#vampire!viktor

You weren’t sure you believed that last part. Vampires were, technically, not recognized by science. You’d never met one, that you knew of. But…they were a stable factor in local folklore, and all those stories had to come from somewhere. Right?

And…the longer you stood there, watching the dark building and the dim golden light pouring out from the windows, the more you started to entertain the thought that maybe vampires existed, and maybe this man was one of them. 

He seemed to lead an unusual life, and yeah, maybe he was just a hermit, but…for some reason you couldn’t quite convince yourself of that. No-one just appears out of nowhere and sets up camp in an abandoned building, never to be seen in daylight again.

You’d seen his shadow in the window a few times, passing by. You couldn’t see much of his features, but he was lean, like people had said. You stayed hidden the best you could – this was the first time you’d gotten this close – and just…tried to win this internal fight with yourself about whether you should turn around and go home right now or just get a little bit closer. Just stay a little bit longer. 

(You weren’t sure which side of your brain you were hoping would win).

You knew it was stupid, being there. 

You didn’t know how dangerous this man was, vampire or not. For all you knew he could have been 100% human and still been a murderer or something. 

But you were curious. 

That’s all it boiled down to. 

You didn’t want anything from this man. You just wanted to know. Who he was, what he was doing in there–

and if vampires really existed. 

Maybe you should be blaming all those fantasy books in your shop, but – dammit – you wanted to know if something more than this boring human existence really was out there. It was like an itching in your bones; you wanted to know. Your soul refused to settle, and it got more and more restless the longer you went on with your normal little life.

Besides, the man lived in a library. You had no idea how many books were in there that no-one in this town even remembered anymore. 

You wanted to know. 

That’s what makes you stay. Even when half your brain and most of your blood was constantly telling you that you should go, leave, now. 

You don’t really even have a plan. It’s not like you’re going to just knock and go up to him and say hey, I was wondering, what’s your deal? 

Yeah. You weren’t going to do that. 

What you were planning on doing was just…sort of circling that idea, the possibility of maybe running into him. Walking just on the edge of the property, telling yourself it’s not on purpose. Stopping to see if there’s a light in the windows tonight. That’s it.

It’s not like you were planning on actually going to talk to him. 

So when he’s suddenly standing in front of you, you don’t know what to say. Or do.

He is standing there, all sharp-edged in the shadows, dark and tall and silent, and looking at you with the most intense eyes you’ve ever seen. 

There’s a moment, when you’re just staring at him, where you feel like your heart beats a hollow beat and everything in the night is silent. The shadows seem to twirl around him, though that was probably just your imagination. Probably.

“Is there a reason you’re lingering in the shadows out here?” He asks, his voice a quiet, captivating drawl. 

He seems calm, the kind of stationary bottom-of-the-sea calm that you’d only seen in very intelligent animals before. 

(You try to quiet the part of your brain that tries to substitute ‘animals’ with ‘predators’, and you try your best to keep your breathing even. It takes more effort than it should).

His eyes were golden, deep golden, and that definitely wasn’t usual for…humans. 

And there was something about his features that made you instantly accept that if vampires existed, and this man was one, you wouldn’t be the least bit surprised. 

“No,” you answer, and the word is so light that it feels like a lie as soon as it leaves your lips.

You’re not sure what kind of vampiric powers this man might have, but you’re suddenly worried that he might be able to hear your heartbeat, which was definitely way faster than it should have been. 

“Hm.” He says, still looking at you, as if he was studying you.

You both pretend that he isn’t the reason you’re there. Or, you pretend he isn’t, and he pretends he doesn’t know that. 

You take a deep breath.

“What are the chances you would just go back inside and forget I was ever here?” You ask, trying to sound like you weren’t worried about what the alternative to that might be.

“Very low,” he answers, straight-forward, and then he tilts his head slightly and his eyes trail over you. 

He was still studying you.

“I don’t get many…visitors.” He says, and then he smiles. It’s a small, knowing, stupidly attractive smile, and, god, yeah, the man definitely has small fangs. Christ. Was it like a feature that vampires were attractive to like, lure you in? Was that a thing they did? 

He couldn't read your thoughts, could he?

