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Matthias stood at the door, silent as a wraith, large dark eyes prominent in a pale, exhausted face. He had healed slowly from the hunter’s work, and the fragility never completely faded. Delicate hands gripped the doorframe, watching Vincent, the way the other vampire was bent over his work, determined, unstoppable, but very, very close to collapse. Without a word, he went to him, footsteps loud enough to be registered to avoid startling him and put his arms around him from the back, slowly kissing his cheek, small, gentle kisses, and then just resting against him, setting his chin atop of his head, holding him securely. He knew he couldn’t go on for much longer than this, and he was afraid. It bled from him, unable to be concealed.

“I shouldn’t have saved you,” he whispered, and there was regret and sorrow and love blending together in a viciously complex cocktail, sharp enough to stop a heart. “This…this isn’t saving you. This isn’t a life – and I did it…I did it without your consent. I didn’t give my consent when it happened to me, I was a country boy, I was dying, and scared, and if I knew—“

He moved to face him, took his face into cool hands.

“Forgive me. It was selfish. It was stupid.”

Vincent heard the footsteps but so engrossed in his work they hadn’t fully registered, processed, until the thin cold arms enveloped him, his chest ached. Ever so slowly he released the pen, left the work alone for a moment—he could have a break couldn’t he? It would only be for a moment. His presence felt like security, comfort, as if nothing could possibly go wrong now. At the same time his chest tightened, anxiety swelled, filled with emotions that weren’t wholly his, all intense. The words stung even without the sorrow, the regret that tainted them, tainted Matthias’ thoughts.

Part of him agreed and then a large part didn’t, he wanted to live even if that meant sacrificing everything. Then at the same time Vince was so scared, so afraid, living in constant terror that one day he’d snap—break, lose all control over himself. He was beginning to teeter dangerously close, not even sure if he could control himself any longer in the presence of a human. Vincent didn’t say anything as he spoke. Silent as if he’d taken a vow.

Then Matthias moved in front of him, cool hands pressed either side of his face and with a sharp inhale he met that dark gaze. “I have a chance to do something,” he uttered, voice strained as if he was struggling with some immense pain, “no more killing,” he whispered. Vince shifted, callused palms pressed over his hands, “I’d have died,” he still could, still might.

The body was moved but there was blood still on the sheets. A trembling hand wiped at his lips, fluttered pale back to the bed like a moth with a broken wing. He looked at him with dark, glassy eyes that simultaneously seemed to gaze at him and through him, watched that terrible, beautiful face shift and he was Vincent once more, a little shabby, a little solemn but still, but still, to him, utterly beautiful. His own features softened as his voice rang out into the room, notes of clumsiness and sincerity. Don’t be scared. The voice in Vincent’s head was warm, kind, tried to be comforting, but faint, very faint. More like wind rustling through dead grass than a life preserver, but strong enough.

His arms were still open when he came to him, and he put them around him, breathing out a ragged sigh as he ran his hand through the dark hair. He kissed his cheek, his head bowing slightly, pressing a kiss then to his collarbone. His scent was different, and the warmth that always characterized him, that he wanted to curl up with, all that was gone. You’re cold, he thought, and then thought of how selfish that was. If he had done nothing, Vincent wouldn’t be alive to hold him, to touch, to love. He did the right thing in the circumstances, but he missed his warmth. Like a portable sun. Missed the way it felt when he kissed his skin. Missed the way he used to be.

We’ll figure something out, he thought at him weakly, with his face buried in his shoulder, fingers digging slightly into his shirt, his emotions transferring over, obvious. There was little they could hide from each other now, mentally linked. His joy was his own, as was his pain, and he felt his fear, his anxiety. He hushed him in that quiet place inside his mind and just told him to:

Stay close to me. You’re mine now, and I’m yours. I’ll comfort you when you’re afraid, I’ll give you pleasure and I’ll keep you safe. You don’t ever need to be afraid.

He would have sounded more convincing if that mental voice wasn’t fading in and out like a bad radio signal. 

But we…we have to…I can’t kill any more. 

I don’t…I don’t want to. I don’t want to be this.

A breath. A whisper. 

Stay with me.

He was so easily soothed, so easily lulled into the warmth of his voice even if it was weak which in turn worried him, a kind of vicious circle in many regards. But he settled down beside him the light kisses bringing a light heat to his cheeks temporarily. Then those two single words broke through and Vincent stiffened, waves of emotions rolled through him primarily sorrow, it hung dark beneath his eyes and heavy in his chest. He nodded ever so slightly, okay, he thought weakly.

