by Mandy Rosko
Silus spoke as though a man weren’t dying on his guest bed.
Cedric seemed to the be the only one out of the three of them who was trying to do something about it. He cut away the rest of the plastic with a pair of scissors to keep from damaging the flesh any more than what had already happened, and he began to do the same with the mud-caked clothing. He had a bowl of water and a soft sponge that he was using to clean away the bits of river slime and mud still clinging to the man. By his actions, Ben would say that Cedric thought the guy might actually live.
“He bit my hand.” Ben held up the palm that he’d had no time to bandage. The best he could do in all the confusion and running around was quickly dip it under a cold water tap. It allowed both men to see the sloppy red punctures that were still filling with drying blood.
“Will I turn into a vampire?”
Silus could answer that much, and if the answer was yes, he was going to put a bullet into the injured vamp’s head and put him out of his misery.
“No,” Silus said. “He would of had to take more, much more, nearly until your heart ceased to beat, then you would’ve had to drink from him, just enough to pull you back from death. You would not be standing if a transformation was imminent.”
Ben breathed a sigh. He knew that Silus drank from Cedric on a near regular basis, but that didn’t mean he trusted some other random vampire wouldn’t accidentally transform him.
“The fact that he has taken blood is good. For him,” Silus said, suddenly moving toward the bed. He picked up and examined a brown bottle of disinfectant before putting it back down on the stand and putting his hand on Cedric’s shoulder. “It is good that you clean his wounds, his body is already doing so, but use no chemicals, you will only inhibit the process.”
Cedric looked up at him. His bowl of water had already been stained a dirty-colored red. “You sure?”
“Yeah, you did just say you don’t know anything about vampire medicine,” Ben snapped.
“And I do not. If you were to inquire of a cure for a disease infestation of my kind, I would have no answer. The power of blood is common knowledge I have possessed since I was but a small child.
I had once burned my fingers on a stream of sun when I was young, and my mother put my hand in a bowl of still water,” Silus explained.
“He has taken blood. His body will use that blood to mend itself. The simple fact that he had strength enough to feed could only mean that his chances for survival are…better than what it appears.”
That took him aback. He stared down at the rancid body and fought the urge to gag. “His skin is coming off in chunks. How could anyone survive that?”
Cedric looked up, as though he wanted to hear this answer, too.
Silus shrugged. “Perhaps ‘tis merely his body growing new skin. There are few things that can kill a vampire. Sunlight, yes, but only after the body has been completely overcome and turned into ashes.”
“Jesus Christ,” Cedric said.
No kidding.
“And,” Silus continued, eyes narrowing. “I must agree that this appears to be an attempted murder rather than suicide. No vampire with any sort of wits about him would ever throw himself into the sun.”
Wasn’t hard to tell by the look and tone that Silus thought Ben was an idiot for bringing the vampire here. Ben felt like an idiot now, too. “I don’t know what to do with him,” he said. “I fucked up, I know. Obviously someone did this, and—”
Christ, if this was an attempted murder, then what would happen if the people responsible discovered their target was alive? He’d brought this stranger in the hiding place of his best friend. Even then, who was to say that this guy here didn’t do something to deserve it?
For all Ben knew, he’d rescued a serial killer.
He told his worries to Cedric, who bit his bottom lip in the way he did when he was thinking.
Cedric and Ben went all the way back to childhood. Ben’s family, what little of it there was, worked as human servants in Cedric’s ancestral home. Eventually, when Ben was old enough, and to keep close to each other, he took on the duties of being Cedric’s personal bodyguard, replacing another human who’d retired.
Somehow Ben thought they’d always be together, living under the same roof, even if it was the largest roof he’d ever lived under, but that never happened.
Ben moved out and got his own place when he realized he was gay, and developing feelings he shouldn’t be having for his friend, but he still did the work, escorted Cedric around, going to bars, parties, watching as the other man, oblivious to his feelings, flirted with and picked up men for random and meaningless nights.
Then Cedric’s engagement to his younger cousin, Dacielle, had been announced.
It was a secret thing that had been in the works since the girl had been born, with no one knowing of it except for Cedric’s parents and the bride-to-be’s mother herself.
If Cedric’s father, Cyricus, had only known that by doing such a thing, attempting to marry his son off to get Dacielle’s dowry money for his family, would be the main reason why Cedric met and would fall for a vampire of all creatures, well, he probably would’ve tried to marry his son off a lot sooner.
The love match was so frowned upon that a war between the clans erupted, with the sun sprites taking the coward’s way and ambushing the vampire’s home in the middle of the day. The only thing that had put an end to it was Cedric and Silus faking their own deaths and then running away to hide on this private land, living off the money that Silus had squirreled away his entire life.
Ben wasn’t entirely sure how much money that was, but they seemed to be holding up well enough in such a large house, though Cedric was talking about getting a steady job since nothing else he did brought in a lot of income.
“I know it’s a risk,” Cedric said, pulling Ben back into the present, “but I just can’t throw this guy, whoever he is, outside to die in the sun on the chance that someone has it in for him.”
