Violence

"I'll never leave you."

Derek made that promise to his husband when they were pressed together as newlyweds, hot and writhing. Logan was under him, trapped by the weight of his love. But he turned his head from Derek's words, eyes flickering with doubt.

"Sure. That's why you married me, right?"

Derek could have been hurt. Instead, he smiled as if this were one of their inside jokes, his husband's lack of faith in their love. "Just to prove my love for you? Not quite."

They moved as one, even when there was distance. Even when Logan's thoughts slipped through Derek's fingers, running wild with their own conspiracies about all of this being a lie, a dream that Logan would wake up from — even then, Derek could at least hold onto his heart.

He said it again. He said it until Logan stopped holding back.

"You will," Logan snapped, pulling him closer. Derek let himself be fought in their kiss, moaning when Logan bit his lip, hard enough to make it bleed. He almost forgot to reply, distracted by how pretty Logan was with his blood on his lips.

Blood was just a small part of himself to give. Derek would give him the rest of his body if he wanted it. Flesh, bone, every finger that has the pleasure of caressing Logan's skin. Was it truly giving himself if all of him belonged to another?

Logan's teeth dug into his neck. Derek groaned in pain and held him closer, encouraging him to bite harder. That's just how Logan's love was: sharp, punishing. Beautiful, desperate.

His.

"I'll make you," Logan promised when he pulled away, teeth stained red. "I'll make you leave me. I'll do something that even you can't forgive."

Derek kissed him. He fought back, snapping his hips to make Logan gasp, opening up for his tongue. Pressing down, plunging deeper, until he was tasting his own blood and Logan's screams, ecstasy-laced, followed by fingernails dragging across his back.

Logan knew how to talk, but Derek knew how to make him loud.

"I'll always forgive you, Logan."

Logan stifled a sob. Derek kissed his tears, an apology for speaking the truth.

"You can hurt me for the rest of our lives. The only thing I won't let you do is hurt yourself."

That got him a laugh, as if this was one of their inside jokes.

"Challenge accepted."

Derek smirked and kissed him again.

---

"I slept with someone else."

Derek wanted to believe he was joking. He knew Logan wasn't. He dropped the words like ice in a drink, waiting for the cold to spread. There were bruises on his wrist and marks on the side of his neck. His eyes were bitter with regret. Resignation. Derek noticed he had been crying.

He thought of the person Logan slept with. Anger swirled inside him. He kept it out of his voice as he asked, "Did you want them to die?"

Logan rolled his eyes at that. "Oh, please. They didn't take advantage of me."

"I don't care."

He really didn't. Even if Logan took off his ring and said he was single, they should have known. How could they not? Derek and Logan Bornachi were always in the tabloids, New York's hottest power couple. There is no fucking way Logan — and most likely a drunk, impulsive Logan — convinced them that he and Derek were over.

Though he sure seemed to think they would be after the stunt he pulled.

Logan narrowed his eyes. There was an edge of panic, a realization that his plan might not have worked as expected. "Your anger is with me, Derek, not some random hookup. Don't try to avoid this."

He stepped closer, proof that he wasn't afraid. Derek liked that. He could see the rigid lines of Logan's shoulders, the urge to flinch tight in his jaw. It was so clear in his eyes: hit me, hurt me, hate me, I deserve it, I'll take it.

His husband was so selfish.

Slowly, he raised his hand. A muscle in Logan's cheek twitched. But the blow did not come, and when Derek gently cupped his face, Logan's eyes went wide. Panicked. Hopeful.

"I won't deny being hurt, Logan. But I'm not angry at you."

"Bullshit. You're supposed to be angry when someone hurts you."

Derek smiled. "Not when I've already forgiven you."

His plan failed. He could tell when Logan was forced to accept this, because all of the fight drained out of him. He crumbled, trembling, covering his face to hide the fact that he was crying. Derek wouldn't let him. He took his husband over to the couch and pulled him close to his chest, rubbing his back while Logan sobbed.

"You can't keep doing this," he said into Derek's shirt.

"I can," Derek said gently. "I'm sorry, love."

"S-Shut up."

Derek smirked and stopped talking.

---

"I put your family in danger."

This was no joking matter. Logan said it while looking him dead in the eye, after two Bornachis were nearly killed, one of them being Carlo. He confessed to giving faulty intel when Derek trusted him to help take down their target.

Derek considered this. He thought about Carlo and the amount of blood coming out of their body, pierced open by three bullet holes. As he and Logan spoke, they were getting blood transfusions from Derek's private doctor in one of the guest rooms.

He thought about Carlo's blood being on Logan's hands. Not as pretty as his own.

"Say something," Logan ordered. There was that tension again, wound throughout his body, ready to snap into action if he had to defend himself. Not that he would. Derek knows, if he lashed out, Logan would hold back. He would take what he deserved.

Derek wasn't going to give him that. Not now, not ever.

He approached his husband. Logan stood still, turning his head up to keep eye contact. Derek towered over him. It would be so easy to knock him down. Just a single slap, a fist to the gut, even a hard shove could send Logan flying. Once he was on the floor, he could be pinned effortlessly — Derek had done it enough times to know. He could make Logan pay.

He softly grazed Logan's cheek with his knuckles. 

"Will you do it again?"

The heat in Logan's eyes wavered. 

"If you can't forgive me a second time."

"There wouldn't be a second time. I won't put my family at risk."

This clearly bothered Logan. Derek resisted the urge to smile; his husband would never admit how much he loved being needed. Depended on. Trusted. Losing that privilege, especially when it's taken this long to earn the Bornachis' trust, meant something to him.