His chest tightened as the rest of the thoughts reached him, but Vince just leaned down and pressed a soft kiss into the crown of darkness. He nestled into him carefully and eventually at some point projected his own thoughts in return. I’m not going anywhere… I don’t—there has to be another way. If there wasn’t Vincent wasn’t sure he could do it again, it wasn’t even just the oath of not hurting anyone it was inhumane. Even if he wasn’t human anymore he still had the morals of one, still had empathy. An audible sigh escaped his lips and he buried his face into dark curls, wanting to forget about all of this. Already he wanted an escape from the reality that’d been bestowed onto him.

No more killing.

I promise.

There was no way to promise that not truly, he didn’t know for sure, but Vince was determined to find an alternative—only where or how do start looking? Somehow he doubted he could read a few books and find the answer. The answer was out there though and he’d find it. He never wanted to do that again.

Matthias—I’m not going to leave you.

It seemed likely that he already knew, after all he’d always been able to see into his mind even when Vince had been human but he still just wanted to say it. “I love you,” he whispered, the compulsion to speak instead of merely think was still stronger. You don’t need to say anything… It was already complicated without this new addition to riddle their problems. If Vincent shut his eyes, ignored the paleness of his own skin the sight he’d seen in the mirror he could be human again. But that was a lie.

Rest now, please.

The days turned into weeks, and all the while he abstained from feeding all energy was focused devoutly on finding a viable source that wouldn’t result in more carnage. He hadn’t turned up for work in what felt like months—in reality it’d only been a few days he’d gone in to hand in his notice. Abrupt but he had other focuses the pager he’d once carried with him ever was abandoned in the kitchen, he’d turned that once cosy living room into a small home research facility.

It was slowly driving him to the edge, vials of blood some human and some animal. They were there, hardly anything at all nothing that would satiate the going hunger. The feral need that was slowly, very slowly, beginning to develop. He hated it, so he worked harder to prevent it. Vincent was hunched over his work concentration forming faint lines across his forehead, features were humane but he’d long since mastered moving freely between this face and the other. He hated the other just as much as he hated that animalistic urge inside of him, he kept it all locked tightly away. Never spoke about it but he didn’t need to, there was no way he could hide anything.

By the time the body was dragged to him by his savior, the vampire was too weak to even want to raise his head. His eyes were glazed, distant, and at first, he didn’t even react, before dragging himself over with the equal shudder of self loathing, eating again. Hunched over as he was, every vertebrae of his spine showed clearly, and when he finished, he was too exhausted to even bother wiping the blood off his face. Matthias moved as far as he could from the body, which had ceased to be a person and was now a thing, empty and stomach churning. He didn’t want to be close to it.

Hazy dark eyes looked up at Vincent, saw the shifted features and his heart ached in his chest. “Come here,” he whispered. He wanted to touch him, to feel him, to see if some warmth remained, some humanity, before he finally acknowledged it was gone.

He didn’t want to touch it, even look at it, but he moved the body off the bed before he even drew close to Matthias. Reluctance tainted every movement, afraid of getting close, the disgust with himself growing stronger with every waking moment. But he was afraid, terrified, that now Matthias wasn’t going to want him that this state that’d been thrown onto him was going to repulse him. Features reverted slowly back to normal, he just looked wretchedly solemn now.

Vincent sat beside him making one final attempt to wipe the blood away from his own face, which worked somewhat better this time. He was half turned away as if trying to shield Matthias from the state he was in, but he had no control over the emotions that riddled him. In the end he slowly caved reached out to brush their hands together. “I’m scared,” he admitted in a soft broken whisper, forgetting that there wasn’t a need to speak. Not used to any of this it was bewilderingly new, still scared him, still made him want to curl up in on himself like he had in that club that night.

He wanted reassurance from Matthias that it was going to be okay, but he looked so fragile a delicate doll ready to shatter beneath the slightest touch. He didn’t want to be the one to shatter him. Only he needed him, needed some kind of comfort, it wasn’t like him to want anything but solitude but times had changed. Slowly he lay beside him, a hand brushed through his hair gently every movement soft and delicate. You saved me.

But Matthias, I’m scared that—

His breathing was labored and his eyes were hazed over, glassy and distant, but a tiny smile touched his lips as he saw that he had made it through the gauntlet. Vincent’s body pressed close to his, even that slight shift in the mattress as he moved, hurt, but he didn’t complain. His hand was limp in his, and he heard the silent plea.

 You don’t have to talk, he thought at him weakly. You can look, there, inside my head. Send words, pictures, you can—

He couldn’t physically muster the energy to speak.

I need…I’m still…need more….

The implication was clear, with all the trauma that he had been through, and the sacrifice he had just made, that he needed to feed again, and this time Vincent couldn’t provide for him in the way he had before. As desperate as he was, Matthias couldn’t hunt for himself, it was doubtful that he could even stand.

