At Night (part 2)
The story so long I cut it in half to post. So much writing, this took me. So much.
He didn't exactly smuggle the unconscious human into his home; several people (presumably people who were related to him, but Wake never could tell) saw him, and not a one of them cared. Wake was, after all, the favourite son - he got away with almost anything. Mother saw to that. Malice might object, but then, Malice was perfectly objectionable.
Bringing a human into the home was a sort of 'frowned-upon-but-mostly-okay' thing to do, especially if said human were both unconscious and attractive.
Wake's own bedroom was, of course, stylish and neat; warm, unobtrusive cream walls, highlighted by decorations in shades of deep reds, crimson furniture and fabrics. His window was, like all the windows in the house, blacked out, but tastefully; hidden behind a wood panel screen, as if the world outside were replaced with a more appropriate vision. He didn't bother with the lights, pushing the door closed with his elbow and carrying his prize to the bed; he set the boy down almost tenderly, pale skin across blood red bedsheets.
Henry didn't stir; his black curls looked almost like an ink stain on the pillow, strange and untidy. Wake perched on the edge of the bed, running a curious hand through the dark hair; it snagged and caught, and the more he tried to tame it, the more tangled and snarled it became. Wake loved it; it was such a simple, human kind of thing, messy hair, he loved it. He loved that, and he loved the faint flush of pink under the boy's white skin, and he loved each tiny puff of warm breath that escaped him.
He didn't find it strange, to fall in love with each tiny little human thing; Wake was a creature of fast and fickle emotions, and he fell in love every day. He didn't imagine this time would be different.
He was wrong, of course, but for now that is neither here nor there.
Far away, someone was calling his name, and not in a tone that suggested anything good; ah, so it seemed it was time to be frowned upon once more.
Standing from the bed with a graceful straightening of limbs, he lent over the prone form laying there.
“I'll deal with you later, Henry.” He whispered slickly, dropping a possessive kiss against the boy's throat. “That's a promise.”
In a rare gesture of compassion, he tugged a blanket over the human, so he wouldn't catch a chill in the unheated room, stealing one last tender glance at the object of his affection.
The human boy - he was just a boy, really, couldn't be older than twenty, probably younger, still just a simple child - looked pale, paler than death laying against the red of the sheets, his eyelashes long and dark against white cheeks. The contrast of ink hair and paper skin was... unreal. Simply stunning. Very tempting. Wake felt his slow beating heart skip, maybe beat just a little faster.
For the first time in quite some time, he decided it would be best to lock his bedroom door behind him.
~
It would be nice, perhaps, to be able to say that there was a little less swagger in Wake's step as he left his bedroom, but, of course, that would be a lie.
Wake was, in fact, exactly as arrogant and self assured as he always is, which is to say, very.
So there was a veritable spring in his step when she cornered him, rounding a corner quicker than he could dart out of the way and slamming her dainty hands on the wall either side of his head.
“Morning, Malice.”
“Wake,” Malice hissed, angry and dangerous and, to be honest here, really fucking hot. “Are you entirely stupid?”
“I,” Wake began in a affronted tone. “Have absolutely no idea what you mean.”
“You don't?” She sighed, looking away for a second; then, too fast for a human eye to track, her right hand was around his throat, squeezing. “Your pretty new toy, brother. The whole family saw you, don't you dare pretend that you don't know anything that you do always reflects badly on me.”
“God forbid.”
“Shut up!”
For a moment he complied, to allow her to calm down a little; then, gently, he pried her hand away from his neck, rubbing at the skin as if she had hurt him - she hadn't. She couldn't, not like that.
“Mal,” she scowled at the pet name, but allowed him to continue. “No one cares, sister. It's just one plaything, what's the harm? I'm only... savouring it. It'll be dead soon.”
“Well...” Malice drew one nail down her brother's cheek tenderly, her hard glare softening into a pretty smile (that Wake found much less appealing). “You do have good taste, in the very least. Such a pretty one; I almost took him for a young woman at first.”
Wake said nothing; the idea of Malice agreeing with him was more than a little unnerving.
“And you always did have that... fondness, for pretty boys, brother dear.” She continued. “It's really not my place to judge.” Her nails pressed a little deeper against Wake's cheek, the caress acquiring a brutal edge. “No, I suppose I don't mind, now I think about it. You have your fun teaching your new pet to suck cock, my dear brother. But I want you to remember two things for me.”
Her smile was a perfect thing for its cruelty, wicked and sharp, and Wake almost wanted to growl in response, the sting of nails on his cheek growing a fraction sharper. “Firstly: humans are so very fragile. Be gentle with it, or you'll break it.” Dead, cold blood curved down her longest nail; she drew her hand away from his face, looking almost surprised at the droplet, examining it critically before slowly licking it away. It tasted of nothingness. “And two: I do it better.”
Wake did not move as she smirked at him and flounced away. Once she was out of sight, he sneered, wiping the blood from his face. Typical Malice, always looking after the last word like the little drama queen she was. Not that she was going to ruin his good mood, of course; it would take a lot more than his bitch of a twin sister to do that. But still...
Straightening out his jacket and dusting himself down, Wake continued down the corridor with just a little less of a grin on his face.
~
It was nothing he hadn't heard before; angry bleating about how he ought to know better, and they'd warned him about this just last night (everyone was angry about the girl, dead and left where anyone could find her. No one gave a damn about Henry.)
Wake simply sat there and attempted to look sufficiently contrite that he would be left alone. It didn't work as well as it might have done - after all, his family did know him.
The problem was that they expected him to be sensible. As if that wouldn't end up boring him right to death. It was as if they just didn't understand - Wake could never sit still, never be careful and cautious like they wanted. As long as everything worked out in the end, Wake would do whatever the hell he wanted; continue to worship life the only way he knew how - by ending it.
So, no, shrill step-sister number which-ever-the-hell-one-you-are, he is not fucking sorry for the way he acted. He would do it again it a human heartbeat, and you can stick that up your -
Wake smiled his most charming smile - and, being Wake, it was very charming - and endured.
Eventually, sensing no reaction that was in the least bit entertaining, many of the family members drifted off to sleep through the day; Wake waved them off with the same serene smile.
“Just tell me one thing, dear.”
The others were all gone; just Wake and his mother left, sharing a pleasant silence.
“Hmm, mummy?”
“You don't do this just to rile them up now, do you?”
“Of course not.” He almost seemed surprised she might think so, although really, no intelligent person would put it past him. “This time, anyway.”
His mother smiled at that, in her soft, sweet way. She had the same green eyes as her children, and the fine, sandy hair, though her face was rounder, less striking, more... homely. Gentle.
“Not this time.” She repeated faintly. “I see.” Then, she sighed a resigned sigh. “I suppose that's as much as I can expect from you, dear.” Kissing her son's cheek lightly, she too retired from the room, calling a fond 'sleep well' after her.
For sake of appearances, although no one would see him, Wake did not immediately bolt for the door. Instead, he waited for a few moments before standing from his seat, stretching lazily, and bolting for the door.
After all, appearances aren't everything.
~
The room was dark; there was a hint of light, a soft glow, as if it were day outside and the sunlight was blacked out by heavy cloth. Henry felt heavy and well rested; his body heat had warmed the bed he lay on, and he could not the busy sounds of the street, from here - not even the noise from the shop his parents owned. Perhaps it was a Sunday, and he had woken close to dawn, before anyone else had begun to stir? He didn't recall.
Strange; he didn't think his bed had ever been this comfortable. Perhaps it was just because he was tired and relaxed, but the sheets felt softer...
“Morning, beautiful.”
Wake smirked, rather pleased with the startled little gasp that issued from Henry's mouth.
“Oh, I know.” He drawled from where he was practically draped across an armchair, his eyes bright. “But you looked so peaceful, I let you sleep in.”
Henry said nothing, sitting up in the bed and drawing the covers around him like a blushing maid. The look on Wake's face suggested that he thought this was adorable.
“What do you want from me?”