Logan chewed on his bottom lip, like a kid caught out in a lie. It certainly felt like that sometimes. That was something Derek would never admit.

"No," his husband said, reluctantly. "I won't do it again."

Derek did smile this time. "I won't tell them then."

---

"I'm leaving you."

Derek didn't laugh. He knew Logan would see it as mocking, and that would make him actually want to leave. But really, it was hard to take his husband seriously when he sounded like he'd rather eat glass. It was cute. Endearing to see how much Logan cared.

Continuing to read his book would just be rude, so Derek put it down. Looked at his husband, standing in the doorway with a suitcase already packed. His attempts to end their marriage really were becoming an inside joke.

"I'll wait for you," Derek reassured him. Logan's expression soured even more, until he had an idea. Derek could always tell when he did; his eyes would get brighter, lips curling into a small, self-satisfied smile. Like they did now.

"I'm leaving you for someone else."

This wasn't a joke either.

Derek regarded his husband for a moment. Made sure he wasn't just imagining the heat in Logan's eyes, dangerous and alluring, before he got up from his armchair. Stalked over to the smaller man, caging him between his arms. Logan just looked up, pulse jumping in excitement.

Derek almost licked his lips. "I'll hunt you down."

Logan smirked. "What happened to waiting?"

"Oh, I'll wait. You can have a three day head start."

"As if I need that long."

The heat thickened.

"One day then."

Rumors of their separation were all over the tabloids.

It ended up taking a week and two days to outsmart Logan's brilliant evasion tactics, which Derek was only able to do because he knew his husband so well. He got to the apartment before Logan came home. When he did, Logan opened the door to see his temporary lover tied up and screaming behind a gag as Derek's knife became acquainted with their flesh.

Logan was so pretty with their blood on him, gasping out Derek's name on the sofa. He later passed out for a much needed nap. 

Derek took care of the body while he slept.

---

"You can't do this!"

Logan couldn't stand being locked up. Treated like a child. Except his husband, rather than underestimate him, had taken every precaution to keep him inside the house because he knew how crafty Logan was when he needed to be. That was impossible now.

His prosthetic was gone. His one hand was handcuffed to the metal rung of the bed's headboard with a short chain. His ankles were also chained together — no lock that could be picked, just a solid chain that would need to be snapped off with cutters. Of course, if Derek didn't fucking drug him, Logan never would have let him get it on.

Derek sat on the edge of the bed, looking pained. Logan couldn't hit him even if he wanted to; the chain wouldn't go that far. But he still expressed his anger and hurt with loud, sharp words.

"How can you still not trust me? I can do this, Derek! I'm the only one who can!"

Derek shook his head. "It's a trap, Logan. You know that."

"It's an opening. If you would just listen to me—"

He cut himself off, growling in frustration. Derek wouldn't listen. He thought he was protecting Logan, as if Logan needed protecting. He was the most capable person for the job, and most of all, Cassius wanted him. The senseless, brutal killing of Derek's family could finally come to an end if he just let Cassius think he won, let him think he got what he wanted.

But no. It was too dangerous. Which was just another way of saying 'you can't do it'.

Logan bared his teeth, feelings of betrayal cutting in. "I should have known. All that bullshit about trusting me and being willing to do anything for me — you lied. You'd rather lock me up and make all the tough choices for me, just like David would."

He could tell that hit its mark. But it wasn't enough to get through to Derek, who just reached over and touched his face. Logan jerked his head away, glaring at him. Determined to stay vicious, until Derek softly said: "The only thing I won't let you do is hurt yourself."

That's when it dawned on Logan. Derek's limit. The one line that he refused to cross. Logan had been trying to find it all this time, convinced that it was hiding somewhere, just waiting to destroy everything they had.

Derek had already said it himself. Logan just didn't believe him. All this time, he couldn't believe that there was nothing, nothing that would take his Derek away from him, the man he lived for and would die for. It was too good to be true. David always said that, whenever he had to remind Logan of how unlovable he was.

But this metal against his skin, these chains forcing him to stay. This broken trust lodged in his chest, this hurt clawing up his throat. The starving, empty hole in his heart now stuffed with anger, anger at having his freedom taken away, anger at being shielded against his will, anger at Derek for refusing to let him choose just because Logan could get hurt—

That was love. That was what Derek had been telling him all this time.

He felt defeated. Relieved. Exhausted, suddenly, as his body lost the will to fight, feeling lost and unsteady now that there was nothing to question. Nothing to prove wrong.

He listed to the side. Derek moved closer for him to lay against.

"You'll never leave me," Logan said quietly.

Derek kissed his temple. "Never."

"You'll always forgive me."

Derek smiled. "Always."

Logan closed his eyes. "I wish you would let me help you."

Derek wrapped an arm around him. Logan leaned into it, melting with the warmth. He had never felt safer than he felt with Derek. Never felt more loved, no matter how much his mind refused to let him accept it. But he could accept it now.

"I'm sorry," Derek whispered, and Logan let himself smile.

He remembered where he was buried, though. He could see the path leading to the forest behind the manor from the window in Lord Gethin’s room. He’d been mostly confined to Lord Gethin’s chambers ever since. Without restraints, though the manacles still hung from the wall like a silent threat.

He had become merely a phantom to the other servants, only acknowledged by them when Lord Gethin needed him to tell them something. Which was also one of the only times he was allowed to leave his chambers. Other times was when Lord Gethin asked him to fetch him something, though usually he would summon one of the servants to do that for him.