He was fading, a little more every second. 

Vincent didn’t say anything, just slowly withdrew from the bed with a steely coldness that came natural too him, like smiles did too everyone else. Okay. A frown might’ve laced his brows a little unsure if he was doing it right, the sheer idea of thinking to communicate was novel to him—even with the invasions he’d experienced. This was different this wasn’t one sided. He was actively involved. Vincent inhaled sharply, trying not to let the fear overwhelm him. He had to do this, for him.

He kept telling himself that as he left the apartment, as he mustered the courage to talk to a sweetly naïve young man who had no idea of the fate that was awaiting him. A fate that Vincent would have to deal with his own hands. He was scared, frightened absolutely so. But he needed to do this, one life for another, it was fair? It was playing God. He felt a little sick. He had no idea what he was doing, just recalled how Matthias had been that first night all aloof charm and played the role as best as he could. It was so easy—so easy to convince the man up to the apartment.

It was just as easy to tear into the man’s throat, there were scarcely through the door—it’d only just clicked shut. He’d pushed him up against it with a force that briefly scared him, but not enough to stop him, there was no precision too it not even as he aimed for the jugular. A whirl of adrenaline and a rush of sickening power as he drew back, alienated features tainted with red. He didn’t look or feel like himself. The blood curdling noise that he had made for that brief moment horrified him, Vincent still hauled the innocent’s body to Matthias, fast.

He lingered there at the bedside after placing the body carefully beside him, close enough he could reach without much effort. It’d happened fast enough that the man was still bleeding, his jerking had finally ceased and no sound gurgled from his lips. Vincent stood like a vigilant beside him and then as he glanced up he caught his own reflection, in a mirror that hung above a dresser. It gave him a glimpse to a man he scarcely recognized. His features but distorted, different, blood tainting pale skin red which he attempted to wipe away with his hand. To no avail he just smudged it further. The realization hit him then as the adrenaline faded. He glanced down to the innocent he just murdered. To Matthias.

For him.

The fear in Vincent’s eyes was the most damning of all, and tears rose in the vampire’s dark gaze. His smile was unbearably sad. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he whispered, his breath rattling in his chest, a slow exhale. “I’m not going to hurt you.” A hand reached out and gently took Vincent’s, fragile as bird bones and wincing as his weight shifted the bed. Knowing that he wasn’t going to be able to maintain his strength, or even his consciousness likely, for long, he leaned forward with the last of it. Quick as a heartbeat, teeth sunk into Vincent’s pale, still-warm skin, let the life force seep out, fill his mouth with the taste of mortality and iron. 

Warm. 

He swallowed deep, he was too weak. Weak. He felt like he was swimming with an anchor wrapped around his neck, like he was pulling a drowning sailor to shore with only his skinny, shuddering body and the sharks coming closer and he couldn’t stop trembling, couldn’t stop the fear that they’d both die in the middle of their journey, drown when his heart gave out and his arms grew heavy and he couldn’t pull them past the gauntlet. The blood seeped out and it was enough, and it felt hot against his lips, in his mouth, and it tasted like all of them and like himself and something in him thrilled to it.

It occurred to him then, that his sacrifice, his own pain, would have to be great. He wasn’t his sire. He wasn’t ancient, or already strong. Life fluttered in him, fragile and faint already, and he shuddered involuntarily, drinking shallowly, the soft pliable flesh parting beneath his teeth as though that was what it was meant for. Just this moment. Last of his strength, everything in him attuned, pushing them both to the edge and over, the warm glacier strength of a thousand starlight memories slipping into and out of him, mind flowing more open, visions that were not his own as his consciousness collided violently with his, startled by his purity and his imperfections.

He was beautiful.

He was perfect.

Part of the vampire was screaming, taking even, slow pulls of blood as he physically tore his strength in two, giving the human the lion’s share. Involuntary tremors wracked his body, fingers dug into the sheets. He was crying, tears pouring down his cheeks, mixing salt with iron. It tasted like the sea. He held onto him and let their consciousnesses stay linked, traded memories as he sank into him like he was diving into a warm pool. There was a boy with huge dark eyes, singing himself to sleep, and his sweet song was in a language far from English, but its melody was haunting, sweet and true, He felt like he was dying. Trying to keep the floodgates closed so the memories didn’t overwhelm him, but his strength was waning, and if he didn’t pull away now, he’d either kill Vincent by accident or let him too far into the horrors. Fear. Pain. Lust. Love.

For a moment, just a moment, the psychic link widened completely and everything came pouring through.

It was only for an instant.

