(no subject)
TITLE: Per Ipsum, et Cum Ipso, et In Ipso
RATING: 18
FANDOMS: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel the Series & Tanz der Vampire
SPOILERS: Buffy S1-7, Angel S1-5.
SUMMARY: Angelus tries the limit of the Graf's patience.
SERIES: Part of Carpe Noctem series.
This is another pre-present chapter, detailing further incidents after William's first visit to the castle. This is approximately 5 years after William was turned and around 2 after Sarah and Alfred were.
In order: As Aught of Mortal Birth, this chapter, Til The Moon Is Abed, Unwritten Words, What Remains, The Gentler Sex, Visitation, After the Storm, In The Name Of and In The Air.
PAIRINGS: William/Drusilla, William/Herbert, Angelus/Darla, von Krolock/Alfred, Alfred/Sarah
WORDS: 5659
NOTES: One prequel down, around 3 to go :D
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The Ball of 1885
He had seen it. Not in detail, not clearly, but in the curve of Angelus’ lips, in the glare on his son’s face, in the way Sarah had stalked across the ballroom and struck the dark Irish vampire.
There had been a stunned silence in the wake of her assault, which had left Angelus sprawled at her feet, bleeding from the mouth, but still grinning.
Discreetly, Herbert had moved closer to his father, standing several paces shy of him, spoken softly, and he had understood, known at once what was being wordlessly asked of him.
Drawing tendrils of shadows around him, he had merged into them, vanishing from the bustling hall and stepping from them into the dimly lit room of the youngest of their small family.
It looked empty, cosy by the glow of the fire in the hearth.
Only when he looked closer, looked with more than mere sight, did he see the small figure curled in the corner by the fireplace, hidden in the darkest nook of the room, arms wrapped around upraised knees.
“Alfred.”
Dark eyes flicked up to stare warily at him, barely visible between the tangled curls that clung to his brow. “I-I want to be left alone,” the boy whispered, his body folding in more tightly on itself.
Even from half a dozen paces, the Graf could smell the bitter combination of blood and tears unwillingly shed. With the subtle curl of his fingers, he murmured, “Come here.”
Shaking his head stiffly, Alfred buried his face in his arms.
“Alfred.” Softening his words to mask the anger boiling in him at the sight of the child so shaken, he moved slowly closer. “I intend you no harm.” He saw the boy tremble, his voice more than a mere aural tool. “Come to me.”
With reluctance, the young one unfolded from his corner, stepping into the puddle of warm light that spread from the fireplace. His arms wrapped around his body, and he stared down at the floor, shivering.
Closing the distance between them, von Krolock lifted his hand and brushed the knuckle of his forefinger against the boy’s cheekbone, saw him shudder, saw the way he tried to restrain himself from shying away.
“What did he do, Alfred?” The Graf’s voice was soft, gentle, encouraging.
The boy trembled again and von Krolock felt his other hand clench at the sight of a shining tear slipping down his pale face. Slowly, Alfred lifted his hand to the high collar of his shirt and hesitantly drew it down.
Marked there, deep and raw, the savage mark of Angelus’ fangs was clear.
Von Krolock’s body shook with the force of his rage, the low snarl making Alfred shy back, lowering his eyes.
“I told him not to,” he whispered. “I told him he should not... but he was so much stronger than I...” The twin of his first tear marked a silvery path down his other cheek. “I am sorry, Excellency...”
Pushing down the anger, forcing it aside, von Krolock swept forward, cradling the young vampire’s face in his hands gently. “It is not your apology to make, Alfred,” he said softly, seriously.
Truly, Angelus had struck with perfect precision when he had taken his revenge for his humiliation at Herbert’s hands, only a few years earlier.
Openly claimed only by his creator and first, favoured lover, Alfred’s inexperience, youth and lingering humanity had left him a target for the dominant, arrogant force of Angelus’ character. His position as the youngest of von Krolock’s family had made the viciousness of this assault all the more pointed.
Blinking, tears splashing silently onto his pale cheeks, Alfred’s lips appeared to tremble against the impulse to argue, his arms folding tightly over his chest.
Drawing the youngster to him, his long fingers cradling the back of Alfred’s skull tenderly, he lifted the boy’s chin with his other hand, making him look up, seeking those frightened brown eyes with his own.
Within them, von Krolock touched upon the boy’s memory, sifted through his emotions; the guilt and shame of being claimed by one such as Angelus, the fear and the pain of the darker vampire’s attack, the misery that he had never been and would now never be quite good enough to be claimed by the people he cared the most for.
“Oh, Alfred,” von Krolock whispered. “You need not have feared so.”
With a touch of two fingers, he tilted the boy’s head, then stooped and gently laid his fangs against Alfred’s throat. Overlaying the brutal bite there, they cut through the pale skin with a gentleness that was likely the opposite of Angelus’ assault.
Alfred uttered the faintest of sounds, his hands springing to clutch at the Graf’s shirt, and crumpled against him, his body shuddering with silent sobs of relief, of pain, of every emotion that had wracked his slender little body.
Withdrawing his fangs, von Krolock brushed a kiss over the wound.
“Never doubt, Alfred,” he said, his voice a low growl. “That you are ours. None can claim you, but us.”
Alfred nodded wordlessly, still trembling like a leaf, his forehead pressing to the Graf’s shoulder, his fingers still clutching at von Krolock’s shirt like a child would when woken from a nightmare.
Letting his cheek rest against the boy’s dark hair, von Krolock closed his eyes for a long moment.
“I think,” he said quietly. “That you should be presented, kleines. Tonight.” He felt the boy stiffen with fear. “Oh, you need not be afraid, Alfred.” Smiling slowly, darkly, against Alfred’s dark curls, von Krolock’s eyes gleamed. “He shall not touch you.”
____________________________
Glaring at the bottle in his hand, William turned it upside down and not even one miserable drop of wine came out. Didn’t the bastards know they were meant to drink blood and not all the wine? How the hell was he meant to get drunk... well, drunker, if he couldn’t find a bottle with wine in it?
Of course, it had been more than half-full when he had nicked it off the table and retreated up to the balcony overlooking the ballroom, but some other git had taken the other not-quite-half, leaving him more sober than he wanted to be.
Bloody Angelus and his bloody gestures.
Tossing the bottle aside, William grimaced as it rolled to the lip of the staircase and plummeted out of sight, clattering resoundingly on the stone stairs. Stupid sodding thing. Wouldn’t do to have someone noticing that he’d sloped off upstairs, away from the do, away from Angelus.
If they did notice, there would be questions and he wasn’t in the mood to answer.
Propping himself against the balcony, he scowled at nothing in particular, idly thinking of sticking a spike in Angelus’ thick head. Would it even be possible? Could it get through the sawdust that took up the place of his brain? Ha! Not bloody likely.
Sick bugger knew what he was doing, all right.
Last time William had visited, Herbert had been smitten with the young vampire, that Alfred. Time before that, the last Angelus had bothered to show up, Herbert had kicked his arse from one end of the castle to the other.
Best way to get back at someone who can beat you was to take out someone close to them, make them hurt in ways you know’ll get to the ones who hurt you, and Angelus had done it on every level.
First, Alfred had been reduced to shaking and begging when physical strength had not been enough, and even then, Angelus had just laughed, stroked his hair and told him not to make such a fuss.