Only at night did he ask Ian instead of the servants. Humans needed to rest every night, after all. They didn’t. It was a strange sensation and Ian still wasn’t used to it. He still longed for his bed once the sun set, but instead that meant it was time for his daily meal.

One of the servants would come in. Lord Gethin would either lead him to the bed or ask him to approach. Ian was to wait where he happened to be standing or seated. The first sip was always for Lord Gethin and only after he was satisfied he would call Ian over and allowed him to drink what was left. Sometimes it was only a sip or two before he was ordered to stop. Enough to keep him sane, but not enough to satisfy him.

He couldn’t complain, though. Literally. Lord Gethin forbade it. Once he had gotten over the shock of his transformation, Ian realised quite fast that he couldn’t disobey Lord Gethin’s commands, even when he wanted to. (Which wasn’t often.) Whatever he ordered, Ian’s body always moved before his mind could and Lord Gethin knew it all too well.

Lord Gethin didn’t like to share. That’s why he stopped Ian from drinking more blood than he needed at the least. At most he would share…himself, after the feeding. Make Ian and the half-conscious servant take turns.

“Show him how to do it properly.” he would say.

And Ian obeyed.

He didn’t mind being a phantom so much anymore. He wasn’t proud of the things he helped them do. That he forced them to do… It was the only time he considered to disobey and the worst time to find that he couldn’t. But the servants didn’t seem to remember even seconds after and Ian told himself the limited interaction he was allowed with them would prevent them from remembering as well.

A small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless.

If he wasn’t doing tasks for Lord Gethin or entertaining him otherwise, Ian spent his days reading the books he was allowed to borrow or staring out the window, watching either the clouds or the stars in the night sky slowly pass by. He also kept the room tidy and the fire in the hearth burning.

Some days, Lord Gethin gave him a lesson. Either about Ian’s new condition or just anything that happened to come to mind. About the book Ian asked to read or its author, or about the stars he caught him staring at. Ian liked those lessons, they were a kindness. The “vampire lessons” however…could go either way.

Sometimes they were simple. Lord Gethin merely answered a question when Ian asked it. Like why he wasn’t allowed to go out during the day, after Lord Gethin explicitly forbade it.

“Are the stories true, my lord?” he had asked, “Do we perish in the light of the sun?”

“No, Ian, the sun is not that powerful.” Lord Gethin had replied, not looking up from his book, “But it darkens our skin like peasants spending all day in the sun for the entire harvest season in merely a few hours. And we are not peasants.”

Other times he liked to demonstrate and that usually meant he was going to teach Ian what could still harm him as a vampire. Like when he asked why he couldn’t see his reflection in a decorative mirror in the library, but could still see it in the window that night…

Ian glanced down at his wrist. There was still a red burn on it, from the silver bracelet Lord Gethin made him wear til sunrise. The sun was setting now and the burn still hadn’t healed. Lesson learned. Avoid touching silver.

“It gets worse as you grow older.”

Ian looked up. Lord Gethin, who had been warming himself by the fire, had suddenly turned and addressed him.

“It…will not heal, my Lord?” Ian asked, looking back down at his wrist.

“Have your ears ceased to work?” Lord Gethin chided, “You shall be healed come morning, I already told you this. But the older you get, the more severely silver will burn you. I daren’t even touch it through cloth…”

Ian struggled to imagine Lord Gethin being hurt so easily. And supposedly worse than what he experienced the other night. He’d been sobbing and begging for mercy within the hour. He was sure something that would harm Lord Gethin would have him begging for the final mercy of death.

Lord Gethin stepped over to him, putting a hand under his chin and making him look up.

“Best not dwell on it.” he said. His fingers kept pulling at Ian’s chin, as if he had them hooked around his jawbone, so he stood up and followed the pull until his face was merely inches from Lord Gethin’s. Ian parted his lip, knowing a kiss was next. He tilted his head exactly the way Lord Gethin preferred it…and then they both froze.

A crack echoed through the manor like a crack of thunder in a clear blue sky.

Once. Twice. And then again.

“Someone…at the door.” Lord Gethin slowly said, finally recognising the noise.

Someone was using the heavy cast-iron knocker on the front door. Ian was surprised it was useable at all. He was sure it had rusted into place. They had never had a visitor ever since they moved in. He suspected Lord Gethin made sure the nearby village was unaware the manor was even there and the staff had only used the back entrance by the kitchens. The front door was only for Lord Gethin and Lord Gethin never left. At least, not that Ian could recall.

He looked back at Lord Gethin, still so very close to his face, so he made sure to speak in a quiet voice as to not upset him.

“Shall I answer, my lord?” he nearly whispered.

“Yes.” Lord Gethin said, “I shall meet them in the parlour, we might get a decent meal out of it…”

Ian regretted his suggestion to answer, but he stepped back and inclined his head, before heading towards the door. The servant’s door, out of habit, still. Lord Gethin didn’t protest. He just told him to hurry, before one of the servants beat him to it.

The main hall was deserted. Ian realised all the servants were sat down for supper, so they probably hadn’t heard the knocker at all and there was no bell connected to the door to alert them either. The door was locked firmly shut and if it hadn’t been for his recently increased strength, Ian was sure it would have been impossible to open.

The lock opened with a crack that rang in his sensitive ears and the hinges creaked in such a way that it appeared the very house was moaning as it finally got to stretch a very achy joint. Ian couldn’t stand the sound, so he only opened it about halfway, standing in the opening and observing the lone figure on their doorstep.

It was unlike anything he had ever seen before. The figure was clad in rich reds, golden and brown fabric. They looked soft and velvety and sturdy. Sewn and embroidered with golden thread. The sleeves of their doublet and their hose were puffed, giving them an almost comically round appearance. A white, lace collar rested on their shoulders, upon which some curled locks of auburn hair rested.