He pulled away. His eyes fluttered briefly, his respiration fast and shallow, skin even paler, ashen.

“I—-“

The bond.

Set like a warm weight in his chest, but he was already drowning. There was nothing more he could do. He licked over the small wounds in his throat, stopped the bleeding. Another shudder raced through him.

“I—-“

He collapsed.

Vincent shuddered, slight and scarcely noticeable but it was there, he settled trying to relax as the vampire took away the last of his humanity. The hand in his was cool but didn’t have the searing ice quality as before. It scared him, all of this did but he didn’t fight it. He could feel the way Matthias shuddered and trembled, recalled how he’d fallen limp earlier—this was hurting them both. Vince felt a flare of fear, not even sure if it was his own anymore, he wanted to curl his arms around him, hold him and soothe the tears and tremors that wracked his body.

But he was frozen, glimpses of memories that weren’t his own, and then for a brief short moment they paralyzed him. In an instant he saw more, felt more, than he’d ever experienced. It was as startling as it was scary, painful. Good, bad and the ugly poured into his mind for just an instant. A blur of images, sounds, emotions that violently jarred his mind unable to comprehend four centuries of memories in that brief glimpse. Vincent shuddered again, unaware that he too could taste salt on his lips. Fixated on the instantaneous peek into his life he’d been given, experiencing the fresher memories—what they’d done in brief excruciating detail.

Matthias sunk into the sheets beside him, his own breathing was sharp and shallow still somewhere between fearful and nervous but it was done. There was an exhaustion that tugged at him, so he curled up beside him but he just stared with startling wide eyes. “Matt,” he murmured, he stayed close but not so much to aggravate his injuries. Fingers intertwining gently, live, he pleaded silently.

Please.

His sire had left him after several hours had passed, with promises he’d return, but first he had, to his credit, been surprisingly, almost shockingly kind. Matthias, even after years by his side, had never expected the level of care that he gave him, getting him into a bath to wash the blood from him. He had whimpered even though he felt like screaming when the water touched his open burns, the flesh still exposed and raw in huge swaths along his body, had lost consciousness again, and woke in his boxers with his chest and stomach and legs swathed heavily in bandages, woke scared and confused. Lucien was there when he woke, spoke to him softly, ran his fingers gently through his hair, but there was little else he could do and he was far more comfortable with vengeance than comfort, and so Matthias had let him go, knowing he’d be destroying to his heart’s content. He spent the rest of the evening alone.

There wasn’t a way he could lie that didn’t aggravate his burns but he lay curled on his right side to minimize the pain, facing the door, vertebrae visible through thin, pale skin. His face was grayish, exhausted, bones standing up like rocks beneath his skin. It was a face that had suffered to the utmost, that couldn’t even feel the fullest extent of shame yet about his loss of control. Without any energy to project a human face, he looked up with glassy black eyes as Vincent walked in, not wanting to do what he had to do, wishing he’d never have to hunt again. The transformation in the human, however, was only half-complete, and soon, terrific pain would overcome him as his body fought the change. The only way to save him was to force him to transform fully to give him strength enough to pass through the gauntlet, change him quickly enough. Regardless, the shock might kill him, not all survived the process, but Vincent would die any way if he did nothing.

Unable to get out of bed, the vampire smiled, a hollow smile hiding sharp teeth. “Come here,” he said, patting the bed. “If we do this now, it won’t hurt. No pain. We’ll be bonded, like Lucien and myself. We’ll always be drawn to each other.” His voice was a gasping rasp. “Now, while I have the strength.”

The smile ought to have comforted him but Vincent was just, unsettled. Still he walked close the gap between himself and the bed slowly climbing beside him. Totally careful and tentative, worried that even the slightest movement in the mattress might hurt him no matter how miniscule. He looked in the nicest possible way, awful. Even covered in bandages, he just looked as though at any minute the bed might swallow him whole. Close and not engulfed by pain or adrenaline he could see how gaunt he’d become, Vince tried to smile back but he just look terrified, still.

“I don’t,” he whispered.

He didn’t know if he wanted this.

Vincent wasn’t sure if he could do what they did, but he didn’t have much a choice it was this or be consumed by the soil. He wanted to live and a part of him wanted the bond—as selfish as that was. “No pain,” he agreed numbly, Vince wanted to reach out and hold his hand only he was afraid he’d hurt him. That even the slightest touch to Matthias would break the bones that stood so prominently beneath skin as pale as snow. He wanted to ask if he was okay, to ask if he was going to be okay but his final words diminished that, for now. Vincent just nodded.

“Matthias, I’m sorry,” his eyes burned again but he blinked it away.