Second, William knew, was himself. He’d been the one to see the pain and crazed grief in the boy’s eyes when Angelus had bitten him. Should have enjoyed it, but the boy had sobbed out and William had looked away, hadn’t tried to help. Didn’t want Angelus any more angry at him, but he’d known what that must’ve felt like, bitten by the bloody great big bastard instead of one of his own family.
And William had been halfway up the stairs when Sarah and Herbert had come into the ballroom. The look on Herbert’s face had been enough to make him hurry up to the balcony, out of sight, out of mind and out of the way.
Peeking between the railings, he had seen the girl smack Angelus in the face, saw the Graf disappear without show, and watched Herbert standing in his father’s stead, face as cold and hard as ice, arms folded over his chest.
And that was when he had clung to the bottle he had filched off one of the tables and ducked down behind one of the columns, settling down for an evening in the company of Bacchus.
Of course, that plan had been completely bollocksed now, thanks to those pillocks downstairs and their tendency to drink the wrong stuff.
So, an evening of hiding it was, then.
He was trying to examine the texture of his shirt when he became aware of a hush downstairs and shuffled sideways on his backside to risk a peek between the columns of the carved parapet.
Looked like the big chief was back.
His cheek pressing against sharp stone, he could see the Graf motion for Herbert to move aside and then he brought someone else along side him, like he’d pulled a veil off a figure hidden there.
William felt the hysterical giggle bubbling up in his throat almost at once.
Little bugger had been claimed!
Standing by the Graf’s side, so much smaller and so fragile-looking, Alfred was licking his lips nervously, twisting his hands together in front of him. He physically jumped as Herbert moved to his other side, laying a hand on his shoulder, giving the attendees of the ball a cool look, as if to challenge anyone who dared approach the youngest of their family.
Muttering something under his breath, William glowered down at them. Made it so easy, didn’t they? Just like that. All the troubles gone, just because the Graf said so. Alfred wasn’t in any trouble. Herbert was happy as could be and...
Oh.
Oh bugger.
Shifting, pressing hard against the stone, ignoring it scraping against his cheeks, peering down over the crowded ballroom, he could see the direction the Graf was moving in as the crowd parted before him. Could see the silver hair, the trailing cloak, could see trepidation, then relief on the pale faces he passed.
A quick glance told William that Sarah had joined Herbert, and he felt something he really didn’t want to think too much about as he saw them both lean closer to the young vampire, then pull back, lips bloodied.
Forcing his attention back to the Graf, he bit his lip as von Krolock approached Darla, Drusilla and the seated Angelus.
Angelus started to rise, but a casual gesture from the Graf threw him back down with a violence that flung him and his chair against the wall. The hand that had made the gesture beckoned Darla, who rose as if pulled on strings, her eyes wide.
Whatever was being said, it was being said quietly, politely.
Then, William knew he wasn’t the only one to exclaim in shocked surprise as the blonde she-vampire was caught around the waist, pulled hard against the Graf’s body and bitten savagely. Not just a gentle bite, that. Not something that could be passed off as friendly, or even just a gesture.
That was a true marking, binding, permanent, unbreakable.
She was his, to do with what he wanted, and that went for everyone that was tied to her as well.
Oh buggering hell.
William felt the skin on his palms splitting open against the carved stone, knew that if he had a heartbeat it would be racing. His teeth cut into his lip and he wanted to back off, run for it while he still could, but couldn’t make himself move.
Somehow, whatever charm had been holding Angelus down was broken and the dark vampire roared in ire, charging at the Graf. The Graf dropped Darla like a ragdoll, leaving her spilled on the floor at his feet, and casually side-stepped Angelus’ attack.
Maybe it was magic or maybe the Graf was just quicker, but Angelus staggered, his momentum casting him off-balance, and turned, eyes flashing gold.
“All tricks, is it?”
Lifting one elegant hand, the Graf unpinned his cloak and it fluttered to the floor like wings. Inclining his head, Darla’s blood still staining his lips, he smiled slightly, but it was the smile of a tiger. “No tricks, Angelus,” he said softly, spreading his palms.
On the balcony, William winced. “No, no, no, you pillock...” he whispered, his hands trembling against the stone. “Don’t...”
His words unheard, Angelus lashed out again.
As smoothly as ever, the Graf’s hands moved, blocking the blow with the ease of a man swatting away a fly. The second punch was caught and Angelus was sent reeling, crashing into several guests, who cried out and pushed him back into the widening square on the floor.
Circling the Graf, who was standing calmly with hands hanging loosely by his sides, Angelus launched himself into an attack with no holds barred. It could never be said that Angelus was a weak fighter.
However, it seemed that he had met his master in the Graf.
Not a single blow of Angelus touched the older vampire.
With a swiftness that surpassed Herbert’s, the Graf stepped out of range of blows, his silver hair sweeping behind him like the tail of a comet, reaching beneath Angelus’ strikes to place strategic blows, sending the Irish vampire staggering.
Guests were gasping and crying out approval with each attack, but against the edge of the parapet, William had never felt so petrified.
When the Graf swept into what looked like a low bow and sliced Angelus’ legs out from beneath him with one arm, William cursed under his breath. Angelus seemed to fall in slow motion, landing heavily on the floor at the Graf’s feet.
“He deserves every instant.”
William whipped around with a gasp, scrambling back across the smooth floor only to collide with one of the columns.
Less than half a dozen paces from him, Herbert was squatted down by the parapet, gazing through one of the engraved openings, his hand braced against the balustrade, but his face was expressionless, his grey eyes so cold.
Pressing against the smooth, curved stone, William felt like something was knotting up inside him, his hands pressing against the floor as he tried in vain to force his body into the stone.
“H-Herbert...”
Slowly, Herbert looked at him, no kindness or softness in his face. “I hear you have done something foolish, William,” he said quietly.
Unable to answer, William nodded, lowering his eyes. He could see the bloody smears his cut palms were leaving on the pale stone of the floor and hastily lifted his hands to rest in his lap. Didn’t want to make them any more angry.
A finger curled, beckoning him, gesturing for him to look down on the ballroom.
“Look, William,” Herbert said quietly. “See what becomes of those who assault our kin and blood.”
Tentatively, William crept back to the spot he had been kneeling at. He was trembling, but he didn’t dare to disobey. Rising on his knees, he pressed his hands against the edge of the rail, peering between the gaps, and his eyes went round.
In the centre of the ballroom, throughout which silence reigned, the Graf had apparently tired of toying with Angelus. With his right hand upraised, he held the dark vampire several feet off the floor, his fingers contracting around Angelus’ throat.
“You are no longer welcome here.” Though the Graf spoke quietly and calmly, his voice rolled off every wall, echoing back in a dangerous whisper. “After this night, your presence will never be welcome in these lands again.” His eyes gleamed darkly. “If you dare to return, I see that you will suffer for it.”
William felt the whimper rise in his throat, then gasped when an arm slipped around his waist and Herbert’s hand covered one of his. It wasn’t gentle, wasn’t reassuring, nothing more than a possessive hold, stilling him, capturing him.
“Hush,” Herbert whispered against his ear, his voice emotionless, quiet. His tongue lapped casually at the blood on William’s scraped cheeks, but - for the first time - the touch didn’t make William feel any better. “Watch, dear William.”
“Your Excellency...” Darla’s weak voice broke in. William could just make her out, sprawled on the floor where she had been cast, looking shaken, blood still streaking her pale throat.