But Ian only got a brief glance of the figure’s absurd outfit as his eye was quickly drawn by their face…or lack thereof. The man wore a mask that resembled a painted face, with an exaggerated smile formed by golden lips and eyes surrounded by nearly hypnotic swirls of black, red and gold. It was tucked against the figure’s face securely by a red velvet hat adorned with some plumage.

Hands clad in black gloves and adorned with bejewelled rings gracefully rested on the head of a cane, the figure tilting its head as Ian appeared to be at a loss of words.

“Will you not invite a weary traveller inside?”

It was a man’s voice. He spoke with an accent that Ian couldn’t quite place. And hearing him speak while the mouth on his mask stayed still was rather unsettling.

“I am begging your pardon, master.” Ian said politely, “We rarely see travellers here.”

“And that is a reason to leave them out in the cold?”

“Only if they have no business here.” Ian said curtly.

He hoped he could deter the stranger from wanting to enter so his life may be spared. But then he leaned forward and in the shade of the mask that fell over his eyes, Ian could have sworn he saw a glint of red in the dark void where his eyes should be.

“I assure you, I have business here.” he said, his voice akin to a purr, “I wish to see Reverend Gethin…or does he go by a different title these days?”

That changed things.

“You know Lord Gethin?” Ian asked.

“In-ti-mate-ly.” the stranger emphasised, before straightening up again and tapping his cane on the floor and demanding, “Invite me in!”

“Your name, if you please.” Ian responded, refusing to be intimidated.

“Well, if Colin goes by Lord Gethin presently, I suppose you may call me Lord Leander Nikolić.”

“…very well.” Ian said, opening the door properly and gesturing for him to pass through, “Do come in, Lord Nikolić.”

“Lord” Nikolić stepped inside with a smooth gait, his boots tapping quietly on the stone floor. He carried his cane, before thumping it on the floor with a definitive click as he stopped in the middle of the main hall and looked around.

The house groaned as Ian closed the door again, the lock closing reminding him of a cough. After that he turned back to Lord Nikolić to find him reaching for his mask and pulling it down, revealing his eyes…and pausing there. They were indeed red, like Lord Gethin’s and Ian’s and suddenly the young man realised how this man might be related to Lord Gethin.

“Lead the way~” he said, the glint of a smile in his eyes.

Ian inclined his head and headed towards the left.

“My lord shall see you in the parlour.” he said, before knocking on the door and opening it.

Lord Gethin was stood by the window next to the fireplace, a small fire had barely gotten started. Ian briefly wondered if Lord Gethin had started it himself or whether he had rushed one of the servants while Ian was talking with their visitor. Then he cleared his throat and announced him.

“My lord…a Lord Nikolić is here to see you.”

Lord Gethin suddenly whipped around, his glare making Ian very nervous. Had he done something wrong? Or was he not as familiar with Lord Nikolić as their visitor claimed? Or was he perhaps…too familiar?

“Leandros?” he said.

Before Ian could answer he was pushed aside, the tip of Lord Nikolić’s cane poking painfully in his back as he forced him to step forward so he could enter the room.

“Colin!” he greeted, the way one might greet an old friend. He dramatically spread both his arms, cane in one hand, his mask in the other.

Ian circled the room past the wall until he stood behind his lord and he could see why Lord Nikolić hid his face behind a mask. He was smiling unconservatively, sharp fangs glinting in the light from the fire.

He was a vampire. Like Lord Gethin.

“What on earth brings you here?” Lord Gethin asked, not greeting the man with the same enthusiasm.

“Can a man not simply wish to see his dearly beloved brother~?” Lord Nikolić said, before sitting down uninvited.

“Simple is not and adjective I associate with you.” Lord Gethin said dismissively.

“Oh you wound me!” Lord Nikolić cried out, draping himself dramatically over his chair.

“Why are you here?” Lord Gethin asked again, “Last I heard you returned to Greece.”

“Yes and it has been awful. They are all Christians now!” Lord Nikolić said, “Not an ounce of fun to be had! I travelled from country to country for a few centuries and wound up in Venice and it has been perfect!”

“They dress like that in Venice now?” Lord Gethin just asked.

“The elite do.” Lord Nikolić replied with a shrug, “Which is why it is perfect. Men and women already throw themselves at me because it looks like I have money and they are not deterred until it is already too late because my mask hides my fangs~ And if I allow them to live…they will not even recognise me next time because I can just wear a different mask~”

“And yet. You are here.” Lord Gethin deadpanned.

“Well yes, you can only slaughter so many lambs each carnival season before the sheep panic.” Lord Nikolić said with a shrug.

“So you have overplayed your hand once again and you have come to seek shelter?” Lord Gethin asked.

“I merely need to lay low for a while and I figured my darling brother is always so proud of his flock he may shelter me until I can safely return to Venice~”

Ian’s chest tightened. His heart didn’t beat so it couldn’t skip one, but it should have in response to the anxiety that suddenly washed over him. This man, who kept referring to humans as animals, wanted to stay and live off of the servants as well.

Ian had accepted that he wasn’t human anymore, but he couldn’t let go of the feeling that the servants had once been like brothers to him — They still were. Which was part of why he didn’t enjoy to feed from them, even if it was a necessary evil.

Even Lord Gethin cared for them in a way. Knowing every death would impact their food security. He only took what he needed and made sure Ian did the same. But he didn’t appear to have the same hold over Lord Nikolić as he did others and Lord Nikolić appeared to hold no value for human life at all.