“I?” Wake lay a hand on his chest, affronted. “I was simply concerned about you. After you passed out I couldn't very well leave you in the cold, could I? You humans react so badly to things like that, I can never tell...” He shrugged. “It's cold in here, too, I'm afraid. I would make you a fire, but I hate that stuff.”
Henry glanced at the fireplace; it wasn't boarded up, but it did show signs of not having been used in a very long time -if ever.
“I... I'm warm enough beneath the sheets.” He muttered, raised to be polite in all situations - although this was not a place he'd ever thought he'd be, in the bed of a stranger who also happened to be a vampire.
Wake appeared to be genuinely delighted.
“Perfect.” He smirked, his green eyes narrow and predatory. “Sleep well?”
The fact that his tone was light, friendly, and almost unrecognisable as the sleek, dangerous tone from the night before was more worrying than reassuring.
“Yes?” Henry hazarded, not entirely sure if he should be agreeing to anything Wake said, lest he somehow sign some pact with the creature.
“Perfect.” Wake purred again; Henry caught sight of a hint of sharp fang in his smile.
“Can I go now?” He blurted out, biting his tongue too late to still it. Wake pouted - and somehow, the expression seemed less petulant than... sensuous. It looked attractive, on his thin, pale lips. It probably shouldn't have.
“If you really insist.” He said, some of the drawl cutting away to reveal something sharp underneath. Something familiar. “But you know, obviously I can't just let you wander out of here, knowing...”
“I don't...” Henry shook his head, laughing a little. “I don't know what I know, and I have no intention of remembering it.”
“Well, maybe I don't want you to forget me.” Standing from his seat, Wake made great show of stretching slowly, a feral display of raw power. “I would like you to stay.” He sounded almost convincing, soft and sad and so utterly manipulative that Henry had to be impressed.
“I...” The human cowered nervously, trying to pull the sheets even further around him, as if the soft silk would protect him. “I think I want to go.” For some reason, it was terribly important not to hurt Wake's feelings. Possibly because the vampire could kill him in an instant, but...
“Don't want you to.” Wake insisted, pouting further and approaching the bed. He stared at this human kid, practically wrapped up in his sheets and looking so perfectly terrified, and licked his lips, grinning. “How do I get you to stay, Henry?”
“Just... stay away from me.” Henry suggested, inching away. Wake paused, cocking his head in thought.
“Nope.” He decided, scrambling up the bed and curling around Henry's waist. “Don't think I will.”
Henry froze. Wake's body was a heavy weight against his chest, and there were ice cold hands tugging his shirt free from his trousers and insinuating themselves on his skin. He ought to feel afraid - he did feel afraid - sandy blonde hair was tickling his cheek where Wake nuzzled into his neck, but it didn't feel predatory. It felt... affectionate.
“You're warm.” The mutter was low and vibrated against Henry's skin. “Relax, beautiful. I don't bite.”
“Yes, you do.”
“Yes, I do.” Wake agreed happily as Henry relaxed just a little, his hands dropping their white knuckle grip on the sheets and laying uselessly at his sides. “But I promise you'll like it, dear.”
For a moment, silence; then Henry began to struggle, shoving Wake away from him (the vampire, startled, tumbled out of the bed with an undignified thump) and untangling himself from the sheets, putting the bed between them. Almost as soon as his feet hit the floor, he started shivering. It was cold.
“What are you doing?” He demanded; Wake rolled his eyes, picking himself up from the floor and straightening his shirt.
“Cuddling. Come back to bed, you'll freeze.”
“I'm f-fine.” Henry stuttered; Wake smirked.
“F-fine?” He mimicked. “Well, if that doesn't convince me, I doubt anything will.”
“I just w-want to go h-home.” The stutter was getting worse as the shivering did; Henry rubbed at his arms futilely, trying to stay warm. Finally satisfied as to his appearance, Wake began to circle around the bed.
“My feelings are hurt, Henry,” he said, brushing away an imaginary tear. “I try to be a good host, and you reject me.”
“You're going to kill me.” Henry pointed out, feeling a strange need to excuse his behaviour.
“Oh, eventually, of course, you are... too good not to eat. But there are so many things I want to do to you first.” He stalked closer. “Things you'll like. Things you'll enjoy.” Licked his lips. “You should know I don't make this offer to everyone. Just you.”
Henry could back up no further; he was pressed uncomfortably against the hard edge of the fireplace, the marble cold against his back. He held up his hands in front of him like a barrier; Wake enfolded them in his own hands, the pads of his fingers brushing along Henry's knuckles. The force of Henry's shivering made both their hands shake.
“Back to bed.” Wake decided, releasing Henry's hands; the boy didn't quite finish his sigh of relief before he was swept up into unnaturally strong, unnaturally cold arms.
He could tell immediately that there was no point in struggling, though he did manage to kick Wake in the shin, and ruin the neat line of his shirt a little.
“Put me down.” He snapped; stuttering and stammering only amused the vampire, but orders seemed to be quite well received - not obeyed, but respected. Henry was learning.
“That was the plan, beautiful.” Wake said, dumping his burden on the bed. “Stay there. I said,” he growled as Henry started to move, pinning the boy down with his body. “Stay there, Henry.”
Beneath him, Henry froze once more, his body tense and stiff, though this time he didn't struggle. Wake sighed in annoyance, rolling his eyes and dragging the red sheet up over his back with one hand, covering them both and making himself comfortable against Henry's chest. He didn't bother trying to calm his skittish human companion; that would be pointless and boring and about as much fun as banging his head up against a brick wall - and anyway, he was comfortable. He liked it here; organic heat was extremely pleasant, to a vampire. He didn't feel it as heat, so much as a fuzzy, enveloping feeling that his body was hard wired to enjoy.
“You're warm.” He sighed happily, forgetting he wasn't saying anything. Henry, somewhat resigned to being used as a pillow - fear was too exhausting, emotionless calm was much better - sighed.
“You're not.”
“I,” Wake declared, nuzzling Henry's chest, “am room temperature.”
“Room temperature is cold.” He shoved ineffectually at the dead weight on his chest, if only to make his objections known. “I can light the fire.” He pointed out hopefully. “If you get me some wood and kindling.”
“Wood...” Wake pulled a face, thinking. No one in his family would need anything to make fire, but then... oh, yes, they did have the human servants to keep the house during the day (and because why do something yourself if you can pay someone else to do it for you?) - they must have wood, somewhere, unless they all went around shivering. He didn't think they did. That would be silly. So the human servants probably knew where wood was - oh, food, too. Now he just had to find one... “Will you stay here, if I go to get you some wood? And possibly food, I guess.”
“I-”
“And by here I mean in this bed, Henry.” Wake licked a line up Henry's neck, just to feel the boy shiver. “Right here. No moving. Not a twitch.”Caught his earlobe between careful fangs and tugged, lightly, affectionately, but with a hint of warning. “I mean it.”
Henry nodded.
“Good boy.”
To reward him (and because he really, really wanted to) Wake leaned ever closer and kissed Henry, hard and possessive; the warmth, the living, human warmth was electric and delicious and unbearable, pulling a low growl from the back of his throat. Henry didn't resist, even, like he wanted to kiss back but didn't know why he wanted that, didn't know how. Wake could fix that, he decided, pulled away with one final press of lips.
“I will be,” he said, untangling himself from the sheets, crawling out of bed, “right back.” He tucked the sheets under Henry's chin like he was a little child, patting him on the head fondly.
~
Now he was back under the blankets, the cold of the room was much more bearable; Henry hated to admit it, even to himself, but Wake had been right about that much, at least.
Wake. His behaviour was baffling - it was almost as if he were a child desperately seeking approval, if one ignored his dominating, predatory edge. The vampire was intimidating and demanding, but without being in any way outwardly threatening; his every emotion was startlingly genuine. Affection, concern, and apparently lust. Of course Henry, being a good and God-fearing man, had never so much as considered... but Wake was attractive, for a man, and his actions were surprisingly... seductive.