“Be silent,” the Graf murmured without so much as a look in her direction. Her eyes dropped and William saw her flinch. Looking beyond her, he felt his body tense at the sight of Dru, his dark Princess, kneeling and rocking. She was wailing softly, hands pressed against her temples.
Struggling against Herbert, he tried to rise, anxiety rife on his face. “Dru...”
Herbert’s arm locked around his waist. “Stay,” he commanded softly. “She will not be harmed. The sin was not hers.” Lips brushed his cheek, then his ear. “Do you know to whom the sin belongs, William?”
Nodding tightly, William felt his fingers bite into the edge of the marble parapet. He felt his nails crack, his eyes squeezing closed.
“Shouldn’t have let him do that to your boy,” he whispered, tilting his head to look back at the elder vampire. “Didn’t know that’s what he was up to, I swear...” Grey eyes gazed at him so gravely that he trembled. The thought of Herbert, the laughing, wicked, charming Herbert despising him for his bloody weakness made him feel sick. “Herbert...”
Herbert’s eyes flicked from his face back to the scene below them. William haltingly looked around. The Graf was still holding Angelus, but he had lowered him back to the floor and despite Angelus’ frantic clawing at his wrists, he did not release him.
Black eyes were gazing down coldly at him, and Angelus seemed to freeze. The Graf’s hands peeled away from his throat and, as if in a trance, Angelus stood, rooted to the spot, staring dazedly at him.
With casual fingers, the Graf tweaked aside Angelus’ collar, baring his throat. A whisper ran around the hall.
On the balcony, beneath Herbert’s hand, William’s hand trembled. Oh, this was not good. Not good at all. Angelus was going to be furious about getting taken down and then claimed as well.
Von Krolock lowered his head, so close to the Irish vampire, his silver hair brushing the velvet of Angelus’ ludicrously decorated coat. Even from the balcony, William could see the rage and touches of fear in Angelus’ eyes at this travesty, at the fact he couldn’t fight against it.
The Graf hesitated, then slowly shook his head and stepped back, his upper lip curling with distaste. With a gesture from one of his elegant hands, Angelus buckled to his knees, bleeding from nose and mouth.
If that wasn’t insult enough, the Graf turned his back on the fallen vampire.
William felt a terrified giggle bubbling up in his throat.
Oh bugger.
They’d be feeling Angelus’ anger about this for months, he just knew it.
He was drawing rapid breaths, petrified beyond the telling, as the Graf approached Drusilla, gazing down at her. Oh, if he hurt her, if he did anything to make her hurt like Angelus was...
Elegant hands were offered to the insane vampire, who stared up at him, then let him draw her upright, the deep plum silk of her dress spilling around her slim body.
“Snap and bite,” she whispered, the echoes rippling back around them, her eyes wide and wondering. “Touch not the fruit of the tree of knowledge or be tossed from the garden with the snakes and the swords.”
Cradling her hands with such infinite gentleness in one of his, the Graf’s other hand rose, his knuckles brushing against her pale cheek. “The sins of the father shall not be the sins of the child,” he said softly.
Behind him, Angelus was struggling to rise and cursed loudly.
The Graf’s head tilted slightly and through the veil of his silver hair, his eyes flashed with malevolence. Instantly, Angelus was forced face-down on the floor, as if an invisible hand has crushed him.
Drusilla seemed oblivious, gazing raptly up at the Graf. “Shall we have cake again?”
Lifting one of her hands to his lips, he smiled as he kissed her knuckles. “As often as you wish, my dear,” he murmured, drawing her closer to him. “And I would not have you come alone, for such a thing is unfitting for a lady.”
As often as she wished?
William swayed on his knees, his eyes closing with relief. To not be allowed to come back, to be denied access to this place, to these people, to be shut out... he didn’t realise how much of a hurt that would be, until the threat of the possibility had risen in front of him.
Drusilla beamed at him. “Guinevere and Lancelot it shall be, then,” she said happily. “Arthur and Morgana will be amiss.”
The Graf smiled, smoothing his hand down her spine. “As you wish, my Lady.”
Without warning, the music - which had fallen silent - began afresh and, as if nothing had ever been amiss, he led her into a waltz, leaving both Angelus and Darla to be bundled from the floor like refuse by younger lackeys.
Against his ear, William heard the gentle whisper, “You see, William. Father is not a fool.” The hand that had been clasped over his now loosened, moving lightly on his skin. “If Angelus believed he could claim dominion over anyone he chose...”
“He... he’s still my sire’s sire...” William whispered, shivering as that hand drew up his arm, no longer threatening, a tender caress. Couldn’t forget that. Couldn’t forget that he’d been claimed after challenging Angelus for Dru, after being beaten down, thrashed into submission by a vampire a century and a half his senior and nearly half again his size.
“And his Sire now belongs to my father,” Herbert murmured against his jaw. “And so, he and any that he has claimed also do.”
William bit his lip, shivering. Couldn’t be that easy. “Doesn’t count,” he whispered faintly, his eyes squeezing closed as the hand at his waist slipped beneath his coat and his shirt, caressing his chest.
Abruptly, Herbert’s body was gone from behind him, but before he could protest, he was flung onto his back on the patterned marble of the floor, making him gasp out as air was forced from his lungs.
Leaning over the sprawled vampire, his body pressing against William’s, Herbert’s eyes gleamed and his lips curled as he caught William’s wrists, pinning them by his sides. “Let us make it count then, cheri,” he murmured, then his mouth claimed William’s, hard, fiercely and forcefully.
Should have protested a bit more, he realised vaguely. Didn’t manage it around the groans as Herbert’s mouth did things to his body that no man should ever be able to do to another. When Herbert paused, he started, shocked at the sudden loss, only for a silken cravat to be shoved in his mouth.
“Do shut up, William,” Herbert said sweetly and kissed the tip of his nose.
Should have protested that too, but then Herbert’s mouth closed around his prick and his eyes rolled and he moaned around the pale cloth. Quite when his trousers went missing, he didn’t know or care.
Got so close, as tongue and teeth and those damned lips made him squirm, then Herbert was leaning over him again. William had never been more aware of every point of contact, hands on his wrists, prick to prick, chest to chest and then, lips brushed his. Herbert’s eyes glittered and, catching the end of the cravat with his teeth, he pulled it free, tossing it aside, then kissed William ferociously.
Squinting dazedly when Herbert draw back, William became aware that his hands were pinned to the floor over his head by one of Herbert’s and that the other hand was sliding against his hip, wordlessly nudging him.
“Herbert...” It was part-groan, part-whimper.
A golden brow arched. “You want me to stop?” Herbert murmured, his hand slipping to stroke William’s prick.
Even if he had, which he really, really hadn’t, that wasn’t an option anymore.
His body was arching, demanding more, and he felt Herbert shift against him, his hips lifting, body quivering with want. A muffled moan slipped between his lips as Herbert’s body claimed his, his feet pressing against the smooth floor.
Least Angelus hadn’t claimed him this way, his mind gabbled, giddy with pleasant sensation.
He felt Herbert’s lips on his, felt the nip of fangs, tasted blood, perhaps his, perhaps Herbert’s, felt the deepening press within him, his eyes rolling, his fingers tensing and grasping at the air.
Arching up desperately against Herbert’s body, he almost whined when that errant hand moved away from his throbbing cock, leaving him teetering, making him moan out an expletive, his head thrown back.