Or at least, too little to not draw attention to himself. Lord Gethin had taught Ian that while humans were weaker than them in every regard, there was one way they did have an upper hand on vampires and that was sheer numbers. Numbers that could be used against a lone powerful creature if they were aware enough that there was something to be afraid of.

That was why they only fed from the nearby town as a last resort. And Ian wondered if that was what they would need to placate Lord Nikolić.

“My lord?” Ian quietly spoke up, “I could fetch your guest something to…eat from town?”

“Why go all the way back there when you have plenty of warm blood under this very roof?” Lord Nikolić asked, “I can smell them~ Your deliciously docile pets~”

Ian’s stomach churned and he gave Lord Gethin an anxious and pleading look.

“My lord?” he asked, only able to pray that he would choose to protect his servants.

“You forget yourself, Ian.” Lord Gethin eventually said, “Show our guest to his rooms, I’ll ask one of the servants to arrange a meal for him.”

Ian quickly looked down and bowed his head apologetically.

“I am begging your pardon, my lord.” he said, before turning to their guest, “Whenever you are ready, I shall show you to your rooms, Lord Nikolić.”

“I knew I could count on you, Colin my dear brother!” he said as he got up, “And after I have fed you simply must tell me about your little thrall~”

He eyed Ian with a smirk and suddenly Ian didn’t want to be alone with this man.

“He can tell you himself.” Lord Gethin said dismissively, “Off you go now.”

Ian reluctantly obeyed, heading back towards the parlour door and holding it open for Lord Nikolić. At least it wasn’t a direct command, so he could simply tell him nothing if he didn’t want to, which he didn’t.

He waited for Lord Nikolić to step out into the hall before closing the door to the parlour and leading him up the stairs. They had guest rooms, only they never used them. Still, they were frequently cleaned and maintained, simply to make sure the staff kept busy. And conveniently for Lord Nikolić, they had been cleaned recently again.

The guest rooms were a bit smaller than Lord Gethin’s rooms, but they still had everything one might need: A comfortable bed, a dresser for clothes, a fireplace to keep warm, a chaise longue to rest on, and in the corner a close stool to more comfortably use the chamber pot.

“I shall make the bed for you, if you allow.” Ian said, noticing the bed had been left bare while Lord Nikolić looked around approvingly.

“How long have you been a thrall?”

Ian paused on his way to the door to fetch some sheets and paused, turning back.

“How long have I been what, my lord?” he asked, confused.

“A thrall.” Lord Nikolić repeated, “You are enslaved to Colin, are you not? As a result of your transformation?”

“I agreed to serve him for eternity, yes.” Ian said.

“Yes, well, that is called a thrall. You are bound to Colin. You are his thrall.”

“I see…” Ian said, “As for how long…I am unsure. Some weeks, I believe, perhaps even moons.”

“Well surely you have already realised that we do not require sleep then, silly boy.”

“My apologies.” Ian said, “Lord Gethin likes to rest on his bed and prefers it made. I assumed you might prefer that too.”

“Oh, so you were being thoughtful?” Lord Nikolić asked with a chuckle, “How delectable~”

“So…you do not wish for the bed to be made?” Ian asked.

“Later.” Lord Nikolić said, “I’d rather you get a fire going. It is freezing in here.”

Ian inclined his head and knelt down by the fireplace to get a fire going. Lord Nikolić hovered behind him, probably just hoping to catch the first warmth as soon as Ian got a decent flame going. Ian paid him no mind, making sure the fire was ventilated properly before getting back up. He turned to ask if their guest wanted anything else, only to find he had been standing right behind him.

Lord Nikolić was wearing his mask again, head tilted slightly as his fabricated nose nearly touched Ian’s. Ian blinked, but other than that he held still, glancing at the red glint behind the mask’s eye holes.

“Is there anything else I may help you with, my lord?” he asked.

“Tell me…” he purred behind the mask, “Why did he choose to transform you?”

“So I may serve him for eternity.” Ian answered.

“Serve him how?”

“However he needs, of course.” Ian said. He wanted to step back, but he could feel the hearth’s mantle against the back of his head.

“However he needs, huh?” Lord Nikolić repeated, “Are you just an easy lay then?”

“M-my lord?”

Lord Nikolić chuckled underneath his mask, but before he could elaborate, there was a knock on the door. He looked at the door over his shoulder and Ian took the chance to slip away and headed over to open the door. It was Ruben, one of the servants. He was nearly Ian’s age and usually oversaw the room cleanings.

“Oh, Ian!” he said, sounding surprised, “Lord Gethin said we have a guest and asked me to see to him.”

“…of course.” Ian said, “I had just finished showing him around.”

He opened the door further and let Ruben in, only for the boy to pause in the doorway as he saw their guest’s appearance. He seemed at a loss for words, until Ian gave him a nudge.

“Don’t be rude, Ruben!” he quietly hissed, nudging him inside so he could close the door again.

“My apologies!” Ruben quickly said, bowing his head.

“Ruben, this is Lord Nikolić, he is Lord’s Gethin’s guest. My lord, this is Ruben.”

“It’s a pleasure to have you, my lord.” Ruben said, bowing his head again, managing to keep his cool so long as he didn’t look at their masked visitor.

“Oh the pleasure is all mine~” Lord Nikolić said, his artificial face unmoving, but the tone of his voice betrayed he was looking the boy over.

“Would you like a late dinner, my lord?” Ruben offered, “Our cook can make you a tray.”

“Dinner sounds delightful, but a tray shan’t be necessary.” Lord Nikolić replied, “Come closer, let me see you in a better light.”