The vampire snarled with his jaws locked on his throat, the sound terrifyingly loud, close. Teeth dug lightly into skin, but didn’t quite break it. He was struggling with himself, his mind felt clouded and strange, as if he was trying to think through a fog, caught between the scent of blood and some driving, strange sense of knowledge. He made another sound, muffled, with his teeth still on Vince’s skin, but it was more a whine than a snarl, faint, unsettled, he was remembering something. Whether it was his name or his scent, something sparked a piece of recognition in him, and he realized then that the human, the familiar human, was already dying.

Matt. 

With an almost gentleness, his eyes flickering out of that dead, hungry shark’s gaze and then back, he bit down through the skin. It wasn’t violent or tearing, but carried almost surgical precision, and he, out of habit but not in earnest as he was already sated, lapped away the droplets of blood that rose where his fangs punctured, soothing the hurt with another slow lick of a cool tongue. Dark eyes looked directly at Vincent with a flicker of recognition, aware of what he had done, before they rolled and he collapsed, emaciated body sprawling gracelessly, shirtless and covered in hideous burns and bruises. His eyes were open, but showed only whites.

Lucien then, sobered by what he had seen, walked forward, picked Matthias up as though he was a doll, limp. He looked dead. “He saved you,” the vampire said to Vincent. “You’ll be able to walk soon, and when you can, find him. I’m bringing him home, and if you don’t, you’ll die.” The bonding ceremony had to be complete, or Vincent would only be half-turned, revert back into human too quickly and succumb to what was raging through his body.

The older vampire didn’t know why he was alluding to this. He didn’t even know if Matthias would survive, but whatever he felt for this human had stopped him crashing out. That enough, was something

He’d shut his eyes just before, catching that momentarily shift in Matthias before he sunk his teeth down. Blue eyes burned as pain blurred into a melting pot that was fast overwhelming him. Vince didn’t open them again till he realized Matthias intention, it’d taken him a moment through the adrenaline and the fear riling his breathing into sharp quick shallow breaths to come to realize. The expression that followed was somewhere between horrified and perhaps thankful, but mostly just scared, blue stared into grey eyes as Lucien picked him up. Vince wanted to say something—

He didn’t.

Voice totally spent, but the adrenaline was slowly ever so slowly fading creeping out of his vision. It sunk in not totally but it sunk in that Matthias had saved him, not killed him as he thought he was going to do only that posed a whole new realm of problems. He couldn’t even nod as Lucien gave him advice, scarcely able to think but a part of him was silently thankful. The vampire could so easily just leave him, not tell him what he ought and needed to do, let him succumb to his fate. Blue eyes grazed Matthias’ limp form, taking everyone single mark that littered his pale skin before they disappeared and left him there in the doorway. Sometime later he managed to stand.

Sometime later he left and found him.

Vincent knocked on the familiar apartment door, nervous, apprehensive not entirely sure what he ought to expect—he just hoped Matthias was alright. He couldn’t remove the image of him limp in Lucien’s arms from his mind, the image of him crawling blood splattered with a corpse in his mouth and then that blood curdling snarl as he’d drawn closer for Vince himself. It was seared into his memory. Alongside the others that he’d accumulated and collected, not all of them were his. He stared at that door for a moment, contemplating all that’d happened. Unable to quite comprehend it all not even able to comprehend that he should be dead. Although he couldn’t deny the will to live, he wasn’t sure he wanted to become a part of the undead to achieve that. Part of him just wanted to turn away, the part that was afraid of what might lie ahead and go curl up in bed to await his fate. No—he was braver then that, he wanted to live. He inhaled sharply.

This was his fate.

Even if it scared him, but the everything scared him these days.

The vampire ate steadily, emaciated body trembling, having to stop in the middle of the feed, gasping, waiting, before continuing again. There was no grace, no daintiness to the way he fed, it was desperate and continuous as he tried to stave off his own death which had been inexorably creeping into his heart and mind over the weeks he had been imprisoned. Warm, life-giving blood was almost too much for him, and he couldn’t stop shaking, a never ending series of growls escaping his throat that could never be mistaken for human, warning every other predator away from his kill, knowing in his instinctive way that he couldn’t defend it with how weak he still was. Pausing again in the feed, his head bowed, breathing unsteady, adrenaline pouring through him far too acutely to feel any pain, but every sense was sharpened, on hyper alert, and he was extra responsive, extra dangerous, lethal as a wild animal that had been caged for far too long.