Accepting the unspoken invitation, Herbert kissed his bared throat. “Tell him of your shame,” he whispered. “Tell him how you fought... how you protested...” His tongue traced William’s jugular. “Tell him you had no choice...”
“Wh-wha?” William gasped, glassily staring at the ceiling.
Cool fingers tilted his head to one side and a palm covered his lips.
“This,” Herbert breathed.
Then his fangs sank into William’s throat and fireworks went off behind William’s wide eyes, his body going into convulsions of pleasure, his cry smothered by the hand sealed over his mouth.
It could have been seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks later when he could finally open his eyes, could finally focus, could try to think, could feel the sensual draw of his blood being tasted, desired, claimed.
Panting, he realised his hands were free, and they tremblingly touched the golden hair of the vampire still gently, tenderly lapping at his throat.
“H-Herbert...?”
“Mmm?”
“I... er...” His mouth was smiling. If it hadn’t been hidden in the pale gold spill of Herbert’s hair, it might have looked idiotic, dopey, but it was hidden and it wouldn’t stop smiling.
He felt the chuckle, his belly clenching delightfully as Herbert’s mouth sealed over the wounds again, drew more from him, making parts of him that he had never been aware with thrum with pleasure and astonishment.
Finally withdrawing lips and fangs, raising himself, hands braced upon either side of William’s head, Herbert gazed down at him. “Does that count?” he asked, a teasing glint in his eyes.
William tried to stop himself grinning. “S’pose so,” he murmured, one hand toying with a loose strand of Herbert’s hair.
For that response, he received a brief kiss, then Herbert was watching him again.
“We should return to the ball,” Herbert finally said quietly, though he didn’t pull back at once. “Drusilla will require your presence.”
The faint smile faltered and William nodded. “Yeah... still got my family to think about, haven’t I?” he said, though he let himself be kissed again and drawn upright, Herbert kneeling between his thighs. “Couldn’t leave Dru with them. Not now.”
After all, she was still favoured by the Graf, and Angelus was nothing if not a touchy bastard with a ready fist.
Herbert’s fingertips touched his bloody throat, and the older vampire smiled slightly. “Darling, you know that as one claimed by blood, you have rank over Angelus,” he said, grey eyes meeting blue.
“You... you what?”
The vampire smiled slowly, wickedly. “As the one who claimed you, I can instruct you, cheri,” he said, leaning forward to kiss William’s lips lightly. “Though I ask that you feign despair at this... encounter, I would be most aggrieved to learn that you did not use it to make Angelus’ life a misery.”
The delighted revelation shone in William’s eyes. “Didn’t want to be claimed, but don’t have to listen to him anymore because of it kind of thing?”
Tilting William’s chin up with one curled finger, Herbert’s eyes gleamed. “That, my darling, is why you have been and he never will be,” he said fondly. “So clever, my dear little William.”
Despite himself, William grinned happily at the commendation.
“Now,” Herbert rose suddenly, pulling his fancy trousers back up. “Let us see if we can find your undergarments.”
__________________________________
Once his dance with Drusilla was done, von Krolock let her flit off like a delicate dark bird, a charming male enticing her to dance with him. Returning to his favoured position on the staircase, the Graf surveyed his domain through hooded eyes.
At the far end of the grand hall, notably close to the door, Angelus had been propped up by Darla, who was pressed to him. While to most the hand spread on his chest and her face close to his would have seemed affectionate, he could sense the black rage rising off her like steam.
Allowing one side of his mouth to rise slightly, he let his gaze drift onwards.
Naturally, he was the first to notice his son’s return, descending the staircase on the left side of the ballroom. As if it had never been there, Herbert’s ire of but an hour earlier had dissipated entirely, and he was smiling and laughing as jovially as ever.
His eyes lingering on his son, von Krolock arched a brow when Herbert chanced to look in his direction. Herbert smiled warmly, raising a hand to his chest and bowing his head with an air of gravitas that, upon any other night, would have seemed out of place. His eyes flicking towards the balcony, the Graf tilted his head slightly.
Lifting a hand to straighten and smooth his cravat, Herbert’s smile altered so subtly it would take one who knew him well to recognise the meaning. That same hand rose a little further and he dragged the end of his index finger against his lower lip, the tip of his tongue visible between a flash of white teeth, his eyes gleaming.
A movement from the staircase drew the Graf’s eyes and amused half-smile from his son and clearly, caught more attention than simply his.
Several dancers collided and others stopped dead, staring.
Halfway down the staircase, staggering, his face gashed and bloodied, his eyes wide and glassy, young William of the Order of Aurelius took faltering, careful steps down the broad staircase. He was clutching the banister as one would a lifeline and, even from halfway across the grand room, von Krolock could see him trembling.
He was several steps from the bottom when his legs buckled beneath him and he fell the rest of the way, spilling onto the floor as the guests drew back, a fresh silence of shock falling.
“My sweet?” Weaving her way through the crowd, Drusilla slipped to his side and knelt, drawing him onto his back, then pressing her fingertips to her mouth. “Little brands for everyone! One, two!”
The flurry of whispers, the swaying movement of the crowd trying to look closer, the sudden and wary looks exchanged...
Amid them, he saw the tawny head of William as Drusilla half-lead, half-carried her lover from the floor towards the elder of their Order. He was pleased to notice that even Angelus looked unsettled, even more now than before.
He glanced sideways as Herbert mounted the staircase and came to stand beside him, grey eyes examining the buttresses, as if utterly unaware of the attention that his little plaything had garnered.
Returning his gaze to the dancers, his cool expression clearly said enough and music began once more, dances resuming, though there was a palpable tension in the air that crackled like lightning.
“A little too much, I think,” he murmured, his arms folded beneath his cloak, though he did not look towards his son.
Herbert chuckled softly. “Oh, but you must admit that he swoons beautifully,” he replied. “How horrified does that Irish ruffian look?”
“Exceptionally.”
Leaning against the broad railing, Herbert lifted a hand and licked two fingertips, a thoughtful look on his face. “I wonder if that wretch realises that he gave us leave to do whatever we wished,” he mused.
Von Krolock looked at his son. “I trust you did not damage the boy.”
Innocence vied for place against smugness on Herbert’s features. “Oh, I had no complaints,” he replied sweetly. “And I could never do to William what that brute did to poor little Alfred.” He sighed heavily. “I fear I shall have to take him into my care and teach him, lest some other rogue tries the same thing.”
Von Krolock said nothing, though he let his eyes slip towards his son.
Grey eyes blinked at him innocuously. “Did I say something wrong?”
“I suppose now,” his father murmured, masking his amusement carefully. “Sarah will permit you to do whatever you will to protect him.”
“I suppose she will,” Herbert agreed with a cheerful lightness that belied the slow grin curving his lips. “In which case, I should probably be grateful to Angelus for forcing such a task upon me.”
Von Krolock chuckled softly. “Your ability to see the positive in every situation is admirable,” he murmured.
“I know,” Herbert said with a half-smile. He nodded towards the so recently tamed Order. “I have been blessed.” One hand touched his chest in a parody of crossing himself, his expression virtuous. “Per ipsum, et cum ipso...” His eyes drifted across the dancers to Alfred and his teeth flashed by the light of the chandeliers. “Et in ipso... oh, yes...”
Unable to stifle it, von Krolock laughed aloud.