Ruben didn’t move. Instead he glanced at Ian questioningly. And Ian wasn’t sure what to tell him. He knew what Lord Nikolić really wanted for dinner, but he was only familiar with Lord Gethin’s methods, who would have already put Ruben in some kind of trance at this point to ensure he would be perfectly obedient.

A calmer human’s blood tastes better, after all, Lord Gethin had said.

Ian didn’t know what Lord Nikolić preferred, but he knew interfering would upset Lord Gethin, so he nodded and gestured for Ruben to do as requested. With Ian’s permission, Ruben stepped over to Lord Nikolić, still making sure to keep a respectful distance as well and trying to look anywhere but at the creepy mask.

“Do not fear, boy…”

Ian could hear the smirk in his voice and he wondered if he should slip out and pretend to have been dismissed. But he couldn’t do that to Ruben, so he stayed. Stood silently by the door as he watched the scene unfold.

“Would you prefer it if I removed my mask?”

“W-what I prefer is not important, my lord.” Ruben respectfully said.

Lord Nikolić chuckled, reaching for his mask and pulling it down. His eyes peeked over the edge, the lower half of his face still covered.

“I see Colin trained you well~” he said, “Do you know any other tricks? Turn for me.”

Ruben shot Ian another confused look as he began to slowly turn around, but Ian was conveniently focussed on wiping a speck of dust off of his sleeve and didn’t look back up until Ruben had already turned further and was facing Lord Nikolić again, who chuckled behind his mask again.

“Delightful~” he said, “Come. Sit.”

Before Ruben got the chance to politely decline, Lord Nikolić already essentially swept him off his feet and laid him down on the chaise longue and pinned him there.

“M-my lord?” Ruben gasped, trying to shuffle back, but his back was against the armrest. He looked at Ian for help, but Ian seemed to be looking directly past him, with a vacant look in his eyes.

“Hush, boy…” Lord Nikolić said, removing his mask entirely and putting it aside.

Ruben looked back at him and saw his fanged grin. And he screamed.

There was no reassurance, no gentle touch, no merciful mind control; Just Ruben screaming and Lord Nikolić’s deep, guttural hiss before he tore into the boy’s flesh…

Ian had planned to take Ruben to Lord Gethin afterwards, hoping he would allow him the mercy of forgetting this night. But then the screaming abruptly stopped and the sweet smell of blood quickly turned rotten and Ian knew it was too late.

He stared at the back of the chaise longue, watching Lord Nikolić slowly sit up, licking the blood off of his lips. Ruben’s arm, which had been gripping the back rest in terror, now hung limply over it. Lord Nikolić looked at Ian with a bloodied grin.

“Yes~?” he asked.

“Y-you killed him…” Ian managed to say.

“Oh, my apologies. Had you wanted a sip~?”

Ian hesitated at first, before coming to his senses and shaking his head.

“Well then don’t just stand there.” Lord Nikolić said, “Clean this up before it stinks up the room.”

He got off of the boy, heading over to the washing basin to clean his face, while Ian slowly stepped over to the chaise longue and viewed the carnage left behind. Half of Ruben’s throat had been eaten away, his face twisted in fear, still wet with tears, his eyes wide and bloodshot.

Ian felt his own eyes begin to water as he knelt besides the boy and stroked his hair. And for the first time, as far as he remembered, he likened Lord Gethin to a monster — In his mannerisms, not his nature. It was impossible that he didn’t know Lord Nikolić would murder Ruben. He chose to send him, knowing his friend would have no mercy.

Lord Gethin sacrificed Ruben.

Ian buried Ruben in the forest behind the manor, among the shallow graves of others whose names he didn’t remember. He didn’t have the time to dig a deeper grave for Ruben either. He had to hurry back and remove the chaise longue from the guest room. Much of Ruben’s blood had spilled into the fabric and he knew it would stink up the room as badly as a corpse would.

Something about blood from a deceased person was inherently disgusting, though he wasn’t sure why, but he assumed it was bad for them one way or another and he also couldn’t stand the smell. So he stopped in the now-deserted kitchen to wash the blood and mud off of his hands before heading back to Lord Nikolić room.

However, when he returned, he found the doors open and he could hear Lord Gethin’s voice. So he ran the last few steps and stopped in the doorway, holding his breath. Lord Gethin was talking to Lord Nikolić, pressing a handkerchief against his nose against the smell from the chaise longue.

“I offer you a room and a meal and this is how you repay me?” he said, “His life was not yours to end, it was mine.”

Lord Nikolić shrugged, seeming rather unimpressed by Lord Gethin’s lecture.

“Did you not choose to end it by offering it to me?” he reasoned, “If it pleases you, I did rather enjoy it~”

“I gathered that.” Lord Gethin said, gesturing at the blood stain on the chaise longue, “Do not let it happen again.”

“Or what? You will sic your precious thrall on me~?”

Lord Gethin glanced back at Ian, who was still stood in the door opening and, for a moment, Ian feared he was considering the option, but then Lord Nikolić continued.

“Go ahead.” he said, “I shall thoroughly enjoy putting him in his place~”

“You will do no such thing.” Lord Gethin said, “Perhaps one day if you have a thrall of your own you can put that in its place, but you shan’t touch mine.”

“You might wish to remind your thrall of that~” Lord Nikolić teased, “He did not seem inclined to reject any of my advances~”

Lord Gethin’s glare now fixed on Ian and the boy instinctively took a step back, before realising that Lord Nikolić was being untruthful.

“M-my lord,” he said, “there were no—”

He promptly stopped when Lord Gethin held up his hand, anxiously awaiting his reaction.