“He could easily be from Silus’s clan. The river joining to this lake isn’t far off their property.”
Silus tensed up at that, and then took another hard look at their guest, whose hard, open-mouthed breathing wheezed loudly in the cozy little bedroom.
“I do not recognize him,” Silus said, “but that could be my own father and I would not know his face.”
“What do we do about his skin?” Cedric asked.
“Naught,” Silus said. “He needs fresh blood to feed from, and his skin should eventually regrow. We will need to dispose of whatever he sheds, however.” He shook his head after that. “I am unaware of any dosage of pain medication he should be given, if any, or even how to determine if his heart or brain have been compromised.”
“Maybe we should wash the spots where he’s openly bleeding, just in case,” Cedric offered, though that appeared to be mostly everywhere.
Silus nodded. “Very well, but use only water.”
Even though Silus had said there was no point, Ben got the feeling the other man was agreeing to it just to give his antsy lover something to do.
So, I know naught about vampire medicine was able to make a couple of decisions after all.
Ben banished the snide thought from his mind, reminding himself that, just because Silus knew a couple of little things that were helping them now, he was right to not assume that everything would be simple.
Ben also wanted to put his focus on another aspect of the conversation.
“You said he’s going to need blood. Who’s going to provide it?”
Ben asked, eyeing both men in the room, a strong suspicion he’d already volunteered by showing off the bite mark on his hand.
“Certainly not Cedric,” Silus said. “I do not wish to see that man in the throes of…ah…” Silus trailed off, and color came into his face at what he could not say. Cedric bit his lips together in a catty smile.
Right. Sun sprite blood could apparently make a vampire orgasm.
Most
vampires were under the impression that sun sprite blood was poison to them, so they didn’t drink it. Only Cedric and Silus knew otherwise.
Ben had no patience for it. He didn’t much want to think of it either. “Right. We don’t want him to have a heart attack from a seizure-inducing orgasm. Got it. What about you?”
“If he is from my family house, then I cannot have my life-blood inside of him. He’ll be able to sense it, and he will know that I live and am in hiding. He has already taken some of your blood, so there’s nothing that can be done for it.”
Fuckin’ hell.
“If he sees into my head he will definitely know about you.”
“I don’t think all vampires can do that,” Cedric said, still kneeling down by the bed and, with a gentle hand, was working very slowly to cut away the rest of the tough, ruined clothing, keeping his movements especially steady when he got down to the leg, which, Ben hadn’t noticed at first, but was entirely turned at the wrong angle from the knee down.
That would have to be taken care of before it could heal incorrectly, if it already hadn’t. Ben knew some first aid.
Now that the threat of death was out of the way, the charcoal body, and the fact that the foot was pointing in the wrong direction, hardly seemed to bother Cedric at all, and it was insane how natural the blond man looked, tending to the wounded. Maybe he should really be looking into going back to school, trying out medicine or something.
“It would depend on his age,” Silus affirmed, “and his willingness to study the ability, but ’tis doubtful he will see inside your mind. I cannot even perform such a task with Cedric, other than sending him vague commands and requests. Any memories of us this man sees could be passed off as events that have happened in the past. Cedric and I will simply have to stay out of the way when he becomes aware of his surroundings again.”
Ben looked down once more to the bed, forced his eyes away from Cedric, and put them onto the grotesque facial features. With the mouth open, he could see the teeth and pointed fangs, and the mishmash of pink and black and swollen tongue and bleeding gums, and, ugh, Ben didn’t want to stick his hand anywhere near that.
If this guy was going to survive the pain of having his leg twisted back into the proper position, and have the energy his body required to heal, Ben would need to do it.
He sighed, rubbing the stinging open wounds between his thumb and forefinger. The annoying little burn got worse just thinking about what he was going to do.
He approached the bed. “Let’s just get this over with.”
Chapter Four
Seth slowly came out of a warm haze, floating lazily back into the lowest form of consciousness, and that in itself was an indicator that something was off, but he couldn’t piece together why that should be a problem. Usually he woke up to aches and pains, and then there was the stint with his attempted escape from the werewolves, but that didn’t cause any worry for him either.
Wiktor must be going soft. And then Seth got the image in his head of that miserable, old bloodsucker sitting in Santa’s chair, surrounded by giant, colorfully wrapped gifts, candies, and children.
It made him laugh.
Then the familiar spicy scent of red life hit him, even in his half-awake state, and his mouth watered and fangs lengthened as the pulsing vein, beating rhythmically, was put to his mouth.
This was too easy. Seth never got fed this easily. He bit down hard, relishing in the way the blood exploded through his fangs and into his mouth. He refused to allow the offering to escape should it be some kind of teasing trick.
He was proven right when the vein attempted to pull from his mouth, but he locked his jaws and sucked back hard, panicking now.
He wasn’t supposed to be here. He had to get out, become strong so he could escape. Sam…he needed to get back to Sammy.
Loud noises, shouting. The stomping of feet, indicating more people had rushed in to wherever he was. Somehow he got the feeling this wasn’t the first time this had happened. Pain and bright light exploded along the side of his head, and then he fell deeper into the blackness once more.