His blood soaked face raised, thin chest heaving with shallow breaths, black eyes directly going to look at Vincent. They were animal eyes as well, wary and defensive of the food, and his lips pulled away from sharp teeth in a silent, menacing snarl. In response, he sank his teeth into the body’s torn throat and dragged it like a leopard a few feet further, settling down again. He continued to eat until he was forced to pause again, dazed looking, and looked up to see Vincent still there, seeing him as a territorial threat. He snarled again, a low, menacing sound, eyes flashing, but the sound was relatively weak, a warning. When Vincent didn’t leave, he left his kill only for a moment, and approached him, moving on all fours, body stiff and muscles tense, teeth bared. He let a continuous unsettled sound escape his throat, and then it became evident – he was precisely as terrified of Vincent as Vincent was of him.

Nostrils flared, scenting the blood, this predator was hurt and wasn’t moving. He was going to turn around to hover over his kill directly once more, when he heard the man speak. Head tilted, nose flaring again, unsettling, and there might have been a flicker of something in the dark eyes, an understanding.

“Watch him—-”

It was Lucien who had appeared suddenly behind him, a brief warning, but the warning came too late.

Matthias leaned forward and put his jaws around Vincent’s throat.

He was terrified. There was no hiding it, just a slow steady struggle against watching, part of him wanted these last few moments even if the Matthias he was watching terrified to his very core. He didn’t want to give Lucien the satisfaction, but he knew that him being here had been useless he’d got more in the way than anything else. Now he had to watch as the vampire dragged the body further away, some kind of mild awful relief came to him. He hated himself.

The snarl made him shudder, it was a warning, but he couldn’t move not even if he wanted too. All Vincent could do was lay there and wait, hope that he’d return to his food—if he didn’t would it be so bad? The thought struck him that any death Matthias could give him would be a lot faster. It didn’t mean he wasn’t afraid, it didn’t mean that his heart was pounding and the adrenaline coursed back through his system as if he might fight or flight. Every muscle froze as he drew closer, that stomach churning noise—a second warning?

He tried to strain a smile, tried to mask the fear that riddled his eyes, but it was useless the twist of his lips only amplified what he was feeling. Someone said something and—

The vampire ignored Vincent completely, entering into the building by breaking the door down as if he was removing tissue paper.

What erupted then was chaos, screaming and guns firing, and in the center of it, he was completely and totally calm. It was bizarrely beautiful to see the serenity that imbued him, beautiful, but terrible. He glided into the room, ignoring the bullets that penetrated his body as if they were annoying insects, moving inexorably forward. The hunter he was approaching, panicked and not thinking, emptied an entire clip into him before those pale hands tore him apart without hesitating or blinking. Blood spattered pale skin with no reaction, he was doing precisely what he had been made to do, and despite the horrific sound, the visuals, there was a startling grace to the movement. The man hadn’t even had time to made a sound once he was on him.

Ignoring Vincent, whom he had, rather carelessly, it may be said, provided with a gun, and ignoring the other hunter, followed the sense of Matthias which was growing stronger and stronger, breaking into room after room until he saw him, rage bubbling over, his eyes flashing black and remaining so. He drew in a sharp breath, and delicate hands curled into fists tight enough that they made bleeding furrows into his palms.

They had starved him deliberately, and already thin, he was now emaciated, body covered in healing wounds and bruises, but that wasn’t what struck him. He was raving, mindless, thrashing against the chains that held him, iron soaked in holy water which left burns in its wake that laced his pale skin.  The younger vampire’s eyes were pitch black, features feral, biting at thin air, and his own body was littered with visible bite marks from where he hurt himself in fits of rage. When Lucien called his name, quietly, Matthias turned those unseeing eyes to him and snarled openly as a tiger, and with as little cognition save for instinct.

Ignoring this, hoping that Matthias would not force him to do the thinkable, Lucien went to him, working at the chains, ignoring the searing pain that resulted from the burns that formed upon his palms. More than once, Matthias twisted his head to bite him, and Lucien had had to stop, let him rage further, before continuing. Halfway between terrified and enraged beyond description, the young vampire started to slam his own head into the wall. Dazed, snarling, stopping only when he looked forward with blank, vacant eyes for a moment, blood running from his hairline, he didn’t notice at first when he was free. When he finally did, he shoved past his mentor, who was no food source, and went directly for the remaining hunter.

He didn’t have a chance, he was on him in a few seconds, thrown his full weight and then teeth into throat like a wild animal. There was struggling as the man’s throat was torn open, screaming, Matthias’ face soaked in blood like the muzzle of a great cat. Eventually, the screaming turned into gurgling, then silence, the struggling stopped, and he settled down to feed.