“Go to my chambers.” he said, “I shall speak with you when I am done here.”

“Y-yes, my lord.” Ian said, bowing his head before backing out of the room and closing the door.

Lord Gethin’s chambers were on the opposite end of the manor from the guest room, but by the time Ian reached it he could still hear the argument between him and Lord Nikolić. He couldn’t understand it, however. They spoke in a language he didn’t recognise.

Ian closed the door and waited by the window, staring at the path leading to the forest behind the manor until he heard the voices or Lord Gethin and Lord Nikolić subside. A door closed and he could hear Lord Gethin’s footfalls approaching the room. So Ian turned away from the window and looked down as he waited for the door to open.

As soon as it opened, he bowed his head properly, tensing up a bit as Lord Gethin closed the door rather harshly. He marched over to the fireplace, pausing there, probably warming himself a bit by the flames, before turning around.

“Come here.”

Ian stepped towards him, suddenly feeling anxious about what Lord Nikolić might have said. Lord Gethin’s hand brushed past his cheek and over the back of his head and Ian relaxed a bit. But then Lord Gethin suddenly gripped his hair tightly and forced him to look up. Ian gasped a bit in surprise, but he knew better than to protest, so he stayed quiet as he peered up at Lord Gethin.

“Tell me the truth.” he said, “Did my foolish brother touch you the way I have touched you?”

“No, my lord.” Ian said.

“And if he had…what would you have done?”

Ian thought for a second, before assuming Lord Gethin still wanted the truth.

“I-I am unsure, my lord.” he said, “It never occurred to me that he might. O-or anyone for that matter. All my life…there has only ever been you, my lord.”

“And don’t you ever forget that, Ian.” Lord Gethin said, thankfully letting go of Ian’s hair and cupping his cheek instead, “You are my most perfect creation. And no one gets to soil that. You were mine the second I encouraged your father to first speak to your mother. I gave you life and eternal life and all I am asking in return is that you remain loyal so long as we both walk this earth.”

Ian wasn’t sure how to respond to that. He felt warm and loved, but he also felt guilty as he still questioned Lord Gethin’s decision to send Ruben to Lord Nikolić’s room…but then he also seemed upset that the boy’s life had been cut short, so had Ian been in the wrong to judge his decision?

Lord Gethin’s thumb brushed over his cheek before he retracted his hand and Ian realised he had shed a tear. Though whether it was joy or regret he couldn’t say for sure. Fortunately Lord Gethin didn’t seem to know either and paid it no mind altogether.

“Disrobe.” he just said, gesturing towards his bed, “Show me how loyal you are.”

Ian undressed slowly, taking off one piece of clothing at a time as he slowly stepped towards the bed, only arriving once he was fully nude. Then he first walked around, carefully untying and closing the drapes around the bed, except for the last one. He untied the last drape by the headboard on the side that faced the hearth and held it aside for Lord Gethin.

Lord Gethin shed his robes before he approached, pushing Ian rather harshly onto the mattress and crawling in after him. The curtain fell closed, leaving only a small crack through which Ian could see the flickering of the flames in the hearth, reflected in a thin stripe on the canopy. Something to focus on while he had his head tilted back so Lord Gethin could kiss his throat, slowly working his way up and over his jaw before forcing him to tilt his head back so he could kiss his lips.

The room was silent, other than the crackling from the fire, the rustling of sheets, and quiet gasps. Lord Gethin positioned Ian more to his liking, digging his nails into his skin to prompt the boy to move, whilst simultaneously still pinning him down with a long kiss.

When he eventually broke the kiss, he sat up, tracing a finger over Ian’s lips until he opened his mouth. Lord Gethin pushed his finger in. His middle finger first and his ring finger second, pressing down on Ian’s tongue and holding them there, while with his free hand he prompted the boy to spread his legs further as he nestled between them.

Ian thought he could feel Lord Gethin’s nails scrape against the back of his throat and he gagged, squeezing his eyes shut as he knew how Lord Gethin usually responded to that. Instead of pulling out, he pushed his fingers deeper until Ian calmed down. It wasn’t so bad now that he didn’t really need to breathe anyway, but suppressing the reflex still took a lot of effort.

By the time he managed to hold still long enough for Lord Gethin to finally pull his fingers out, Ian had fresh tears rolling down the side of his face and seeping into the velvet blankets. Meanwhile Lord Gethin simply took his fingers, drenched in saliva, and positioned them between Ian’s legs, pushing into him once again.

It was unpleasant and cold, but Ian knew it was just temporary. He would forget about this soon until the next time. Usually as soon as Lord Gethin pulled his fingers out before he finally——

Ian moaned and the last bit of tension in his body dissipated as he essentially melted in Lord Gethin’s hands. Hands that pulled at his waist until he couldn’t get closer and he was lifted off the mattress instead. Lifted until his whole body was pressed against Lord Gethin, chest against chest, arms wrapped around, and his face pressed into the crook of his neck.

For a moment Lord Gethin held Ian like he never had before, arms wrapped around him tightly, nearly squeezing the air out of him. But then they loosened, his hands drifting down to Ian’s waist, holding him in place while he began rocking his hips. Ian moaned again as Lord Gethin thrust in and out of him at a steady pace.

Steady, but slow.

And Ian knew it would be a while before he would see beyond the drapes of the bed again.

THIS ONE IS SO LONG SORRY LOL

Not actually sorry, I had a lot of fun introducing Leander Nikolić (even if I did spend about two hours figuring out how to type the ć without having to copy and paste the character every time and ended up learning some coding oh my gawd).