“So it is not likely that I’ll forget you were ever here, no.” He continues, “but if you want me to, I will go back inside.” He meets your eyes, “if you tell me why you’re really here.”

You swallow. 

Fine, that was reasonable. You were on his property. 

Well. Technically it was still probably the town’s property. But still. In essence it was his now. 

You take a deep breath and try to silence the annoyingly rattling part of your monkey-brain that was still tugging at you to run away, be smart, please-  

The longer you dissect this situation in your brain though, the clearer it becomes. 

Yes, you were currently in a dark secluded space with a stranger. Who might be a vampire.

But…he hadn’t actually done anything to scare you, had he?

He hadn’t threatened you. 

He seemed quite reasonable, actually. 

And if he wanted to hurt you, he could have done that already. Many times over.

But instead, he was out here. Making civil conversation.

Did you really even want him to go back inside?

Wasn’t this why you were here? To find out more about him? 

You swallow, lick your lips, and then meet his eyes. Take a breath. 

“I was curious.”

“About?” He counters, watching you, tilting his head, as if he didn’t already know. 

You furrow your eyes a little bit. Just look at him for a few seconds. He just waits for you to answer, patiently. 

“You.” You finally answer. Hold his gaze.

“Ah.” He says, then nods slowly and smiles again, faintly. “Me.” 

Then, he looks at you again, now with something more purposeful in his eyes. More…interested. “Why?”

You blink. Go through a quick mental check of what your choices were here; you could lie – and say what?

Or you could tell the truth, and see where it took you. 

And – honestly? You were still curious. 

So you shrug with one shoulder, trying your best to seem casual about it. Pretend your heart wasn’t still pounding. 

“I was curious,” You answer, “about the mysterious stranger living in the abandoned library.”

He looks at you. Studies you. Nods slowly. 

"Hm." he says again. "Well, here I am." 

You take a deep breath. 

He shifts his weight. 

"What would you like to know?" He asks, remarkably casually. Like an offering. Or, possibly, a bait.

You take it, whichever one it was.

One way to find out.

"Who are you?" 

You start with the obvious, though you're not really sure what kind of an answer you're hoping for. 

"My name is Viktor." He says, simply, still with the ghost of a smile on his face. 

Nice. A name. Progress. 

Viktor.

That still didn't tell you much about what he was really doing here, but it was a start. 

You offer your own name in return, hoping not to seem rude. Not that he'd do much with your name; it wasn't very likely that you two would become pen pals or something. 

"And you've just…been living in our rundown library?" 

"Yes," he answers, shifting his weight a bit again, and again, looking at you like he was inspecting you. Waiting for something.

"Why?" 

He tilts his head a little. "That is," he says, "not a one-word answer." 

"Most answers aren't." You answer, before you can really think it through. This whole situation was absurd; were you really out here just… having a casual conversation with this cryptid of a man? 

He makes a sound that is… close to a chuckle. More of an exhale, but still. You can hear it loud and clear in the quiet darkness, and that makes it feel like he’s much closer to you than he actually is. Like the small sound fills the air around you.

"That is true." He says after a moment. Then, he takes a breath. Visibly. 

So he wasn't at least entirely undead then. 

"How about we make a deal." he offers, "I'll tell you," he meets your eyes again and smiles a little, "for a price."

"And what might that be?" You ask in return, entertaining the idea, and trying your best to seem casual about it.

His smile widens. "One of those strawberry pies from the bakery, and your favorite book."

You blink. How he knew about the strawberry pies, you weren't sure, but you weren't about to question that now. The answer could have been a lot worse, so you'll take strawberry pie, sure. 

"Do I need to point out that you literally live in a library?" 

He shifts his weight again, leaning more heavily on his cane. "A library that hasn't gotten any new books in years."

You look at him. Really look at him. 

So this alleged-vampire, nocturnal cryptid hermit of a man, had just offered to tell you his life story, in exchange for a pie and a book? 

Yeah, if you were honest with yourself, you were never going to not take that deal. 

"Okay," you tell him, "my place or yours?" 

His lips quirk up a little. "Mine," he answers, "I think that's probably best." Then, he nods slowly and meets your eyes. "It's quiet and peaceful in there."

He smiles, just enough for you to get a glimpse of his teeth again, and it's the most sharp-edged-beautiful thing you've seen in a while.