Translation of the title: "Through him, and with him and in him" (Isn't it fabulously fitting? ;))
RATING: 18
FANDOMS: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel the Series & Tanz der Vampire
SPOILERS: Buffy S1-7, Angel S1-5.
SUMMARY: Angelus tries the limit of the Graf's patience.
SERIES: Part of Carpe Noctem series.
This is another pre-present chapter, detailing further incidents after William's first visit to the castle. This is approximately 5 years after William was turned and around 2 after Sarah and Alfred were.
In order: As Aught of Mortal Birth, this chapter, Til The Moon Is Abed, Unwritten Words, What Remains, The Gentler Sex, Visitation, After the Storm, In The Name Of and In The Air.
PAIRINGS: William/Drusilla, William/Herbert, Angelus/Darla, von Krolock/Alfred, Alfred/Sarah
WORDS: 5659
NOTES: One prequel down, around 3 to go :D
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The Ball of 1885
He had seen it. Not in detail, not clearly, but in the curve of Angelus’ lips, in the glare on his son’s face, in the way Sarah had stalked across the ballroom and struck the dark Irish vampire.
There had been a stunned silence in the wake of her assault, which had left Angelus sprawled at her feet, bleeding from the mouth, but still grinning.
Discreetly, Herbert had moved closer to his father, standing several paces shy of him, spoken softly, and he had understood, known at once what was being wordlessly asked of him.
Drawing tendrils of shadows around him, he had merged into them, vanishing from the bustling hall and stepping from them into the dimly lit room of the youngest of their small family.
It looked empty, cosy by the glow of the fire in the hearth.
Only when he looked closer, looked with more than mere sight, did he see the small figure curled in the corner by the fireplace, hidden in the darkest nook of the room, arms wrapped around upraised knees.
“Alfred.”
Dark eyes flicked up to stare warily at him, barely visible between the tangled curls that clung to his brow. “I-I want to be left alone,” the boy whispered, his body folding in more tightly on itself.
Even from half a dozen paces, the Graf could smell the bitter combination of blood and tears unwillingly shed. With the subtle curl of his fingers, he murmured, “Come here.”
Shaking his head stiffly, Alfred buried his face in his arms.
“Alfred.” Softening his words to mask the anger boiling in him at the sight of the child so shaken, he moved slowly closer. “I intend you no harm.” He saw the boy tremble, his voice more than a mere aural tool. “Come to me.”
With reluctance, the young one unfolded from his corner, stepping into the puddle of warm light that spread from the fireplace. His arms wrapped around his body, and he stared down at the floor, shivering.
Closing the distance between them, von Krolock lifted his hand and brushed the knuckle of his forefinger against the boy’s cheekbone, saw him shudder, saw the way he tried to restrain himself from shying away.
“What did he do, Alfred?” The Graf’s voice was soft, gentle, encouraging.
The boy trembled again and von Krolock felt his other hand clench at the sight of a shining tear slipping down his pale face. Slowly, Alfred lifted his hand to the high collar of his shirt and hesitantly drew it down.
Marked there, deep and raw, the savage mark of Angelus’ fangs was clear.
Von Krolock’s body shook with the force of his rage, the low snarl making Alfred shy back, lowering his eyes.
“I told him not to,” he whispered. “I told him he should not... but he was so much stronger than I...” The twin of his first tear marked a silvery path down his other cheek. “I am sorry, Excellency...”
Pushing down the anger, forcing it aside, von Krolock swept forward, cradling the young vampire’s face in his hands gently. “It is not your apology to make, Alfred,” he said softly, seriously.
Truly, Angelus had struck with perfect precision when he had taken his revenge for his humiliation at Herbert’s hands, only a few years earlier.
Openly claimed only by his creator and first, favoured lover, Alfred’s inexperience, youth and lingering humanity had left him a target for the dominant, arrogant force of Angelus’ character. His position as the youngest of von Krolock’s family had made the viciousness of this assault all the more pointed.
Blinking, tears splashing silently onto his pale cheeks, Alfred’s lips appeared to tremble against the impulse to argue, his arms folding tightly over his chest.
Drawing the youngster to him, his long fingers cradling the back of Alfred’s skull tenderly, he lifted the boy’s chin with his other hand, making him look up, seeking those frightened brown eyes with his own.
Within them, von Krolock touched upon the boy’s memory, sifted through his emotions; the guilt and shame of being claimed by one such as Angelus, the fear and the pain of the darker vampire’s attack, the misery that he had never been and would now never be quite good enough to be claimed by the people he cared the most for.
“Oh, Alfred,” von Krolock whispered. “You need not have feared so.”
With a touch of two fingers, he tilted the boy’s head, then stooped and gently laid his fangs against Alfred’s throat. Overlaying the brutal bite there, they cut through the pale skin with a gentleness that was likely the opposite of Angelus’ assault.
Alfred uttered the faintest of sounds, his hands springing to clutch at the Graf’s shirt, and crumpled against him, his body shuddering with silent sobs of relief, of pain, of every emotion that had wracked his slender little body.
Withdrawing his fangs, von Krolock brushed a kiss over the wound.
“Never doubt, Alfred,” he said, his voice a low growl. “That you are ours. None can claim you, but us.”
Alfred nodded wordlessly, still trembling like a leaf, his forehead pressing to the Graf’s shoulder, his fingers still clutching at von Krolock’s shirt like a child would when woken from a nightmare.
Letting his cheek rest against the boy’s dark hair, von Krolock closed his eyes for a long moment.
“I think,” he said quietly. “That you should be presented, kleines. Tonight.” He felt the boy stiffen with fear. “Oh, you need not be afraid, Alfred.” Smiling slowly, darkly, against Alfred’s dark curls, von Krolock’s eyes gleamed. “He shall not touch you.”
____________________________
Glaring at the bottle in his hand, William turned it upside down and not even one miserable drop of wine came out. Didn’t the bastards know they were meant to drink blood and not all the wine? How the hell was he meant to get drunk... well, drunker, if he couldn’t find a bottle with wine in it?
Of course, it had been more than half-full when he had nicked it off the table and retreated up to the balcony overlooking the ballroom, but some other git had taken the other not-quite-half, leaving him more sober than he wanted to be.
Bloody Angelus and his bloody gestures.
Tossing the bottle aside, William grimaced as it rolled to the lip of the staircase and plummeted out of sight, clattering resoundingly on the stone stairs. Stupid sodding thing. Wouldn’t do to have someone noticing that he’d sloped off upstairs, away from the do, away from Angelus.
If they did notice, there would be questions and he wasn’t in the mood to answer.
Propping himself against the balcony, he scowled at nothing in particular, idly thinking of sticking a spike in Angelus’ thick head. Would it even be possible? Could it get through the sawdust that took up the place of his brain? Ha! Not bloody likely.
Sick bugger knew what he was doing, all right.
Last time William had visited, Herbert had been smitten with the young vampire, that Alfred. Time before that, the last Angelus had bothered to show up, Herbert had kicked his arse from one end of the castle to the other.
Best way to get back at someone who can beat you was to take out someone close to them, make them hurt in ways you know’ll get to the ones who hurt you, and Angelus had done it on every level.
First, Alfred had been reduced to shaking and begging when physical strength had not been enough, and even then, Angelus had just laughed, stroked his hair and told him not to make such a fuss.