The kiss... the kiss and been uninvited and very unwelcome, physically cold and yet suggestive of searing heat. Commanding, ruthless, and still so eager to please, not only taking but giving, too.
The whole thing had been a conflicting mess, and Henry couldn't quite say how he felt about it.
The door began to open slightly, slowly, startling him; it couldn't be Wake back already, could it? Probably not, he decided; it had only been a few minutes, after all.
He felt like he should probably be hiding, but doing so would only serve to make him feel small and ridiculous. And anyway, where could he possibly hide from a vampire? If his first encounter with Wake could be taken as any indication, they'd only be able to hear his terrified heart beating.
He settled for pulling the sheets tight around him again, an highly ineffectual shield. He felt silly for it anyway. If it was Wake coming back he'd probably mock him for it. Still, he wasn't taking any chances.
The door opened a little wider, admitting a beautiful young woman into the room, her skirts rustling against the floor. She had the same sharp green eyes and sand hair as Wake - though her hair was even longer, floating around her shoulders like a wave. She had poise and grace, and, really, any man would have to admit to finding her stunning.
Yet there was a look in her eyes, one that seemed cutting and evil, and Henry didn't like it.
She smiled at him, and he shivered for reasons that had nothing to do with the cold.
“Oh, my.” She sounded like Wake, too, but colder, less sincere. “Well, look at you.” She did so, and at length, and it was invasive and unpleasant. Everything about her just seemed... off, just a little. As if she were a fraction out of synch with everyone else, and there was something under her skin that was vastly different from her attractive façade. “My brother does have good taste, doesn't he?” She brought one nail up to her lips, running her tongue along it thoughtfully. “You're a pretty little thing, I'll admit that.” Leaning back against the door, she let that smile cross her face again. “Pity.” Her face fell a little, though her sorrow was transparently fake. A lot about her seemed that way.
She waited, an expectant eyebrow raised; at first, Henry remained silent. He wasn't interested in playing her games, whoever she was - Wake's sister? She certainly looked it. It was when she began drumming those claw like nails on the wood of the door that he gave in.
“What's a pity?”
“Hmm?” She glanced up from where she'd been inspecting the collar of her dress, supposedly ignoring him. “Oh, it's only that, as a lady, I can't help but find it sad. To see something so pretty destroyed.” She flashed another fang filled smile, and Henry tried in vain to sink into the mattress, just to escape her. He found himself wishing Wake were there - confusing and murderous as the vampire was, this one was worse. She pushed away from the door, the movement graceful. “My brother went to the servants' quarters. I... persuaded one of them to distract him for the day. It's not hard,” she rolled her eyes, lip twitching with disdain. “He likes shiny objects.”
Oh.
Well, God damn it.
“So you see, I have all the time in the world to take it all. All the things that make you pretty.” She'd dropped all pretence of friendliness, now, practically snarling, shoving the sheets away from him with one hand and pinning him to the headboard. “You won't hold his attention after I'm done with you.” She growled, bearing fangs. “You'll be hideous, torn up, ripped open. I'm going to make you bleed, every single drop of your blood. Because, you know, it is your blood that he wants. The rest of you is nothing, a pretty little bonus.”
She stopped, just for a moment, taking a breath to regain her composure. She ran a hand through Henry's curls, stroked his cheek; he flinched at her touch but couldn't escape it.
“My brother is... he's like a flirtatious maiden, flitting from one love to another. He throws them away when they run out of blood, you've seen that. I'm the only one he kept, the only one he comes back to.” Her nails on his face grew dangerous, wicked; she hissed in anger as she scratched down the length of his jaw, drawing blood. Henry's cry of pain stuck in his throat.
Malice stared at the creature in her brother's bed, at the four lines of red blood dripping down his cheek, and felt angry. Angry, and betrayed, and she was not the kind of woman to let such things stand.
She was right, after all. Wake didn't love for long. He loved with all the intensity of the deadly sun, yes, but not for long. And he always came back to her. Always. This pretty, cherub faced little thing wasn't a threat to her, and yet... he'd never brought one home before. That single fact was enough to eat away at her, and make her doubtful - and furious.
“I will bleed you, human.” She hissed, pressing one perfect nail into the second cut on his cheek, parting the skin, pushing it wider; Henry gasped, recoiling, and she snatched hold of his chin with her other hand, holding him. “You'll beg me to do it.”
Henry's breath was coming in sharp, fearful gasps; with a slick smile, Malice wrapped her fingers around his neck, tight enough to restrict airflow but not cut it off entirely. His life, his breath, it was the damp heat of it that allured Wake, and the power that she held over that fragile thing was comforting. Killing this human would not be enough - she wanted to own him, to tear him up and then stitch him back together again all wrong, so that no one will want him, anymore. Wake won't want him anymore.
But, she thinks, she'll let Wake watch him die. He'll like that, even if it will piss him off, that she got all the blood and sweat and tears, and all he got was a dying breath.
He couldn't breathe; bringing his hands up, he tried in vain to push her away, to peel her off of his throat, to do something. But she was so much stronger.
“Do feel free to scream, now.” Malice told him, flexing her grip on his neck; Henry gasped for air in the few seconds where he was able to breathe. “It's really no matter. Everyone expects Wake to be playing with you, after all.”
In the cloudy, oxygen starved depths of his mind, Henry wondered what exactly about Wake's 'playing' would be likely to make him scream.
The instinct of survival in humans is stronger than any conscious thought. Despite his fear, despite the look in her eyes that said that to struggle would only make this worse, and knowing that he had no way to fight her, Henry couldn't stop himself from shoving at the weight pinning him to the bed. Malice laughed, harsh and angry, her hands uncurling from his throat and pulling his shirt sharply open. The cold air against his skin was harsh, almost burning; the tears on his cheeks were in danger of freezing in place.
Somehow the thought of that seemed almost worse than anything Malice could do to him.
And so, of course, she set out with a smile to prove him wrong.
~
He never dreams of it as anything more than a jumbled mess, fragments of moments, sounds and sensations. The click that must have been his jaw snapping back into place; the contrast that was his blood, hot on chilled skin; how she could be as tender as she was cruel, when it suited her purpose; the pressure of her hands on sensitive nerves, tightening into white hot pain; the crack that was probably his jaw snapping out of place.
The prevailing sensation is still the cold; the room was cold, her skin was cold, her teeth were cold.
It doesn't take long for him to forget how heat felt, but the cold he never forgets.
~
Wake likes playing cards quite a lot; it's entertaining and skill based and fast paced, and you can normally count on human servants to tell dirty jokes. His natural confidence gave him the best poker face in the room; he smiled like he meant it no matter what the contents of his hand - and the contents of his hands were invariably good, because Wake really, really likes winning at cards; enough to cheat.
He wasn't stupid enough not to notice that he was being distracted, but honestly, he didn't care all that much. It was too much bother to worry about things like that - after all, he was amused, and that was all that mattered. So, he was happy to forget what he'd been doing before the distraction, and get on with scamming the humans out of their money.
The trick to a good cheat was to make it believable; don't overreach yourself. Play good hands, not great ones. And of course, if you're a vampire, listen to the minute changes in heart rhythm which give away every bluff, every time.
Every so often (or perhaps all the time) it was good to be a vampire.
Gathering his slowly growing pile of coins a little closer, he grinned as he dealt out the next hand of cards. On a normal day, the servants would never agree to play with him, so this was an opportunity not to be missed. Whatever he was doing can probably wait. It wasn't like it was any kind of big deal, after all. Henry wouldn't freeze as long as he stayed snuggled up in bed - what an image, Wake thought, that delicious little bite curled up in his bed - and humans could go for a couple of days without food, so a few more hours shouldn't be a problem.
No, there was no reason why he shouldn't just enjoy this wonderful distraction while it lasted. After all, these fine lads had been paid to keep him occupied, the least he could do was make sure they got a chance to do that job (while stealing most of the money they were paid for it, because he is Wake, after all.)