Something curls around your spine in the darkness, and you're still not sure if it was a bait or an offering that you took.

Three weeks have passed since Viktor woke up after you turned him. As you expected, he’s been a little cranky and terse in your few interactions, so you’ve been leaving him well enough alone. You know better than anyone what it’s like to suddenly have the world come alive around you, new sights and smells and sounds that never end; it’s beautiful, but wholeheartedly overwhelming for the first little while.

What surprises you is how well he’s handling it all: yes, he’s a little unpleasant to converse with at the moment, but he’s been quiet and comfortable so far - holed up in the library to read and study, equipped with those silly teething rings you’d gotten him and a mini-fridge full of blood bags. It’s a little unsettling how easily he’s able to fall back into his old lifestyle, but you’re trying to keep an open mind - you’d been forced into vampirism: Viktor had chosen this.

But you still have guilt weighing heavily on your shoulders, negative thoughts crowding and swirling around in your mind. Typically you’d just push them down, or distract yourself with other tasks, but nothing…feels right. You don’t need to sleep, and yet you find yourself lacking the energy to do more than just sit on a chair in the scullery and watch the snow fall through the window. Or maybe you lack the motivation? The most daunting task you have on hand is draining the basement, but you’ve got a hundred other things piled up on your list.

Why can’t you just pick one?

You sigh deeply, deep in the tangled mess of your thoughts. Apparently you’re loud enough that your friend hears you, though, even from all the way up in the library: he appears in the doorway most suddenly, startling you so badly that you pitch sideways out of your chair.

You glare up at him from the floor with halfhearted malice, and he offers you a hand as well as an apologetic smile.

“I didn’t mean to catch you at unawares,” he says, helping you to your feet. “Though you must be…incredibly distracted, not to have heard me approach. Are you alright?”

The genuine concern in his tone is what really ties your stomach in knots: you’ve been giving him space while he adjusts to his new life, but without his presence to aid your generally sour mood, you’ve been…spiraling. In the few months you’ve known him, you’ve gotten used to him as a presence in your life, and to not have him around - even temporarily, and for his own good - you’re lonely.

You want to see him every day; talk to him, learn with him, laugh with him, witness him thrive! You want to be there for all his new discoveries and triumphs, you want to listen to him excitedly dump facts about alchemy and science, you want…him. You want him, and it makes you feel guilty, and nauseous, and horrible. He’s going through so much, and for you to throw all your feelings at him in a time of vulnerability-

“Y/N?”

The sound of his voice brings you out of your head, and you snap back to the present with a small smile. “I’m fine,” you assure him, though it’s obvious he doesn’t believe you. You persist anyways, telling him, “I think I just need to hunt, is all. You know how scratchy the feeling gets.”

Viktor finds a seat in the chair beside you, and his cool hand finds a place on your thigh - meant to be a comforting gesture, you know, but if you had a heartbeat, it would certainly be fluttering in your chest.

“We have blood in the fridge,” he says softly.

You shake your head, pat his hand with your own, and try to offer him the same unconvincing smile. “That’s your blood, sweetheart,” you say gently, “It’s harder to get in bags, so we can’t go around wasting it while I’m able to catch my own.”

His fingers dig into your thigh. “We’ve got plenty. I just had some this morning-”

“I need to hunt, Viktor.”

The sharpness of your tone surprises both of you into silence, and you sigh again. “I’m sorry. I know I’ve been…a little grouchy, lately.”

“So there is something bothering you, then?”

You crinkle your nose up. You don’t really want to tell him about everything you’ve been feeling; you know you should, and that he would definitely want to try and help you, but…would he blame himself at all? For being unavailable to you, even though he’d just had his life drastically altered? 

It’s not his job to look after me, you decide.

“I’m restless,” you tell him, and it’s only half a lie. “Bagged blood is good when you’ve first turned - it’s easier to control yourself - but eventually the desire to… chase prey… arises. I need to let some energy out.”

He seems a little more convinced with this explanation, though the narrowing of his eyes makes you think that he knows there’s something you’re not telling him.

He doesn’t mention it, in any case, and you’re not going to jump at the chance to spill your secrets.