Second, William knew, was himself. He’d been the one to see the pain and crazed grief in the boy’s eyes when Angelus had bitten him. Should have enjoyed it, but the boy had sobbed out and William had looked away, hadn’t tried to help. Didn’t want Angelus any more angry at him, but he’d known what that must’ve felt like, bitten by the bloody great big bastard instead of one of his own family.
And William had been halfway up the stairs when Sarah and Herbert had come into the ballroom. The look on Herbert’s face had been enough to make him hurry up to the balcony, out of sight, out of mind and out of the way.
Peeking between the railings, he had seen the girl smack Angelus in the face, saw the Graf disappear without show, and watched Herbert standing in his father’s stead, face as cold and hard as ice, arms folded over his chest.
And that was when he had clung to the bottle he had filched off one of the tables and ducked down behind one of the columns, settling down for an evening in the company of Bacchus.
Of course, that plan had been completely bollocksed now, thanks to those pillocks downstairs and their tendency to drink the wrong stuff.
So, an evening of hiding it was, then.
He was trying to examine the texture of his shirt when he became aware of a hush downstairs and shuffled sideways on his backside to risk a peek between the columns of the carved parapet.
Looked like the big chief was back.
His cheek pressing against sharp stone, he could see the Graf motion for Herbert to move aside and then he brought someone else along side him, like he’d pulled a veil off a figure hidden there.
William felt the hysterical giggle bubbling up in his throat almost at once.
Little bugger had been claimed!
Standing by the Graf’s side, so much smaller and so fragile-looking, Alfred was licking his lips nervously, twisting his hands together in front of him. He physically jumped as Herbert moved to his other side, laying a hand on his shoulder, giving the attendees of the ball a cool look, as if to challenge anyone who dared approach the youngest of their family.
Muttering something under his breath, William glowered down at them. Made it so easy, didn’t they? Just like that. All the troubles gone, just because the Graf said so. Alfred wasn’t in any trouble. Herbert was happy as could be and...
Oh.
Oh bugger.
Shifting, pressing hard against the stone, ignoring it scraping against his cheeks, peering down over the crowded ballroom, he could see the direction the Graf was moving in as the crowd parted before him. Could see the silver hair, the trailing cloak, could see trepidation, then relief on the pale faces he passed.
A quick glance told William that Sarah had joined Herbert, and he felt something he really didn’t want to think too much about as he saw them both lean closer to the young vampire, then pull back, lips bloodied.
Forcing his attention back to the Graf, he bit his lip as von Krolock approached Darla, Drusilla and the seated Angelus.
Angelus started to rise, but a casual gesture from the Graf threw him back down with a violence that flung him and his chair against the wall. The hand that had made the gesture beckoned Darla, who rose as if pulled on strings, her eyes wide.
Whatever was being said, it was being said quietly, politely.
Then, William knew he wasn’t the only one to exclaim in shocked surprise as the blonde she-vampire was caught around the waist, pulled hard against the Graf’s body and bitten savagely. Not just a gentle bite, that. Not something that could be passed off as friendly, or even just a gesture.
That was a true marking, binding, permanent, unbreakable.
She was his, to do with what he wanted, and that went for everyone that was tied to her as well.
Oh buggering hell.
William felt the skin on his palms splitting open against the carved stone, knew that if he had a heartbeat it would be racing. His teeth cut into his lip and he wanted to back off, run for it while he still could, but couldn’t make himself move.
Somehow, whatever charm had been holding Angelus down was broken and the dark vampire roared in ire, charging at the Graf. The Graf dropped Darla like a ragdoll, leaving her spilled on the floor at his feet, and casually side-stepped Angelus’ attack.
Maybe it was magic or maybe the Graf was just quicker, but Angelus staggered, his momentum casting him off-balance, and turned, eyes flashing gold.
“All tricks, is it?”
Lifting one elegant hand, the Graf unpinned his cloak and it fluttered to the floor like wings. Inclining his head, Darla’s blood still staining his lips, he smiled slightly, but it was the smile of a tiger. “No tricks, Angelus,” he said softly, spreading his palms.
On the balcony, William winced. “No, no, no, you pillock...” he whispered, his hands trembling against the stone. “Don’t...”
His words unheard, Angelus lashed out again.
As smoothly as ever, the Graf’s hands moved, blocking the blow with the ease of a man swatting away a fly. The second punch was caught and Angelus was sent reeling, crashing into several guests, who cried out and pushed him back into the widening square on the floor.
Circling the Graf, who was standing calmly with hands hanging loosely by his sides, Angelus launched himself into an attack with no holds barred. It could never be said that Angelus was a weak fighter.
However, it seemed that he had met his master in the Graf.
Not a single blow of Angelus touched the older vampire.
With a swiftness that surpassed Herbert’s, the Graf stepped out of range of blows, his silver hair sweeping behind him like the tail of a comet, reaching beneath Angelus’ strikes to place strategic blows, sending the Irish vampire staggering.
Guests were gasping and crying out approval with each attack, but against the edge of the parapet, William had never felt so petrified.
When the Graf swept into what looked like a low bow and sliced Angelus’ legs out from beneath him with one arm, William cursed under his breath. Angelus seemed to fall in slow motion, landing heavily on the floor at the Graf’s feet.
“He deserves every instant.”
William whipped around with a gasp, scrambling back across the smooth floor only to collide with one of the columns.
Less than half a dozen paces from him, Herbert was squatted down by the parapet, gazing through one of the engraved openings, his hand braced against the balustrade, but his face was expressionless, his grey eyes so cold.
Pressing against the smooth, curved stone, William felt like something was knotting up inside him, his hands pressing against the floor as he tried in vain to force his body into the stone.
“H-Herbert...”
Slowly, Herbert looked at him, no kindness or softness in his face. “I hear you have done something foolish, William,” he said quietly.
Unable to answer, William nodded, lowering his eyes. He could see the bloody smears his cut palms were leaving on the pale stone of the floor and hastily lifted his hands to rest in his lap. Didn’t want to make them any more angry.
A finger curled, beckoning him, gesturing for him to look down on the ballroom.
“Look, William,” Herbert said quietly. “See what becomes of those who assault our kin and blood.”
Tentatively, William crept back to the spot he had been kneeling at. He was trembling, but he didn’t dare to disobey. Rising on his knees, he pressed his hands against the edge of the rail, peering between the gaps, and his eyes went round.
In the centre of the ballroom, throughout which silence reigned, the Graf had apparently tired of toying with Angelus. With his right hand upraised, he held the dark vampire several feet off the floor, his fingers contracting around Angelus’ throat.
“You are no longer welcome here.” Though the Graf spoke quietly and calmly, his voice rolled off every wall, echoing back in a dangerous whisper. “After this night, your presence will never be welcome in these lands again.” His eyes gleamed darkly. “If you dare to return, I see that you will suffer for it.”
William felt the whimper rise in his throat, then gasped when an arm slipped around his waist and Herbert’s hand covered one of his. It wasn’t gentle, wasn’t reassuring, nothing more than a possessive hold, stilling him, capturing him.
“Hush,” Herbert whispered against his ear, his voice emotionless, quiet. His tongue lapped casually at the blood on William’s scraped cheeks, but - for the first time - the touch didn’t make William feel any better. “Watch, dear William.”
“Your Excellency...” Darla’s weak voice broke in. William could just make her out, sprawled on the floor where she had been cast, looking shaken, blood still streaking her pale throat.