Vampires can feel the sunlight, even when hidden away inside; it's a prickling under their skin which makes them want to hide away, or sleep, and it fades as dusk approaches, returning on the onset of dawn. As a defence mechanism, it is a rather good one; clocks can be unreliable, and the dawn and dusk change as the year wears on. Wake didn't notice the passing of the time until the feeling started to wane; he didn't care about the passing of time until the servants started making their excuses, begging off the game to go home to their families, or to go to bed.
When there wasn't anything left to win, he pocketed what he did win, which is everything, and completely forgot to grab any wood. His walk back to his room was awash with happy anticipation, of having a fun night in, not having to go out and hunt. His dinner was already waiting for him, pretty and innocent. What fun they would have. How nice it would be, to curl up with a source of that wonderful human warmth.
The door was open.
The door to his bedroom, not quite closed; ever so slightly still open, where he had not left it open at all. He listened, stock still, for a heartbeat, and found one, slow and stuttering. Not sleeping; he had found, that morning and to his delight, that a sleeping human heartbeat was slow, yes, but strong and heavy, and this was too weak to be that.
She wouldn't, he tried to think. But oh, she so would.
He stormed into the room, furious at his sister. She'd gone too far, now; threats and idle insults and scratch marks were all very well and normal, and well within the rules of their minor war, but ruining each other property...
“Mal-”
No, of course she wasn't still there. She didn't have enough confidence in her ability to take him in a fight - as twins, they were fairly evenly matched, and usually fights could go either way - to actually get caught. Now she could deny any involvement, and he would have to let it go. That little bitch. And she'd gotten blood on his bed, too. He'd never get any sleep, surrounded by the scent of that.
Henry was still breathing, he noted, through a bruised and torn up throat that whistled softly with each strained, gasping breath. He clearly didn't have much left in him, of anything - blood, or life, or time.
Wake hated it. Normally he finds death so very beautiful, the natural extension of life, but this time was tainted with anger, and a simmering, seething hate. This boy had been more than just some meal, more than the average game; Wake had wanted to bleed him dry one sweet mouthful at a time, and taste ecstasy in every bite. He had wanted to corrupt him, to make him want to be taken.
It wasn't fair. He kicked at his armchair, scowling like a little boy who's had his favourite toy taken away. Then Henry coughed up a pathetically small amount of blood, and Wake realised something wonderful. Mad, probably, and inadvisable, yes, but wonderful, too. So wonderful.
Henry wasn't dead yet.
Which meant... well, it meant Malice didn't get to win. He could stop Henry from dying by turning him into a vampire, and then he would win. Perfect.
His journey to the bed was a fairly undignified scramble, but the timing on this thing was close. Too long, and there wouldn't be anything to bring back - and it wouldn't work unless Wake got one taste, one mouthful of blood, so there needed to be enough left.
Though he couldn't say why he did it, he stroked sweat damp hair out of Henry's eyes and felt a little sad about having to do so.
“Hey, beautiful,” he whispered, poking him in his surely painful side; Henry's eyes shot open with a gasp, but they were unseeing.
There had better still be time. If there wasn't still time he may actually fucking kill Mal for this.
Henry wasn't lucid, so there was no point in explaining what was about to happen or attempting to reassure him in any way - it's unlikely that Wake would have really bothered, even if there had been a point to it. He was still to angry to think about acting kind. He just dipped his head to the gaping wound at Henry's neck and lapped at the blood, delicately, unable to stop himself from wasting precious seconds just learning the taste. Then, regretfully, he sunk in his fangs and drank what was left, barely enough to wet his teeth.
Pulling back, he slapped Henry's cheek sharply.
“You don't get to die.” He ordered, bring his own wrist up to his mouth and biting down; his own blood tasted of nothing, like pure water, but he dropped it to Henry's mouth, forcing it between dry and chapped lips. “Drink that, you'll get better.”
Though he had most likely heard neither command, instinct kicked in like a lifeline, compelling Henry to suck weakly at the red blood trickling into his mouth. It burned down his ruined throat, white hot, curling into his veins in a manner that was impossible to describe and singularly unpleasant. And yet... with each drop his skin began close over, bones knitting together. The healing hurt almost as badly and the torture had, boiling up inside him, making him whimper uselessly as he discovered he couldn't scream.
Wake rolled his eyes, and stalked over to his (now slightly broken) armchair to wait out the turning; always a vicious process, this time no doubt more so. Maybe he could get some sleep.
~
Henry woke up feeling... incredible. There was no trace of the pain he had felt before he blacked out, nothing to suggest... well, anything. He was starting to think he had dreamt up the entire ordeal with Wake's sister, because there was no way that she...
No, because... he felt better than he ever had, stronger and more alert; the oil lamps lighting the room now seemed horribly bright, where before they'd been rather dim, burning through his eyelids uncomfortably. And he wasn't cold, anymore.
He opened his eyes. Wake was sprawled in his chair, possibly asleep; Henry could see him better, now. His hair shined, in the light. His skin fairly glowed.
“Morning, beautiful.” He muttered sarcastically. Wake didn't stir. Trying to look around the room, Henry hissed as an area of his neck sparked with pain; reaching up to touch it, he found two tiny, round scars.
“Bite marks don't heal.” Wake looked up, stretched. “Morning to you too, gorgeous.”
Henry assumed he was blushing, and then realised that he wasn't.
“That bitch thought she could mess with me.” Wake dragged himself over to the bed, sitting next to Henry and tugging the boy against his side, petting his soft curls. “We showed her, huh, dollface?”
“What's with the names?” Henry muttered, relaxing into the touch; he didn't think he was afraid of Wake anymore. The vampire had said a lot of things, maybe, but he'd only ever been kind and affectionate, if a bit forward. Compared to his sister, he was a perfect host.
“You stole beautiful. Can't have you outdoing me.” He moved his hands, pressing his fingers to the mark on Henry's neck, tilted towards him; Henry hissed again. “Fuck. Why'd I do that?”
Henry frowned, glancing up; he had a feeling Wake was not talking about the fleeting touch, as much as that had hurt.
“Do what? Wake,” he tried to sound warning, and didn't do too badly, “what have you done to me?”
Wake's expression didn't change, but his hand stopped stroking Henry's hair.
Bite marks. Henry worked it out, with a sickening lurch of his stomach.
“No!” He shoved himself away from Wake, staring wildly; then, just as violently, he threw himself back across the bed, clinging to his sire helplessly, sobbing a little, thought not actually crying. Raising one eyebrow, Wake draped an arm around Henry.
They sat there for a moment, Henry shaking and Wake feeling really fucking stupid, cradling his new fledgling like a newborn child and glaring watchfully at the door - if anyone came in now, he'd be in trouble. Strictly speaking, he wasn't really allowed to turn people, not without the permission of the head of the family, which he clearly had not obtained.
No, he'd done some idiotic things to spite his sister before, but this was the worst - turning some random human boy that he had no real attachment too, just another wonderful plaything whose life he had adored, just because she got to have all the fun? It wasn't like it was the same, now. All the warmth, all that thick, red, rich blood, it was cold and tasteless now. He'd never even get the satisfaction of watching life slip away...
“You'll be fine.” He muttered in what he guessed might be a soothing voice, if he cared at all. Henry was clutching at him with an intensity that was bordering on painful, but the boy had muscles like string. He would live. They both would. Unfortunately. “Get off of me.”
Henry did. Henry looked at Wake with sad brown eyes that were the very definition of puppy dog, set into a beautiful cherub face.
Henry kissed Wake (for the first, kissed him, not just returning a kiss. For the last time in a very long time.).
Wake could still feel the warmth, soft and sweet and nowhere near enough but there, somehow, where it shouldn't be. Only it didn't feel like living warmth - not exactly the same, just a similar feeling. The same kind of sharp, shocking thrill.
He was almost too surprised to kiss back. Almost too surprised to curl his fingers around the back of Henry's neck, tugging at the fine curls of hair at his nape, to nip at his lips and whisper: “So tell me, Henry: what do you know about sodomy?”