Gethin refers to him as Leandros as that's what he first called himself when they met, but he goes by Leander now :3

@unwholesomeocweek

Taglist: @sug4rgal | feel free to ask to be added!

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There were no more servants to feed from and disease had gotten a hold over the nearby town. Lord Gethin and Ian had retreated to the hidden underground chambers, which Ian had never seen before except for the cell he woke up in after he had been transformed. The largest room was richly decorated and held another collection of Lord Gethin’s books, as well as a large casket, in which Lord Gethin slumbered.

Slumbering, Lord Gethin had explained, was a way for vampires to conserve energy in dire times. When there was not enough food available or if humans got too suspicious. And they were struggling with both so Lord Gethin ordered Ian to only hunt for food far away and to wake him in a century and then disappeared into his tomb.

And Ian hated it.

He had felt lonely before, but even then he had Lord Gethin and now he couldn’t even talk to him…for a century. He did give Ian a journal before he went to slumber and advised him to write to keep sane. But Ian left it in the underground chambers in the manor when he ventured out, for safekeeping.

So when he was out in the woods, days away from home to search for food, he had nothing but his own thoughts. And even those were hard to hang on to as he grew hungrier and hungrier until he came upon his next unfortunate victim. Whether it was a traveller or a small family living in their remote little cabins, their blood tasted like a glass of cold water in a desert.

And Ian hated it.

He hated coming back to his senses among the corpses of his victims, their blood still sticking to his face and clothes. Every other week it was the same thing. He stayed home as long as he could until he couldn’t stand the hunger anymore and then he walked for days until he lost himself and he awoke a monster.

Ian hated himself.

The wind howled and the large tree he sheltered behind did little to stave off the cold. He looked down at the woman he’d snatched off the trail. She was weak and pale, but still warm. Still alive. Ian licked her blood off of his lips and he wept.

“Forgive me…” he whispered as he leaned in closer to her throat, “Forgive me…for taking your life to sustain my mind…I deserve no mercy, so I pray the gods show you mercy instead…”

And then he bit her. And he drank her blood. And just before her soul passed, he tore off a chunk of flesh and chewed it. He wasn’t even sure whether that worked or if he was just fooling himself, but he felt he could go a little longer before the next feeding if he ate some of their flesh.

Human flesh.

Ian felt disgusted. He had so ever since he found out who Lord Gethin was and what he turned him into. Blessed to serve him for eternity, but cursed to cannibalise for the rest of forever.

But was he cannibalising? Or had he truly become something beyond human. Was he just a predator consuming prey? Then why did he still weep for the poor souls who crossed his path? Were his tears what made him human? And did that mean he sinned every time he fed?

Was this all eternity had in store for him?

For centuries, Ian was bound to the manor and Lord Gethin, either watching over his slumbering form or forced to slumber himself. The loneliness disillusioning his believes that he had been blessed and reinforcing the idea that he had been cursed.

Until one day, Lord Gethin prepared for his turn to slumber and rather than ordering Ian to wake him up after a set amount of years, he only uttered “You know what to do.”

And while he feared his wrath and he was unsure where to go or what to do without him, Ian eventually realised he could leave.

And he did.

And for a while, for a small blip in his long life, he forgot about his curse and he dared to be happy.

And then Lord Gethin returned.

The second their eyes met it was like he was back in the manor and all he cared about was obeying his master and being close to him, yet, simultaneously a voice in the back of his mind cried for freedom. It wept when he followed the order to hurt his friends. And it begged for respite when Lord Gethin dragged Ian towards his bed…

The spell was completely broken now. Ian didn’t enjoy Lord Gethin’s touch as he once did. It was cruel and he only cared for his own pleasure. Ian didn’t feel desired. He felt like an object meant only to be used for another’s gratification. And there was no escaping the feeling of shame, even after Lord Gethin finally seemed satisfied.

“Why do you weep, Ian?” he suddenly asked, snapping the boy out of his thoughts, “Tears of joy for our reunion? …or regret over your pathetic attempt to break from me?”

He stroked the boy’s cheek, wiping away a tear, before forcing him to roll onto his back, so he couldn’t hide his face in the sheets anymore and Ian realised tears were freely rolling over his cheeks.

“I do not even wish to know what possessed you to think I would not find you as soon as my slumber was disturbed...” Lord Gethin continued, “It seems I had underestimated how stupid you are. How else could you forget that you are mine.”

The back of his hand suddenly collided with Ian’s face, the smack echoing through the room like thunder. Ian’s head jerked to the side, his mouth falling open as his jaw seemed to splinter and dislocate. The pain was unbearable and he let out a strangled cry. Lord Gethin grabbed his loose jaw, wrenching it down so it could not begin to heal and making the pain marginally worse.

Ian begged for mercy, but the only sound that made it past his lips was an agonised wail.

“That is better…” Lord Gethin praised, “You deserve to suffer for abandoning me. And when I decided you have suffered enough, I will end your ungrateful and pathetic life.”

Through the pain, Ian didn’t realise Lord Gethin had hardened against him, until it was already too late and he was inside him once again. But father than thrusting his hips to push himself deeper, he pulled on Ian’s loose jaw until the rest of his body followed by sheer force.

It had been bad before…surely it wouldn’t get worse than this?

I did not proofread this one.

And thus we come full-circle! Thank you to everyone who followed these excerpts of Ian's story 💖

And thank you @unwholesomeocweek for organising this event! I had so much fun writing all these and challenging myself (I usually tone down my freak just in case, but for this one I didn't >:3c )

Taglist: @sug4rgal | feel free to ask to be added!

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