He hadn’t immediately followed Lucien the chaos that’d immediately broke out made him hesitate, peered into the room before he made any attempts to follow suit of the vampire. Who seemed unafflicted by their guns, he watched morbidly horrified as a hunter utterly panicked emptied his clip into Lucien. The gore that followed made Vince feel ill, again. A gun was passed into his hands for a moment he just stared at it, no intention of hurting anyone—he’d taken an oath. But Vince clutched the weapon hoping that perhaps that’d been enough to ward off any hunters that were left in the wake of Lucien. He was wrong. Either the man couldn’t distinguish between human and vampire, or Vince was never the target just happened to block the path of a stray bullet. It didn’t matter.

The floor was cold, like ice, like him, blue eyes fluttered back open he’d tripped—no. Vince made the mistake of glancing down, blood was seeping thick and red into his jeans. He forced himself up, not letting his mind dawdle on it letting the adrenaline mask most of the pain. Limped, clutching onto whatever he could to steady himself until he found his way into the room where they’d been keeping him. In time to see Matthias, thin pale and covered in slow healing wounds launch himself towards the hunter. Vince trembled, true honest fear enveloped blue eyes as he sunk down into the floor not even fully in the room.

Vince glanced away, a shaky hand going to staunch the bleeding from his thigh but it was harder than he thought. Trembling from fear, adrenaline, or even just a total lapse in concentration—had he hit his head? He couldn’t remember. Perhaps that was his clue. He just watched half curled up on that cold floor as Matthias tore into the man, the sickness twisted inside of him as if he’d been stabbed to the stomach. Blood was everywhere. It was like watching a nightmare come to life.

He thought of that night how he’d been trembling, talked of being dead on the morrow, Vince didn’t want to think just how close to death these hunters must’ve forced him to become this starved. He tried to force himself to sit up, not sure what he’d do if he could but something, only searing pain rippled through his leg as he tried to move it. Red was tainting the floor beneath him, he narrowed his eyes staring at his leg momentarily the realisation sank in, the bullet had struck the femoral artery. He was going to die. Lucky it’d been his leg, lucky that he’d made it this far although watching Matthias feed with the ferality of a wild animal didn’t make him feel so lucky.

Tried to drag himself into the room but to no avail so he settled, laying there still in the door way blue eyes somewhere between Matthias and the floor. Horrified, scared and not wholly willing to die just yet—but he couldn’t see Lucien taking him to the hospital. It was bleeding too fast. “Matthias,” he called, quietly, voice nothing more than a croaked whisper. Pointless. Too quiet and the vampire was focused on feeding, draining every single drop from his victim.

Matthias would live, and that’s all he cared about.

There was a terrible, lingering silence.

There was a terrible, lingering silence.

There was a terrible, lingering silence.

He could have killed him for anything he had done, anything he had said, and killing him would be kind. Matthias was the master of the quick-kill, who hunted as little as possible and only to live, but Lucien was a different breed altogether. It was wrong to prescribe human mortality to him. He hadn’t been human since before the birth of Christ, had little to no memory of it. He had no sense of mercy, no sense of human value. The only thing that stayed his hand was the fact that it would be impolite to murder his protégé’s little pet.

That was as close to an admission of love as the vampire ever got.

Instead of leaning forward and in an instant ripping Vincent’s throat out in a bright crimson spray, he gripped the human by the arm – careful not to make any contact with his actual skin – and in a moment, they were flying.

There was a rush, as if the earth was violently ripped away from them, and a sound like rushing wind and a gasping torrent of air. A drop in the stomach, and there were countless miles between them and the ground. The lights of New York City stretched out twinkling like fireflies embedded in an endless night, like grounded stars. Lucien kept a hard, vice-like grip on his arm, but glancing back to him with a smirk, he decided that why killing him or causing any permanent damage may be against possibility, terrifying him wouldn’t be. He decided that he’d drop him once he wasn’t in as much of a hurry.

With the same eerie grace he always possessed, he landed, unshaken and without a hair out of place, totally ignoring the human behind him. He strode forward, confident as a king, with only the hardness of his gaze betraying any anxiety.

There were 1800 bars in New York City. 1800 centers of disgustingly claustrophobic information.

It was time to get to work.

It was sickening, terrifying, he wasn’t even afraid of heights but boy—Vince could’ve screamed. He almost did. Somehow instead of a crying out like the boy he absolutely was, he just went utterly silent blue eyes totally wide as the lights of the city became nothing but dots. Dancing and blurred, probably because tears were stinging at his eyes, the wind was bitterly, bitterly cold. At first he’d thought Lucien intended to drop him and he waited for it to occur but he didn’t, his arm began to ache being held like this. His shoulder was another matter.