Almost. After all, this is Wake we're talking about.
He didn't exactly smuggle the unconscious human into his home; several people (presumably people who were related to him, but Wake never could tell) saw him, and not a one of them cared. Wake was, after all, the favourite son - he got away with almost anything. Mother saw to that. Malice might object, but then, Malice was perfectly objectionable.
Bringing a human into the home was a sort of 'frowned-upon-but-mostly-okay' thing to do, especially if said human were both unconscious and attractive.
Wake's own bedroom was, of course, stylish and neat; warm, unobtrusive cream walls, highlighted by decorations in shades of deep reds, crimson furniture and fabrics. His window was, like all the windows in the house, blacked out, but tastefully; hidden behind a wood panel screen, as if the world outside were replaced with a more appropriate vision. He didn't bother with the lights, pushing the door closed with his elbow and carrying his prize to the bed; he set the boy down almost tenderly, pale skin across blood red bedsheets.
Henry didn't stir; his black curls looked almost like an ink stain on the pillow, strange and untidy. Wake perched on the edge of the bed, running a curious hand through the dark hair; it snagged and caught, and the more he tried to tame it, the more tangled and snarled it became. Wake loved it; it was such a simple, human kind of thing, messy hair, he loved it. He loved that, and he loved the faint flush of pink under the boy's white skin, and he loved each tiny puff of warm breath that escaped him.
He didn't find it strange, to fall in love with each tiny little human thing; Wake was a creature of fast and fickle emotions, and he fell in love every day. He didn't imagine this time would be different.
He was wrong, of course, but for now that is neither here nor there.
Far away, someone was calling his name, and not in a tone that suggested anything good; ah, so it seemed it was time to be frowned upon once more.
Standing from the bed with a graceful straightening of limbs, he lent over the prone form laying there.
“I'll deal with you later, Henry.” He whispered slickly, dropping a possessive kiss against the boy's throat. “That's a promise.”
In a rare gesture of compassion, he tugged a blanket over the human, so he wouldn't catch a chill in the unheated room, stealing one last tender glance at the object of his affection.
The human boy - he was just a boy, really, couldn't be older than twenty, probably younger, still just a simple child - looked pale, paler than death laying against the red of the sheets, his eyelashes long and dark against white cheeks. The contrast of ink hair and paper skin was... unreal. Simply stunning. Very tempting. Wake felt his slow beating heart skip, maybe beat just a little faster.
For the first time in quite some time, he decided it would be best to lock his bedroom door behind him.
~
It would be nice, perhaps, to be able to say that there was a little less swagger in Wake's step as he left his bedroom, but, of course, that would be a lie.
Wake was, in fact, exactly as arrogant and self assured as he always is, which is to say, very.
So there was a veritable spring in his step when she cornered him, rounding a corner quicker than he could dart out of the way and slamming her dainty hands on the wall either side of his head.
“Morning, Malice.”
“Wake,” Malice hissed, angry and dangerous and, to be honest here, really fucking hot. “Are you entirely stupid?”
“I,” Wake began in a affronted tone. “Have absolutely no idea what you mean.”
“You don't?” She sighed, looking away for a second; then, too fast for a human eye to track, her right hand was around his throat, squeezing. “Your pretty new toy, brother. The whole family saw you, don't you dare pretend that you don't know anything that you do always reflects badly on me.”
“God forbid.”
“Shut up!”
For a moment he complied, to allow her to calm down a little; then, gently, he pried her hand away from his neck, rubbing at the skin as if she had hurt him - she hadn't. She couldn't, not like that.
“Mal,” she scowled at the pet name, but allowed him to continue. “No one cares, sister. It's just one plaything, what's the harm? I'm only... savouring it. It'll be dead soon.”
“Well...” Malice drew one nail down her brother's cheek tenderly, her hard glare softening into a pretty smile (that Wake found much less appealing). “You do have good taste, in the very least. Such a pretty one; I almost took him for a young woman at first.”
Wake said nothing; the idea of Malice agreeing with him was more than a little unnerving.
“And you always did have that... fondness, for pretty boys, brother dear.” She continued. “It's really not my place to judge.” Her nails pressed a little deeper against Wake's cheek, the caress acquiring a brutal edge. “No, I suppose I don't mind, now I think about it. You have your fun teaching your new pet to suck cock, my dear brother. But I want you to remember two things for me.”
Her smile was a perfect thing for its cruelty, wicked and sharp, and Wake almost wanted to growl in response, the sting of nails on his cheek growing a fraction sharper. “Firstly: humans are so very fragile. Be gentle with it, or you'll break it.” Dead, cold blood curved down her longest nail; she drew her hand away from his face, looking almost surprised at the droplet, examining it critically before slowly licking it away. It tasted of nothingness. “And two: I do it better.”
Wake did not move as she smirked at him and flounced away. Once she was out of sight, he sneered, wiping the blood from his face. Typical Malice, always looking after the last word like the little drama queen she was. Not that she was going to ruin his good mood, of course; it would take a lot more than his bitch of a twin sister to do that. But still...
Straightening out his jacket and dusting himself down, Wake continued down the corridor with just a little less of a grin on his face.
~
It was nothing he hadn't heard before; angry bleating about how he ought to know better, and they'd warned him about this just last night (everyone was angry about the girl, dead and left where anyone could find her. No one gave a damn about Henry.)
Wake simply sat there and attempted to look sufficiently contrite that he would be left alone. It didn't work as well as it might have done - after all, his family did know him.
The problem was that they expected him to be sensible. As if that wouldn't end up boring him right to death. It was as if they just didn't understand - Wake could never sit still, never be careful and cautious like they wanted. As long as everything worked out in the end, Wake would do whatever the hell he wanted; continue to worship life the only way he knew how - by ending it.
So, no, shrill step-sister number which-ever-the-hell-one-you-are, he is not fucking sorry for the way he acted. He would do it again it a human heartbeat, and you can stick that up your -
Wake smiled his most charming smile - and, being Wake, it was very charming - and endured.
Eventually, sensing no reaction that was in the least bit entertaining, many of the family members drifted off to sleep through the day; Wake waved them off with the same serene smile.
“Just tell me one thing, dear.”
The others were all gone; just Wake and his mother left, sharing a pleasant silence.
“Hmm, mummy?”
“You don't do this just to rile them up now, do you?”
“Of course not.” He almost seemed surprised she might think so, although really, no intelligent person would put it past him. “This time, anyway.”
His mother smiled at that, in her soft, sweet way. She had the same green eyes as her children, and the fine, sandy hair, though her face was rounder, less striking, more... homely. Gentle.
“Not this time.” She repeated faintly. “I see.” Then, she sighed a resigned sigh. “I suppose that's as much as I can expect from you, dear.” Kissing her son's cheek lightly, she too retired from the room, calling a fond 'sleep well' after her.
For sake of appearances, although no one would see him, Wake did not immediately bolt for the door. Instead, he waited for a few moments before standing from his seat, stretching lazily, and bolting for the door.
After all, appearances aren't everything.
~
The room was dark; there was a hint of light, a soft glow, as if it were day outside and the sunlight was blacked out by heavy cloth. Henry felt heavy and well rested; his body heat had warmed the bed he lay on, and he could not the busy sounds of the street, from here - not even the noise from the shop his parents owned. Perhaps it was a Sunday, and he had woken close to dawn, before anyone else had begun to stir? He didn't recall.
Strange; he didn't think his bed had ever been this comfortable. Perhaps it was just because he was tired and relaxed, but the sheets felt softer...
“Morning, beautiful.”
Wake smirked, rather pleased with the startled little gasp that issued from Henry's mouth.
“Oh, I know.” He drawled from where he was practically draped across an armchair, his eyes bright. “But you looked so peaceful, I let you sleep in.”
Henry said nothing, sitting up in the bed and drawing the covers around him like a blushing maid. The look on Wake's face suggested that he thought this was adorable.
“What do you want from me?”