You rise from the chair, and Viktor lets his hand fall back into his own lap. You give him a quick kiss on the forehead, promise that you’ll be back before dinner, and disappear out the door into the snow.

___

Hikers are always your favourite type of meal. They’re easy to come by, since the land all around you is full of winding and meandering trails, and they’re easy to locate: they make so much noise tromping around in the underbrush, especially in the winter when everything is frozen and crisp. They’re the best tasting kind of human, deliciously warm, and with their hearts pumping hard in their chests.

Thinking about it as you wander along a secluded forest trail makes your teeth ache and the edges of your vision fade to black. Admittedly, you haven’t been the best at taking care of yourself in centuries past; going too long between meals, and making your hunts too primal and uncontrollable. You’d still managed to save the few people you had taken too much from, but it was questionable how their lives had fared afterwards - had they had a fruitful existence? Or had your momentary lapse in self awareness caused them to always be left behind?

You had never really enjoyed hunting. It satisfied the instinctual need to sink your teeth into a living creature, but it wasn’t pleasing by any means. You could never get into it like your father had: he had loved seeing the fear in the eyes of humans, and hearing them plead and beg as he bit into them and bled them dry. He’d tried time and time again to get you to take the same pleasure in the hunt, but you were steadfast and stubborn.

How different would you have been, if you’d been what he wanted you to be? Would you have turned Viktor with ease? Would you have even taken him in? Hell, would you have even stayed cooped up in an old castle all these years, or would you still be out in the world?

Your head throbs, and the corners of your vision darken again. Maybe Viktor had been right, earlier, when he’d suggested having some blood from a bag: you were in no state of mind to be hunting right now - not if you didn’t want to lose control and hurt someone.

You turn on your heel to head back home, only to freeze when you finally realize there’s someone standing behind you. A man maybe a little taller than you, donning typical winter walking gear as well as a surprised expression.

He looks somewhat wary as he watches you, not making any moves to come closer, but still too curious to turn the other way and run. You must be quite the sight, you think: hair a mess, and wearing nothing more than thin brown leggings and a billowing cotton shirt.

“Are you okay?” the man asks, swallowing thickly. You can see the pulse in his neck, hear how steady his heart is in his chest, and your head pounds again, darkness creeping further into your line of sight.

“Are you lost?” he wonders again, taking a couple steps towards you, “Jesus, you’ve gotta be freezing. I can take you back to town, though it’s a ways…shit, do you have anywhere to go-”

All at once, he stops pacing forward, stops talking, and stares at you. Something in your posture must have changed, the way you can feel your control slipping: he knows you’re a threat. His heart rate has nearly doubled, as if he’s realized his impending demise.

You try to fight against your instincts, try to stay where you are.

You take a step towards him.

He takes a step back.

You take another step.

He barely has time to turn around before you’re on him, tackling him into the snow in a flurry of hissing and shouting. The man struggles, wiggling and kicking and trying to throw you off, but you’re too strong: you pin his arms and sink your teeth into his neck, and then it’s only a matter of time before he goes limp. You’ve not given him enough venom to turn him, only to temporarily tranquilize him; he won’t even realize what’s happening while you feast on him.

His blood is bitter on your tongue, though. It’s as fresh as it can possibly be, and yet it does little to sate your constant thirst - it’s thin and watery, and doesn’t call to you the same way Viktor’s blood had. Though in your experience, no one has ever drawn you in like he has; not a human, nor a vampire.

You pause as you hear a soft click a little ways away, the darkness in your vision just beginning to fade, and not a second later, pain blooms hot in your shoulder.

You drop the man in your grasp, and stare down at the spot on your chest that now pinches and burns. You’ve been shot in the back, you realize, when you see some of your skin rising to a point just below your clavicle. The barest hint of silver - the head of a crossbow bolt - pokes through your skin.

Someone shot you.

All at once, the darkness that had been clouding your mind throughout the morning boils to red, and you feel your last shred of control snap in half.

It takes only a couple seconds to find the other person, hidden up in a tree some thirty feet away, cursing and complaining about ‘missing the shot’. You want to wonder what he means, but you’re fading.

The last thing you see before you’re consumed by red, is the face of a frightened man as you knock him out of a tree.