“Be silent,” the Graf murmured without so much as a look in her direction. Her eyes dropped and William saw her flinch. Looking beyond her, he felt his body tense at the sight of Dru, his dark Princess, kneeling and rocking. She was wailing softly, hands pressed against her temples.
Struggling against Herbert, he tried to rise, anxiety rife on his face. “Dru...”
Herbert’s arm locked around his waist. “Stay,” he commanded softly. “She will not be harmed. The sin was not hers.” Lips brushed his cheek, then his ear. “Do you know to whom the sin belongs, William?”
Nodding tightly, William felt his fingers bite into the edge of the marble parapet. He felt his nails crack, his eyes squeezing closed.
“Shouldn’t have let him do that to your boy,” he whispered, tilting his head to look back at the elder vampire. “Didn’t know that’s what he was up to, I swear...” Grey eyes gazed at him so gravely that he trembled. The thought of Herbert, the laughing, wicked, charming Herbert despising him for his bloody weakness made him feel sick. “Herbert...”
Herbert’s eyes flicked from his face back to the scene below them. William haltingly looked around. The Graf was still holding Angelus, but he had lowered him back to the floor and despite Angelus’ frantic clawing at his wrists, he did not release him.
Black eyes were gazing down coldly at him, and Angelus seemed to freeze. The Graf’s hands peeled away from his throat and, as if in a trance, Angelus stood, rooted to the spot, staring dazedly at him.
With casual fingers, the Graf tweaked aside Angelus’ collar, baring his throat. A whisper ran around the hall.
On the balcony, beneath Herbert’s hand, William’s hand trembled. Oh, this was not good. Not good at all. Angelus was going to be furious about getting taken down and then claimed as well.
Von Krolock lowered his head, so close to the Irish vampire, his silver hair brushing the velvet of Angelus’ ludicrously decorated coat. Even from the balcony, William could see the rage and touches of fear in Angelus’ eyes at this travesty, at the fact he couldn’t fight against it.
The Graf hesitated, then slowly shook his head and stepped back, his upper lip curling with distaste. With a gesture from one of his elegant hands, Angelus buckled to his knees, bleeding from nose and mouth.
If that wasn’t insult enough, the Graf turned his back on the fallen vampire.
William felt a terrified giggle bubbling up in his throat.
Oh bugger.
They’d be feeling Angelus’ anger about this for months, he just knew it.
He was drawing rapid breaths, petrified beyond the telling, as the Graf approached Drusilla, gazing down at her. Oh, if he hurt her, if he did anything to make her hurt like Angelus was...
Elegant hands were offered to the insane vampire, who stared up at him, then let him draw her upright, the deep plum silk of her dress spilling around her slim body.
“Snap and bite,” she whispered, the echoes rippling back around them, her eyes wide and wondering. “Touch not the fruit of the tree of knowledge or be tossed from the garden with the snakes and the swords.”
Cradling her hands with such infinite gentleness in one of his, the Graf’s other hand rose, his knuckles brushing against her pale cheek. “The sins of the father shall not be the sins of the child,” he said softly.
Behind him, Angelus was struggling to rise and cursed loudly.
The Graf’s head tilted slightly and through the veil of his silver hair, his eyes flashed with malevolence. Instantly, Angelus was forced face-down on the floor, as if an invisible hand has crushed him.
Drusilla seemed oblivious, gazing raptly up at the Graf. “Shall we have cake again?”
Lifting one of her hands to his lips, he smiled as he kissed her knuckles. “As often as you wish, my dear,” he murmured, drawing her closer to him. “And I would not have you come alone, for such a thing is unfitting for a lady.”
As often as she wished?
William swayed on his knees, his eyes closing with relief. To not be allowed to come back, to be denied access to this place, to these people, to be shut out... he didn’t realise how much of a hurt that would be, until the threat of the possibility had risen in front of him.
Drusilla beamed at him. “Guinevere and Lancelot it shall be, then,” she said happily. “Arthur and Morgana will be amiss.”
The Graf smiled, smoothing his hand down her spine. “As you wish, my Lady.”
Without warning, the music - which had fallen silent - began afresh and, as if nothing had ever been amiss, he led her into a waltz, leaving both Angelus and Darla to be bundled from the floor like refuse by younger lackeys.
Against his ear, William heard the gentle whisper, “You see, William. Father is not a fool.” The hand that had been clasped over his now loosened, moving lightly on his skin. “If Angelus believed he could claim dominion over anyone he chose...”
“He... he’s still my sire’s sire...” William whispered, shivering as that hand drew up his arm, no longer threatening, a tender caress. Couldn’t forget that. Couldn’t forget that he’d been claimed after challenging Angelus for Dru, after being beaten down, thrashed into submission by a vampire a century and a half his senior and nearly half again his size.
“And his Sire now belongs to my father,” Herbert murmured against his jaw. “And so, he and any that he has claimed also do.”
William bit his lip, shivering. Couldn’t be that easy. “Doesn’t count,” he whispered faintly, his eyes squeezing closed as the hand at his waist slipped beneath his coat and his shirt, caressing his chest.
Abruptly, Herbert’s body was gone from behind him, but before he could protest, he was flung onto his back on the patterned marble of the floor, making him gasp out as air was forced from his lungs.
Leaning over the sprawled vampire, his body pressing against William’s, Herbert’s eyes gleamed and his lips curled as he caught William’s wrists, pinning them by his sides. “Let us make it count then, cheri,” he murmured, then his mouth claimed William’s, hard, fiercely and forcefully.
Should have protested a bit more, he realised vaguely. Didn’t manage it around the groans as Herbert’s mouth did things to his body that no man should ever be able to do to another. When Herbert paused, he started, shocked at the sudden loss, only for a silken cravat to be shoved in his mouth.
“Do shut up, William,” Herbert said sweetly and kissed the tip of his nose.
Should have protested that too, but then Herbert’s mouth closed around his prick and his eyes rolled and he moaned around the pale cloth. Quite when his trousers went missing, he didn’t know or care.
Got so close, as tongue and teeth and those damned lips made him squirm, then Herbert was leaning over him again. William had never been more aware of every point of contact, hands on his wrists, prick to prick, chest to chest and then, lips brushed his. Herbert’s eyes glittered and, catching the end of the cravat with his teeth, he pulled it free, tossing it aside, then kissed William ferociously.
Squinting dazedly when Herbert draw back, William became aware that his hands were pinned to the floor over his head by one of Herbert’s and that the other hand was sliding against his hip, wordlessly nudging him.
“Herbert...” It was part-groan, part-whimper.
A golden brow arched. “You want me to stop?” Herbert murmured, his hand slipping to stroke William’s prick.
Even if he had, which he really, really hadn’t, that wasn’t an option anymore.
His body was arching, demanding more, and he felt Herbert shift against him, his hips lifting, body quivering with want. A muffled moan slipped between his lips as Herbert’s body claimed his, his feet pressing against the smooth floor.
Least Angelus hadn’t claimed him this way, his mind gabbled, giddy with pleasant sensation.
He felt Herbert’s lips on his, felt the nip of fangs, tasted blood, perhaps his, perhaps Herbert’s, felt the deepening press within him, his eyes rolling, his fingers tensing and grasping at the air.
Arching up desperately against Herbert’s body, he almost whined when that errant hand moved away from his throbbing cock, leaving him teetering, making him moan out an expletive, his head thrown back.