“I?” Wake lay a hand on his chest, affronted. “I was simply concerned about you. After you passed out I couldn't very well leave you in the cold, could I? You humans react so badly to things like that, I can never tell...” He shrugged. “It's cold in here, too, I'm afraid. I would make you a fire, but I hate that stuff.”
Henry glanced at the fireplace; it wasn't boarded up, but it did show signs of not having been used in a very long time -if ever.
“I... I'm warm enough beneath the sheets.” He muttered, raised to be polite in all situations - although this was not a place he'd ever thought he'd be, in the bed of a stranger who also happened to be a vampire.
Wake appeared to be genuinely delighted.
“Perfect.” He smirked, his green eyes narrow and predatory. “Sleep well?”
The fact that his tone was light, friendly, and almost unrecognisable as the sleek, dangerous tone from the night before was more worrying than reassuring.
“Yes?” Henry hazarded, not entirely sure if he should be agreeing to anything Wake said, lest he somehow sign some pact with the creature.
“Perfect.” Wake purred again; Henry caught sight of a hint of sharp fang in his smile.
“Can I go now?” He blurted out, biting his tongue too late to still it. Wake pouted - and somehow, the expression seemed less petulant than... sensuous. It looked attractive, on his thin, pale lips. It probably shouldn't have.
“If you really insist.” He said, some of the drawl cutting away to reveal something sharp underneath. Something familiar. “But you know, obviously I can't just let you wander out of here, knowing...”
“I don't...” Henry shook his head, laughing a little. “I don't know what I know, and I have no intention of remembering it.”
“Well, maybe I don't want you to forget me.” Standing from his seat, Wake made great show of stretching slowly, a feral display of raw power. “I would like you to stay.” He sounded almost convincing, soft and sad and so utterly manipulative that Henry had to be impressed.
“I...” The human cowered nervously, trying to pull the sheets even further around him, as if the soft silk would protect him. “I think I want to go.” For some reason, it was terribly important not to hurt Wake's feelings. Possibly because the vampire could kill him in an instant, but...
“Don't want you to.” Wake insisted, pouting further and approaching the bed. He stared at this human kid, practically wrapped up in his sheets and looking so perfectly terrified, and licked his lips, grinning. “How do I get you to stay, Henry?”
“Just... stay away from me.” Henry suggested, inching away. Wake paused, cocking his head in thought.
“Nope.” He decided, scrambling up the bed and curling around Henry's waist. “Don't think I will.”
Henry froze. Wake's body was a heavy weight against his chest, and there were ice cold hands tugging his shirt free from his trousers and insinuating themselves on his skin. He ought to feel afraid - he did feel afraid - sandy blonde hair was tickling his cheek where Wake nuzzled into his neck, but it didn't feel predatory. It felt... affectionate.
“You're warm.” The mutter was low and vibrated against Henry's skin. “Relax, beautiful. I don't bite.”
“Yes, you do.”
“Yes, I do.” Wake agreed happily as Henry relaxed just a little, his hands dropping their white knuckle grip on the sheets and laying uselessly at his sides. “But I promise you'll like it, dear.”
For a moment, silence; then Henry began to struggle, shoving Wake away from him (the vampire, startled, tumbled out of the bed with an undignified thump) and untangling himself from the sheets, putting the bed between them. Almost as soon as his feet hit the floor, he started shivering. It was cold.
“What are you doing?” He demanded; Wake rolled his eyes, picking himself up from the floor and straightening his shirt.
“Cuddling. Come back to bed, you'll freeze.”
“I'm f-fine.” Henry stuttered; Wake smirked.
“F-fine?” He mimicked. “Well, if that doesn't convince me, I doubt anything will.”
“I just w-want to go h-home.” The stutter was getting worse as the shivering did; Henry rubbed at his arms futilely, trying to stay warm. Finally satisfied as to his appearance, Wake began to circle around the bed.
“My feelings are hurt, Henry,” he said, brushing away an imaginary tear. “I try to be a good host, and you reject me.”
“You're going to kill me.” Henry pointed out, feeling a strange need to excuse his behaviour.
“Oh, eventually, of course, you are... too good not to eat. But there are so many things I want to do to you first.” He stalked closer. “Things you'll like. Things you'll enjoy.” Licked his lips. “You should know I don't make this offer to everyone. Just you.”
Henry could back up no further; he was pressed uncomfortably against the hard edge of the fireplace, the marble cold against his back. He held up his hands in front of him like a barrier; Wake enfolded them in his own hands, the pads of his fingers brushing along Henry's knuckles. The force of Henry's shivering made both their hands shake.
“Back to bed.” Wake decided, releasing Henry's hands; the boy didn't quite finish his sigh of relief before he was swept up into unnaturally strong, unnaturally cold arms.
He could tell immediately that there was no point in struggling, though he did manage to kick Wake in the shin, and ruin the neat line of his shirt a little.
“Put me down.” He snapped; stuttering and stammering only amused the vampire, but orders seemed to be quite well received - not obeyed, but respected. Henry was learning.
“That was the plan, beautiful.” Wake said, dumping his burden on the bed. “Stay there. I said,” he growled as Henry started to move, pinning the boy down with his body. “Stay there, Henry.”
Beneath him, Henry froze once more, his body tense and stiff, though this time he didn't struggle. Wake sighed in annoyance, rolling his eyes and dragging the red sheet up over his back with one hand, covering them both and making himself comfortable against Henry's chest. He didn't bother trying to calm his skittish human companion; that would be pointless and boring and about as much fun as banging his head up against a brick wall - and anyway, he was comfortable. He liked it here; organic heat was extremely pleasant, to a vampire. He didn't feel it as heat, so much as a fuzzy, enveloping feeling that his body was hard wired to enjoy.
“You're warm.” He sighed happily, forgetting he wasn't saying anything. Henry, somewhat resigned to being used as a pillow - fear was too exhausting, emotionless calm was much better - sighed.
“You're not.”
“I,” Wake declared, nuzzling Henry's chest, “am room temperature.”
“Room temperature is cold.” He shoved ineffectually at the dead weight on his chest, if only to make his objections known. “I can light the fire.” He pointed out hopefully. “If you get me some wood and kindling.”
“Wood...” Wake pulled a face, thinking. No one in his family would need anything to make fire, but then... oh, yes, they did have the human servants to keep the house during the day (and because why do something yourself if you can pay someone else to do it for you?) - they must have wood, somewhere, unless they all went around shivering. He didn't think they did. That would be silly. So the human servants probably knew where wood was - oh, food, too. Now he just had to find one... “Will you stay here, if I go to get you some wood? And possibly food, I guess.”
“I-”
“And by here I mean in this bed, Henry.” Wake licked a line up Henry's neck, just to feel the boy shiver. “Right here. No moving. Not a twitch.”Caught his earlobe between careful fangs and tugged, lightly, affectionately, but with a hint of warning. “I mean it.”
Henry nodded.
“Good boy.”
To reward him (and because he really, really wanted to) Wake leaned ever closer and kissed Henry, hard and possessive; the warmth, the living, human warmth was electric and delicious and unbearable, pulling a low growl from the back of his throat. Henry didn't resist, even, like he wanted to kiss back but didn't know why he wanted that, didn't know how. Wake could fix that, he decided, pulled away with one final press of lips.
“I will be,” he said, untangling himself from the sheets, crawling out of bed, “right back.” He tucked the sheets under Henry's chin like he was a little child, patting him on the head fondly.
~
Now he was back under the blankets, the cold of the room was much more bearable; Henry hated to admit it, even to himself, but Wake had been right about that much, at least.
Wake. His behaviour was baffling - it was almost as if he were a child desperately seeking approval, if one ignored his dominating, predatory edge. The vampire was intimidating and demanding, but without being in any way outwardly threatening; his every emotion was startlingly genuine. Affection, concern, and apparently lust. Of course Henry, being a good and God-fearing man, had never so much as considered... but Wake was attractive, for a man, and his actions were surprisingly... seductive.