When they landed, when Vince finally got his feet on the ground it was with anything but grace, he stumbled and immediately felt nauseous. Somehow he managed to hold himself together, but looked incredibly green for some time after their arrival. For whatever reason Lucien either thought he might help find Matthias, doubtful, or something that seemed a little more in line with the man whom to Vincent was nothing short of sadistic—he was the bait. Vincent didn’t care he just wanted to find him, get him back to some form of safety even if that was with Lucien. He shuddered and then struggled to catch back up with Lucien, they had work to do.

They found him, or rather they managed to get a location where the hunters had recently been accruing. He’d progressively felt more ill as their ‘investigation’ progressed, the man clearly had no regard for humanity. Vince couldn’t help but think he’d seen enough death for one night, but it made him realize just how much Lucien cared and loved for Matthias, in his own twisted way. The only reason he was alive, by either of their hands. He almost groaned, caught between two men far older for one—Gods he didn’t even want to think how old Lucien was, and stronger than he was in his entire body in just one of their slender pale pinkie fingers.

This had always been much bigger than him from the beginning he sighed ‘cause he was only starting to realize that. He didn’t have time to think about much else, they’d finally made it to the possible location in which according to this man and another they were holding Matthias in. So far Vincent hadn’t been much help. He was determined to change that. Although he didn’t think he had it in him to fight vampire hunters, brows threaded together realizing the absurdity of this all.

Lucien was ahead of him with that eerie composure and grace that suggested you should kneel beneath him, and wait patiently on his every whim. No doubt they did.

Lucien snarled, once, and it was startling, his eyes flashing black for an instant, the sound a lot deeper, a lot rougher than Matthias’. He dropped Vincent almost as in disgust, wiping the hand that had touched him neatly on a handkerchief he kept for this purpose. “If you sold him out,” he said quietly, eyes returning to normal, but equally as frightening, steady and cold, “there won’t be a corner of the Earth where you can hide that I won’t find you.”

Still, looking down at him, as much as every inch of him wanted to kill him, he also didn’t want to antagonize Matthias, and violently slaughtering his pet human was the fastest way to do that. “You didn’t,” he said flatly. It took only a cursory look, a scan of his tumultuous thoughts, to see that, but also what he saw there set his teeth even more on edge. “You think he loves you,” he said coldly. “That he cares about you? You’re nothing but a toy.” There was a heavy emphasis on saw, and a visible look of disgust overlaying the rage brewing deep inside, reflecting clearly a single sentiment: I can’t believe he fucked you.

The older vampire thought he might throw up, and tear Vincent’s spine from his body. He couldn’t help himself as he gazed down at him, almost mocking, and purely full of loathing. “He’ll never love you.”

“But he’s missing now,” he said, quieter, intent. “I don’t think I’ll find him alive when I track down the person responsible. Your kind.  Your precious little hunters. He should have stayed away. He should have stayed safe.”

His chest was still heaving, blood still pounding and adrenaline still coursing through him even as Lucien let go and his features reverted to normal. He nodded meekly then an almost inquisitive look broke through the fear and concern. He didn’t what? Vincent didn’t quite follow but the hurt, anger and pain surfaced again as Lucien carried on. Puzzled but before he even explained further it clicked into place, the vampire thought he’d sold Matthias out to hunters. It seemed absurd to him he’d never even realized they existed no more than he hadn’t believed vampires were real, till a few days ago.

You’re nothing but a toy.

The words skewered something inside of his chest, leaving him momentarily sullen the hurt flashing across his face as if he’d been struck. Every cold word struck a chord, Vince had always believed that at the very least Matthias had cared. If he hadn’t then he surely wouldn’t be stood here. He glanced back up into those grey eyes, blue ones narrowing, he realized with some kind of faint triumph that the elder vampire knew that, acknowledged it. Enough that he hadn’t torn Vincent’s throat out and perhaps, just perhaps, wouldn’t.

It was enough to let the anger spill.

Vincent stood a little straighter, expression blurring between nothing and the ire that was slowly unfurling. “I have nothing, nothing, to do with these hunters,” voice teetered on the edge of a low growl, nothing truly comparable to either of the vampire’s. “Safe?” He uttered brow threading together slightly as if in confusion, “and he’s safe with you?” It was likely the adrenaline coursing through him, could’ve easily been that deep trust, bond that he’d formed, but Vince seemingly didn’t care if standing up to the vampire like this was suicide.

“All I’m guilty of is being human—which correct me if I’m wrong you were once,” he tilted his head up inhaling sharply trying to refrain himself from simply barging past Lucien. It was a waste of time stood here arguing with him. Only he hadn’t the faintest clue where to start looking for vampire hunters. “This is a waste of time,” he uttered, turning to shove shoes on his feet and grab a jacket.

“Move the hell out of my doorway Lucien.”