expression. The sharp edges of his teeth lengthened gradually into visible fangs.

Before moving any closer, Zayne paused once more.

“This will hurt.”

The stranger gave no response. Perhaps he could not. Or perhaps he no longer cared.

Zayne leaned down and sank his teeth into the exposed skin of his neck.

A sharp intake of breath followed by the faint strained grunt escaped the stranger at the initial contact. His body tensed weakly for a moment under Zayne’s hold, though exhaustion and fever had long since drained him of any real strength left to fight against it.

So instead, he simply endured it.

Sylus remained motionless near the doorway, his expression unreadable as seconds stretched inside the cramped room smelling faintly of blood, dust, and damp stone.

Eventually, Zayne carefully pulled away.

A thin streak of blood lingered at the corners of his mouth before he lowered the stranger gently back against the floor, one hand remaining briefly behind his shoulders to ease the movement. The man’s body had gone completely limp by then, eyes closed once more, his breathing almost imperceptible even in the silence surrounding them.

Zayne kneeled beside him afterward without speaking, watching and waiting.

Nearby, Sylus stepped forward and crouched beside him, silently offering a folded handkerchief from inside his coat. Zayne accepted it with a brief nod before wiping the remaining traces of blood from his mouth.

“Are you alright?” Sylus asked quietly.

Zayne only nodded in response.

From somewhere farther down the corridor came the distant sound of movement – footsteps against old floorboards accompanied by Xavier’s low reassuring voice as he guided the freed captives. The sounds felt strangely far compared to the suffocating stillness inside the small room.

For several long moments, nothing happened at all.

Then suddenly –

The stranger’s fingers twitched faintly against the floor.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