___

You come back to awareness slowly, as if waking from a deep slumber. You feel the tickle of your hair against your neck, and the scratch of tree bark on your arm. It’s quiet, you note, with not a sound of bird or mouse. The air is fresh - cold, even - and the soft ping of snowflakes on your skin rouses you further.

When you finally open your eyes, it’s dark. Not completely dark - not with your enhanced vision - but there is no light of moon or stars; the sky is cloudy, a dim orange reflecting down from the distant city lights.

You stir a little, tensing with a soft groan when pain radiates across your chest and down your arm.

What happened?

You look around blearily, trying to figure out where you are and what you’d been doing, and your gaze settles on a dark lump not far from you. Partially covered in snow, completely still and silent, but something about the shape is not quite organic to the forest.

You crawl towards the mass, ignoring the sharp sting across your torso, and settle beside it. You don’t need to touch it to realize what it is: you can smell the stale blood lingering in the air, as well as the beginnings of decay. Part of your mind vaguely remembers toppling the now-deceased man from up in a tree…but you’re not sure what killed him. Was it the fall? Or was it blood loss, after you drained him?

You push yourself away from the corpse, and shakily rise to your feet. You’re deep in the forest, and it’s snowing hard. No one would find the evidence of your crimes until at least the spring, when the ice would melt and the body would begin rotting faster. Even if you left tracks tonight, they would be covered by morning.

You nod to yourself, still dazed, and start off in the direction you know is home. You feel like you’re forgetting something, but with everything that’s happened, you just want to be back safe within the walls of your castle.

___

You walk quietly in through the front door, closing and barring the grand wooden slab behind you. You vaguely register Viktor calling to you, but you don’t reply; you’re in a haze, and you only have one thing on your mind.

Walking into the kitchen, you drag one of the knit rugs up off the floor, revealing a metal hatch laid into the stone. Viktor calls to you again, closer this time, and you continue to ignore him, instead pulling the little latch up and descending down the flight of stairs beneath it.

It’s not a particularly large cellar, nor is there much stored in it anymore. You kicked your habit of daydrinking nearly a century ago, but so many years on your own had left the poor wine racks nearly empty, and covered in dirt and dust. Shit, you weren’t even sure if the stuff was still good.

But regardless of what may be inside it, you select a large bottle and carry it back up into the kitchen, kicking the hatch closed behind you and haphazardly tossing the rug back over it.

A catch of breath sounds from behind you, and you flick your gaze towards Viktor, who is standing shocked in the doorway.

“Hello,” you rasp, pulling at the cork in the bottle. When it doesn’t come free, you hiss in frustration and wrap your hand around the neck, snapping the head clean off. The tiniest bit of wine spills, splashing down your hand, but you’ve no mind to care. You bring the jagged edge to your lips.

“What happened?” Viktor croaks, coming closer to you, his eyes wide. “You’re covered in blood- and is that an arrow in your shoulder?”

You take a long swig of wine, which had definitely soured sometime in the past two hundred years, and shrug.

“I got shot,” you say nonchalantly.

“I can see that. What the hell happened?”

You stare at him for a couple seconds, and then sigh.

“I fucked up, Viktor. I fucked up. I was cranky, and thirsty, and I was going to come home, and-” the memories come flooding back, “Fuck, I lost control, and I- I got shot, and- and-”

Your voice quivers harder with every word you speak, so you elect to take another couple mouthfuls of wine.

Viktor slowly makes his way to your side, and finally gets a decent look at the bolt protruding out of your right shoulder. He doesn’t ask about the person who shot you, knowing full well what ‘losing control’ means: instead he gently takes the bottle from your hands, and focuses on the thin rod stuck in your body.

You complain a little bit, reaching out for your drink, but he holds it well out of your grasp. “Consuming an entire bottle of questionable sixteenth century wine will not help your condition,” he says, shushing you when you try to argue, “But removing the, ah… debris from your shoulder will.”

You frown at him, but help him remove your bloodied shirt nonetheless, dropping it to the floor in a heap.

Viktor’s touch is gentle, as he studies the wound and assailing object. Even when he tugs on the bolt to test how stuck it is, he barely causes you any pain; you’re not sure if it’s because you’re still so out of it, or if it’s because he’s genuinely so careful with you.