Accepting the unspoken invitation, Herbert kissed his bared throat. “Tell him of your shame,” he whispered. “Tell him how you fought... how you protested...” His tongue traced William’s jugular. “Tell him you had no choice...”
“Wh-wha?” William gasped, glassily staring at the ceiling.
Cool fingers tilted his head to one side and a palm covered his lips.
“This,” Herbert breathed.
Then his fangs sank into William’s throat and fireworks went off behind William’s wide eyes, his body going into convulsions of pleasure, his cry smothered by the hand sealed over his mouth.
It could have been seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks later when he could finally open his eyes, could finally focus, could try to think, could feel the sensual draw of his blood being tasted, desired, claimed.
Panting, he realised his hands were free, and they tremblingly touched the golden hair of the vampire still gently, tenderly lapping at his throat.
“H-Herbert...?”
“Mmm?”
“I... er...” His mouth was smiling. If it hadn’t been hidden in the pale gold spill of Herbert’s hair, it might have looked idiotic, dopey, but it was hidden and it wouldn’t stop smiling.
He felt the chuckle, his belly clenching delightfully as Herbert’s mouth sealed over the wounds again, drew more from him, making parts of him that he had never been aware with thrum with pleasure and astonishment.
Finally withdrawing lips and fangs, raising himself, hands braced upon either side of William’s head, Herbert gazed down at him. “Does that count?” he asked, a teasing glint in his eyes.
William tried to stop himself grinning. “S’pose so,” he murmured, one hand toying with a loose strand of Herbert’s hair.
For that response, he received a brief kiss, then Herbert was watching him again.
“We should return to the ball,” Herbert finally said quietly, though he didn’t pull back at once. “Drusilla will require your presence.”
The faint smile faltered and William nodded. “Yeah... still got my family to think about, haven’t I?” he said, though he let himself be kissed again and drawn upright, Herbert kneeling between his thighs. “Couldn’t leave Dru with them. Not now.”
After all, she was still favoured by the Graf, and Angelus was nothing if not a touchy bastard with a ready fist.
Herbert’s fingertips touched his bloody throat, and the older vampire smiled slightly. “Darling, you know that as one claimed by blood, you have rank over Angelus,” he said, grey eyes meeting blue.
“You... you what?”
The vampire smiled slowly, wickedly. “As the one who claimed you, I can instruct you, cheri,” he said, leaning forward to kiss William’s lips lightly. “Though I ask that you feign despair at this... encounter, I would be most aggrieved to learn that you did not use it to make Angelus’ life a misery.”
The delighted revelation shone in William’s eyes. “Didn’t want to be claimed, but don’t have to listen to him anymore because of it kind of thing?”
Tilting William’s chin up with one curled finger, Herbert’s eyes gleamed. “That, my darling, is why you have been and he never will be,” he said fondly. “So clever, my dear little William.”
Despite himself, William grinned happily at the commendation.
“Now,” Herbert rose suddenly, pulling his fancy trousers back up. “Let us see if we can find your undergarments.”
__________________________________
Once his dance with Drusilla was done, von Krolock let her flit off like a delicate dark bird, a charming male enticing her to dance with him. Returning to his favoured position on the staircase, the Graf surveyed his domain through hooded eyes.
At the far end of the grand hall, notably close to the door, Angelus had been propped up by Darla, who was pressed to him. While to most the hand spread on his chest and her face close to his would have seemed affectionate, he could sense the black rage rising off her like steam.
Allowing one side of his mouth to rise slightly, he let his gaze drift onwards.
Naturally, he was the first to notice his son’s return, descending the staircase on the left side of the ballroom. As if it had never been there, Herbert’s ire of but an hour earlier had dissipated entirely, and he was smiling and laughing as jovially as ever.
His eyes lingering on his son, von Krolock arched a brow when Herbert chanced to look in his direction. Herbert smiled warmly, raising a hand to his chest and bowing his head with an air of gravitas that, upon any other night, would have seemed out of place. His eyes flicking towards the balcony, the Graf tilted his head slightly.
Lifting a hand to straighten and smooth his cravat, Herbert’s smile altered so subtly it would take one who knew him well to recognise the meaning. That same hand rose a little further and he dragged the end of his index finger against his lower lip, the tip of his tongue visible between a flash of white teeth, his eyes gleaming.
A movement from the staircase drew the Graf’s eyes and amused half-smile from his son and clearly, caught more attention than simply his.
Several dancers collided and others stopped dead, staring.
Halfway down the staircase, staggering, his face gashed and bloodied, his eyes wide and glassy, young William of the Order of Aurelius took faltering, careful steps down the broad staircase. He was clutching the banister as one would a lifeline and, even from halfway across the grand room, von Krolock could see him trembling.
He was several steps from the bottom when his legs buckled beneath him and he fell the rest of the way, spilling onto the floor as the guests drew back, a fresh silence of shock falling.
“My sweet?” Weaving her way through the crowd, Drusilla slipped to his side and knelt, drawing him onto his back, then pressing her fingertips to her mouth. “Little brands for everyone! One, two!”
The flurry of whispers, the swaying movement of the crowd trying to look closer, the sudden and wary looks exchanged...
Amid them, he saw the tawny head of William as Drusilla half-lead, half-carried her lover from the floor towards the elder of their Order. He was pleased to notice that even Angelus looked unsettled, even more now than before.
He glanced sideways as Herbert mounted the staircase and came to stand beside him, grey eyes examining the buttresses, as if utterly unaware of the attention that his little plaything had garnered.
Returning his gaze to the dancers, his cool expression clearly said enough and music began once more, dances resuming, though there was a palpable tension in the air that crackled like lightning.
“A little too much, I think,” he murmured, his arms folded beneath his cloak, though he did not look towards his son.
Herbert chuckled softly. “Oh, but you must admit that he swoons beautifully,” he replied. “How horrified does that Irish ruffian look?”
“Exceptionally.”
Leaning against the broad railing, Herbert lifted a hand and licked two fingertips, a thoughtful look on his face. “I wonder if that wretch realises that he gave us leave to do whatever we wished,” he mused.
Von Krolock looked at his son. “I trust you did not damage the boy.”
Innocence vied for place against smugness on Herbert’s features. “Oh, I had no complaints,” he replied sweetly. “And I could never do to William what that brute did to poor little Alfred.” He sighed heavily. “I fear I shall have to take him into my care and teach him, lest some other rogue tries the same thing.”
Von Krolock said nothing, though he let his eyes slip towards his son.
Grey eyes blinked at him innocuously. “Did I say something wrong?”
“I suppose now,” his father murmured, masking his amusement carefully. “Sarah will permit you to do whatever you will to protect him.”
“I suppose she will,” Herbert agreed with a cheerful lightness that belied the slow grin curving his lips. “In which case, I should probably be grateful to Angelus for forcing such a task upon me.”
Von Krolock chuckled softly. “Your ability to see the positive in every situation is admirable,” he murmured.
“I know,” Herbert said with a half-smile. He nodded towards the so recently tamed Order. “I have been blessed.” One hand touched his chest in a parody of crossing himself, his expression virtuous. “Per ipsum, et cum ipso...” His eyes drifted across the dancers to Alfred and his teeth flashed by the light of the chandeliers. “Et in ipso... oh, yes...”
Unable to stifle it, von Krolock laughed aloud.
Translation of the title: "Through him, and with him and in him" (Isn't it fabulously fitting? ;))