The kiss... the kiss and been uninvited and very unwelcome, physically cold and yet suggestive of searing heat. Commanding, ruthless, and still so eager to please, not only taking but giving, too.
The whole thing had been a conflicting mess, and Henry couldn't quite say how he felt about it.
The door began to open slightly, slowly, startling him; it couldn't be Wake back already, could it? Probably not, he decided; it had only been a few minutes, after all.
He felt like he should probably be hiding, but doing so would only serve to make him feel small and ridiculous. And anyway, where could he possibly hide from a vampire? If his first encounter with Wake could be taken as any indication, they'd only be able to hear his terrified heart beating.
He settled for pulling the sheets tight around him again, an highly ineffectual shield. He felt silly for it anyway. If it was Wake coming back he'd probably mock him for it. Still, he wasn't taking any chances.
The door opened a little wider, admitting a beautiful young woman into the room, her skirts rustling against the floor. She had the same sharp green eyes and sand hair as Wake - though her hair was even longer, floating around her shoulders like a wave. She had poise and grace, and, really, any man would have to admit to finding her stunning.
Yet there was a look in her eyes, one that seemed cutting and evil, and Henry didn't like it.
She smiled at him, and he shivered for reasons that had nothing to do with the cold.
“Oh, my.” She sounded like Wake, too, but colder, less sincere. “Well, look at you.” She did so, and at length, and it was invasive and unpleasant. Everything about her just seemed... off, just a little. As if she were a fraction out of synch with everyone else, and there was something under her skin that was vastly different from her attractive façade. “My brother does have good taste, doesn't he?” She brought one nail up to her lips, running her tongue along it thoughtfully. “You're a pretty little thing, I'll admit that.” Leaning back against the door, she let that smile cross her face again. “Pity.” Her face fell a little, though her sorrow was transparently fake. A lot about her seemed that way.
She waited, an expectant eyebrow raised; at first, Henry remained silent. He wasn't interested in playing her games, whoever she was - Wake's sister? She certainly looked it. It was when she began drumming those claw like nails on the wood of the door that he gave in.
“What's a pity?”
“Hmm?” She glanced up from where she'd been inspecting the collar of her dress, supposedly ignoring him. “Oh, it's only that, as a lady, I can't help but find it sad. To see something so pretty destroyed.” She flashed another fang filled smile, and Henry tried in vain to sink into the mattress, just to escape her. He found himself wishing Wake were there - confusing and murderous as the vampire was, this one was worse. She pushed away from the door, the movement graceful. “My brother went to the servants' quarters. I... persuaded one of them to distract him for the day. It's not hard,” she rolled her eyes, lip twitching with disdain. “He likes shiny objects.”
Oh.
Well, God damn it.
“So you see, I have all the time in the world to take it all. All the things that make you pretty.” She'd dropped all pretence of friendliness, now, practically snarling, shoving the sheets away from him with one hand and pinning him to the headboard. “You won't hold his attention after I'm done with you.” She growled, bearing fangs. “You'll be hideous, torn up, ripped open. I'm going to make you bleed, every single drop of your blood. Because, you know, it is your blood that he wants. The rest of you is nothing, a pretty little bonus.”
She stopped, just for a moment, taking a breath to regain her composure. She ran a hand through Henry's curls, stroked his cheek; he flinched at her touch but couldn't escape it.
“My brother is... he's like a flirtatious maiden, flitting from one love to another. He throws them away when they run out of blood, you've seen that. I'm the only one he kept, the only one he comes back to.” Her nails on his face grew dangerous, wicked; she hissed in anger as she scratched down the length of his jaw, drawing blood. Henry's cry of pain stuck in his throat.
Malice stared at the creature in her brother's bed, at the four lines of red blood dripping down his cheek, and felt angry. Angry, and betrayed, and she was not the kind of woman to let such things stand.
She was right, after all. Wake didn't love for long. He loved with all the intensity of the deadly sun, yes, but not for long. And he always came back to her. Always. This pretty, cherub faced little thing wasn't a threat to her, and yet... he'd never brought one home before. That single fact was enough to eat away at her, and make her doubtful - and furious.
“I will bleed you, human.” She hissed, pressing one perfect nail into the second cut on his cheek, parting the skin, pushing it wider; Henry gasped, recoiling, and she snatched hold of his chin with her other hand, holding him. “You'll beg me to do it.”
Henry's breath was coming in sharp, fearful gasps; with a slick smile, Malice wrapped her fingers around his neck, tight enough to restrict airflow but not cut it off entirely. His life, his breath, it was the damp heat of it that allured Wake, and the power that she held over that fragile thing was comforting. Killing this human would not be enough - she wanted to own him, to tear him up and then stitch him back together again all wrong, so that no one will want him, anymore. Wake won't want him anymore.
But, she thinks, she'll let Wake watch him die. He'll like that, even if it will piss him off, that she got all the blood and sweat and tears, and all he got was a dying breath.
He couldn't breathe; bringing his hands up, he tried in vain to push her away, to peel her off of his throat, to do something. But she was so much stronger.
“Do feel free to scream, now.” Malice told him, flexing her grip on his neck; Henry gasped for air in the few seconds where he was able to breathe. “It's really no matter. Everyone expects Wake to be playing with you, after all.”
In the cloudy, oxygen starved depths of his mind, Henry wondered what exactly about Wake's 'playing' would be likely to make him scream.
The instinct of survival in humans is stronger than any conscious thought. Despite his fear, despite the look in her eyes that said that to struggle would only make this worse, and knowing that he had no way to fight her, Henry couldn't stop himself from shoving at the weight pinning him to the bed. Malice laughed, harsh and angry, her hands uncurling from his throat and pulling his shirt sharply open. The cold air against his skin was harsh, almost burning; the tears on his cheeks were in danger of freezing in place.
Somehow the thought of that seemed almost worse than anything Malice could do to him.
And so, of course, she set out with a smile to prove him wrong.
~
He never dreams of it as anything more than a jumbled mess, fragments of moments, sounds and sensations. The click that must have been his jaw snapping back into place; the contrast that was his blood, hot on chilled skin; how she could be as tender as she was cruel, when it suited her purpose; the pressure of her hands on sensitive nerves, tightening into white hot pain; the crack that was probably his jaw snapping out of place.
The prevailing sensation is still the cold; the room was cold, her skin was cold, her teeth were cold.
It doesn't take long for him to forget how heat felt, but the cold he never forgets.
~
Wake likes playing cards quite a lot; it's entertaining and skill based and fast paced, and you can normally count on human servants to tell dirty jokes. His natural confidence gave him the best poker face in the room; he smiled like he meant it no matter what the contents of his hand - and the contents of his hands were invariably good, because Wake really, really likes winning at cards; enough to cheat.
He wasn't stupid enough not to notice that he was being distracted, but honestly, he didn't care all that much. It was too much bother to worry about things like that - after all, he was amused, and that was all that mattered. So, he was happy to forget what he'd been doing before the distraction, and get on with scamming the humans out of their money.
The trick to a good cheat was to make it believable; don't overreach yourself. Play good hands, not great ones. And of course, if you're a vampire, listen to the minute changes in heart rhythm which give away every bluff, every time.
Every so often (or perhaps all the time) it was good to be a vampire.
Gathering his slowly growing pile of coins a little closer, he grinned as he dealt out the next hand of cards. On a normal day, the servants would never agree to play with him, so this was an opportunity not to be missed. Whatever he was doing can probably wait. It wasn't like it was any kind of big deal, after all. Henry wouldn't freeze as long as he stayed snuggled up in bed - what an image, Wake thought, that delicious little bite curled up in his bed - and humans could go for a couple of days without food, so a few more hours shouldn't be a problem.
No, there was no reason why he shouldn't just enjoy this wonderful distraction while it lasted. After all, these fine lads had been paid to keep him occupied, the least he could do was make sure they got a chance to do that job (while stealing most of the money they were paid for it, because he is Wake, after all.)