He moves around to poke at the front of your body, where the tip of the arrow just barely pokes through your skin, and you watch him carefully. It miffs you, how little you can sense about him now. His cheeks don’t flush that pretty pink, and his heart can’t quicken in his chest anymore. You can’t tell if he’s totally focused on helping you, or if he’s just uninterested in the fact that you’re shirtless in front of him.

“It’s barbed,” he mumbles, dropping his hands away from you so he can pace around the kitchen. “Getting the bolt back out is going to be…unpleasant. If it were further through your body, we could pull it out easier, but-”

“Just push it through,” you say, and Viktor pauses mid-step.

“Just- excuse me?”

“Just push it the rest of the way through, and yoink it out,” you say again.

Viktor looks at you as if you’ve grown a second head. “I’m not going to impale you!”

“Pity.”

“You!” He pinches the bridge of his nose in annoyance, “Are in a decidedly foul mood.”

You throw your arms up, ignoring the sting in your shoulder. “I wonder why!” you nearly yell, “Maybe because I murdered someone? Actually, no, I think I murdered two someones, but I don’t fucking remember!”

“It’s not just tonight, Y/N! You’ve been unpleasant ever since-” he takes a breath, and his next words are calmer, “-ever since you turned me.”

You roll your eyes, and march over to the nearest stone wall. Viktor watches you in question for a couple seconds, and by the time he realizes what you’re doing, you’ve already slammed your back - and the crossbow bolt - against it. It pierces easily through your skin, and you rip it the rest of the way out before he can do anything.

“I’m fine,” you say, gesturing to the hole that is swiftly knitting itself shut. “I’m already healing-”

In a flurry of movement, Viktor shoves you back against the wall. He’s strong enough now that his grip on your arms makes your bones ache, and you can’t escape no matter how much you wiggle.

“Whether or not you’re healing is beside the point,” he hisses, anger lighting up in his eyes, “By the gods, why are you always so ready and willing to hurt yourself?”

You pause, your own malice fizzling away at his words, and all at once a deep sadness replaces it. Tears well up in your eyes, no matter how hard you fight them, and tumble down your cheeks. “Because I’m old and I want to die, Viktor. And I can’t. And now I’ve condemned you to the same fate, and I- I’ve killed people, and- and- I don’t deserve good things!”

As your words sink in, his grip on your arms loosens to naught but a gentle touch, and the rage fades from his eyes as he lets his head fall forward to rest in the crook of your neck. “You still think you’ve damned me,” he mumbles, breath cool on your skin.

You say nothing, trembling harshly as you fight against the sobs bubbling in your chest.

Viktor releases his grip on your arms, pulling back a few inches to instead take your face in his hands. All the anger is gone from his expression, an unnamed intensity rising up in its stead. “I will say this as many times as I have to. Every day, if that is what it takes: my pain is gone because of you. I can breathe because of you. I am alive because of you. You have given me life beyond what I ever thought possible, and I intend to savor its many pleasures.”

He draws you closer, resting his forehead against yours, thumbing away the tears that leave tracks down your cheeks.

“However long it takes for you to believe me, I will wait,” he continues, “I will stay here in this old castle, gathering what knowledge it provides, and one day when you deem me ready, I will bring all of it to the world.”

Panic shoots through you at his suggestion of leaving, but he’s quick to calm you, “And wherever I go, I will take you along with me. We can see what lays beyond this castle, the moor, the sleepy little town down the hill. We can go anywhere you want, experience anything. We can get out of your father’s shadow, and away from the horrors he’s left behind.”

“Just…please,” He swipes the final tear from under your eye, “Zlatíčko, say you’ll stay with me, and try to let the world back in? However long it takes, just…try?”

Overcome with emotion, enticed by his pretty words and soft touch, you close the distance he’s kept between you. You kiss him, in a way so unlike the first; no longer are you reassuring him in a moment of panic, but seeking such a thing from him instead. He pulls you closer, his fingers knitting together behind your neck, and leans into you, pressing you against the wall.

He parts from you a couple moments later, leaving a trail of tiny kisses across your jaw and down your neck, to where he noses at your collarbone. His shallow breaths tickle at your skin, and you shiver at the sensation.