* * * *
Seth’s eyes seemed to open before his body was ready to wake up, and he shot up from his bed, strung out and panicking like a dog that had woken from a nap, only to discover he was no longer in his master’s house.
Which, all things considered, was as true as it got.
The first thing that made his heart do a full stop was the light, until he realized the brightness was coming from one of those energy-saving bulbs on the ceiling, and the breeze from the fan it was plugged into. He wasn’t outside, and he wasn’t about to burst into flames, but his skin was still remarkably sensitive to it, and it shouldn’t be.
Every inch of flesh on his body stung, like he’d just scrubbed the first three layers of it off or something. His leg, ugh, his leg fucking killed. Seth shifted his weight onto the leg that wasn’t throbbing at the knee, and he forced himself to sit back on the bed, keeping the pained limb from bending too much. He wasn’t wearing the same clothes as he’d been wearing at Wiktor’s mansion. These ones fit him better than that tight-ass suit he’d stolen from Winchester.
Actually, this room looked nothing like anything he’d ever seen in Wiktor’s mansion. It was too small for a start, and the fact that Seth could tell he was in a basement, the plain, gray concrete walls, tough and thin beige carpet, and tiny, high windows, were too obvious.
There was a dehumidifier humming along in the corner sucking all the moisture out of the air.
Wiktor would never have allowed it. Not the dehumidifier, but the ho-hum appearance in general. Every room in that place had to look like high-society guests could be entertained there, and almost every room, even Seth’s for the time he stayed as prisoner—before he’d been put in his cage for bad behavior—had an adjoining bathroom.
This was simply a tidy-looking basement with a shut door.
Probably led to some stairs.
Where in God’s name was he? Judging by how that single little window was tinted to keep out the sun, he would guess that he was in a vampire home.
Not a good start.
He’d woken up in a stranger’s basement. That had to be the tagline to a horror movie somewhere.
“Hello?” His voice sounded smaller than he would have preferred.
He cleared his throat and tried again, louder this time. “Hello?”
He tried for his feet again, hissing as his knee burned up with the effort, any adrenaline that kept the pain at bay having long since vanished. Doing his best to keep from putting much weight on it, he limped his way to the door, nearly crashing into it as his leg buckled.
He caught himself on the door—more like slammed into it—and, standing on his good side, tried the handle.
It turned, but something kept the door from opening. He tried again and heard a rattle of metal against wood. A padlock. On the outside.
Seth put his burning forehead against the cool wood. The window was definitely out of the question. He could sense the heat from the sun shining outside. Even if it were nighttime with no moon out, he doubted it was left unlocked anyway. So much for his escape.
Time to think. Where was he? How did he get here? How would he get out?
Seth could vaguely recall making a jump for the darker, deeper end of the water after running along the stream, then an explosion in his left leg. Seth looked down at himself. He was wearing long, beige shorts. He only needed to lift the hem about an inch to see the inflamed, gnarled, red fuckup that was his knee.
One of the wolves had made a swipe at him, must’ve broken it.
Someone had set it, but it was still in the midst of healing. His skin, while not quite as red as his knee, was almost pink in color, which would explain the sensitivity to a light bulb. He couldn’t think of what could cause that, however. If he’d spent any amount of time in the sun, he’d be blacker than, well…he’d be dead. But his body was basically producing what looked like n
ew skin. Everywhere on him had that bright, pinkish color that came once a scab was ripped away too soon.
He turned his hands about, getting a look at his arms next. There was no warping or scarring as far as he could see. He put his fingers to his face next. Itchy and a little hot, but nothing felt wrong.
Whoever’s house he was in, they were taking care of him.
All the better to get him back to his master in good health.
Whether this was Veturious’s doing, or Winchester’s, Seth didn’t care to find out. If he could only see the person—people?—who had him.
Maybe he could convince them to tell him where he was, and maybe to let him go.
If they were working for Wiktor Veturious, however, that last part was as unlikely as they came.
Fuck, he was thirsty. Both for water and for blood. His body felt shriveled and weak. Whoever had him must have been feeding him for his body to be healing, but he needed more.
A jingling of keys and the sound of the padlock on the other side of the door coming undone pulled him out of his musings, but not fast enough. The door opened, and Seth had only just enough time to jump backward before getting his face smacked by it. His foot twisted awkwardly during the sloppy backward dash, and if he tried to support all his weight on it he would’ve hurt himself, Rather than risk catching himself with his other injured leg, potentially fucking up his knee all the more, Seth allowed himself to fall on his ass.
The landing on the thin frickin’ rug was not a soft one.
“Jesus Christ!” The new person in the room said. It was a man. He quickly shut the door behind him and came to crouch down by Seth, instantly putting his arm around Seth’s waist, hoisting him up.
Too shocked over the feeling of a warm hand helping him off the carpet, Seth went with it. Awfully trusting thing for a guard to do, Seth mused, allowing himself to be led back to bed.
There was the possibility that this man wasn’t a guard and was just the owner of the house, however, which, if true, made the guy too trusting no matter how Seth looked at it.