Vampires can feel the sunlight, even when hidden away inside; it's a prickling under their skin which makes them want to hide away, or sleep, and it fades as dusk approaches, returning on the onset of dawn. As a defence mechanism, it is a rather good one; clocks can be unreliable, and the dawn and dusk change as the year wears on. Wake didn't notice the passing of the time until the feeling started to wane; he didn't care about the passing of time until the servants started making their excuses, begging off the game to go home to their families, or to go to bed.
When there wasn't anything left to win, he pocketed what he did win, which is everything, and completely forgot to grab any wood. His walk back to his room was awash with happy anticipation, of having a fun night in, not having to go out and hunt. His dinner was already waiting for him, pretty and innocent. What fun they would have. How nice it would be, to curl up with a source of that wonderful human warmth.
The door was open.
The door to his bedroom, not quite closed; ever so slightly still open, where he had not left it open at all. He listened, stock still, for a heartbeat, and found one, slow and stuttering. Not sleeping; he had found, that morning and to his delight, that a sleeping human heartbeat was slow, yes, but strong and heavy, and this was too weak to be that.
She wouldn't, he tried to think. But oh, she so would.
He stormed into the room, furious at his sister. She'd gone too far, now; threats and idle insults and scratch marks were all very well and normal, and well within the rules of their minor war, but ruining each other property...
“Mal-”
No, of course she wasn't still there. She didn't have enough confidence in her ability to take him in a fight - as twins, they were fairly evenly matched, and usually fights could go either way - to actually get caught. Now she could deny any involvement, and he would have to let it go. That little bitch. And she'd gotten blood on his bed, too. He'd never get any sleep, surrounded by the scent of that.
Henry was still breathing, he noted, through a bruised and torn up throat that whistled softly with each strained, gasping breath. He clearly didn't have much left in him, of anything - blood, or life, or time.
Wake hated it. Normally he finds death so very beautiful, the natural extension of life, but this time was tainted with anger, and a simmering, seething hate. This boy had been more than just some meal, more than the average game; Wake had wanted to bleed him dry one sweet mouthful at a time, and taste ecstasy in every bite. He had wanted to corrupt him, to make him want to be taken.
It wasn't fair. He kicked at his armchair, scowling like a little boy who's had his favourite toy taken away. Then Henry coughed up a pathetically small amount of blood, and Wake realised something wonderful. Mad, probably, and inadvisable, yes, but wonderful, too. So wonderful.
Henry wasn't dead yet.
Which meant... well, it meant Malice didn't get to win. He could stop Henry from dying by turning him into a vampire, and then he would win. Perfect.
His journey to the bed was a fairly undignified scramble, but the timing on this thing was close. Too long, and there wouldn't be anything to bring back - and it wouldn't work unless Wake got one taste, one mouthful of blood, so there needed to be enough left.
Though he couldn't say why he did it, he stroked sweat damp hair out of Henry's eyes and felt a little sad about having to do so.
“Hey, beautiful,” he whispered, poking him in his surely painful side; Henry's eyes shot open with a gasp, but they were unseeing.
There had better still be time. If there wasn't still time he may actually fucking kill Mal for this.
Henry wasn't lucid, so there was no point in explaining what was about to happen or attempting to reassure him in any way - it's unlikely that Wake would have really bothered, even if there had been a point to it. He was still to angry to think about acting kind. He just dipped his head to the gaping wound at Henry's neck and lapped at the blood, delicately, unable to stop himself from wasting precious seconds just learning the taste. Then, regretfully, he sunk in his fangs and drank what was left, barely enough to wet his teeth.
Pulling back, he slapped Henry's cheek sharply.
“You don't get to die.” He ordered, bring his own wrist up to his mouth and biting down; his own blood tasted of nothing, like pure water, but he dropped it to Henry's mouth, forcing it between dry and chapped lips. “Drink that, you'll get better.”
Though he had most likely heard neither command, instinct kicked in like a lifeline, compelling Henry to suck weakly at the red blood trickling into his mouth. It burned down his ruined throat, white hot, curling into his veins in a manner that was impossible to describe and singularly unpleasant. And yet... with each drop his skin began close over, bones knitting together. The healing hurt almost as badly and the torture had, boiling up inside him, making him whimper uselessly as he discovered he couldn't scream.
Wake rolled his eyes, and stalked over to his (now slightly broken) armchair to wait out the turning; always a vicious process, this time no doubt more so. Maybe he could get some sleep.
~
Henry woke up feeling... incredible. There was no trace of the pain he had felt before he blacked out, nothing to suggest... well, anything. He was starting to think he had dreamt up the entire ordeal with Wake's sister, because there was no way that she...
No, because... he felt better than he ever had, stronger and more alert; the oil lamps lighting the room now seemed horribly bright, where before they'd been rather dim, burning through his eyelids uncomfortably. And he wasn't cold, anymore.
He opened his eyes. Wake was sprawled in his chair, possibly asleep; Henry could see him better, now. His hair shined, in the light. His skin fairly glowed.
“Morning, beautiful.” He muttered sarcastically. Wake didn't stir. Trying to look around the room, Henry hissed as an area of his neck sparked with pain; reaching up to touch it, he found two tiny, round scars.
“Bite marks don't heal.” Wake looked up, stretched. “Morning to you too, gorgeous.”
Henry assumed he was blushing, and then realised that he wasn't.
“That bitch thought she could mess with me.” Wake dragged himself over to the bed, sitting next to Henry and tugging the boy against his side, petting his soft curls. “We showed her, huh, dollface?”
“What's with the names?” Henry muttered, relaxing into the touch; he didn't think he was afraid of Wake anymore. The vampire had said a lot of things, maybe, but he'd only ever been kind and affectionate, if a bit forward. Compared to his sister, he was a perfect host.
“You stole beautiful. Can't have you outdoing me.” He moved his hands, pressing his fingers to the mark on Henry's neck, tilted towards him; Henry hissed again. “Fuck. Why'd I do that?”
Henry frowned, glancing up; he had a feeling Wake was not talking about the fleeting touch, as much as that had hurt.
“Do what? Wake,” he tried to sound warning, and didn't do too badly, “what have you done to me?”
Wake's expression didn't change, but his hand stopped stroking Henry's hair.
Bite marks. Henry worked it out, with a sickening lurch of his stomach.
“No!” He shoved himself away from Wake, staring wildly; then, just as violently, he threw himself back across the bed, clinging to his sire helplessly, sobbing a little, thought not actually crying. Raising one eyebrow, Wake draped an arm around Henry.
They sat there for a moment, Henry shaking and Wake feeling really fucking stupid, cradling his new fledgling like a newborn child and glaring watchfully at the door - if anyone came in now, he'd be in trouble. Strictly speaking, he wasn't really allowed to turn people, not without the permission of the head of the family, which he clearly had not obtained.
No, he'd done some idiotic things to spite his sister before, but this was the worst - turning some random human boy that he had no real attachment too, just another wonderful plaything whose life he had adored, just because she got to have all the fun? It wasn't like it was the same, now. All the warmth, all that thick, red, rich blood, it was cold and tasteless now. He'd never even get the satisfaction of watching life slip away...
“You'll be fine.” He muttered in what he guessed might be a soothing voice, if he cared at all. Henry was clutching at him with an intensity that was bordering on painful, but the boy had muscles like string. He would live. They both would. Unfortunately. “Get off of me.”
Henry did. Henry looked at Wake with sad brown eyes that were the very definition of puppy dog, set into a beautiful cherub face.
Henry kissed Wake (for the first, kissed him, not just returning a kiss. For the last time in a very long time.).
Wake could still feel the warmth, soft and sweet and nowhere near enough but there, somehow, where it shouldn't be. Only it didn't feel like living warmth - not exactly the same, just a similar feeling. The same kind of sharp, shocking thrill.
He was almost too surprised to kiss back. Almost too surprised to curl his fingers around the back of Henry's neck, tugging at the fine curls of hair at his nape, to nip at his lips and whisper: “So tell me, Henry: what do you know about sodomy?”
Almost. After all, this is Wake we're talking about.