Hunger
Disclaimer: I don't own the Coldfire Trilogy, and no profit whatsoever is intended...
Warnings: slash combined with a fair amount of bloodsucking
Setting: Slightly AU; the Mother of the Iezu revived Tarrant on Shaitan and graced him with the gift of surviving the expiry of his period of grace, but although the compact's broken he's still undead with all his powers intact. Faced with Andrys waiting for him at the Keep nonetheless he can't make mincemeat of that idiot because of a very untimely quake.
A/N 1: I'm not altogether sure whether we had a story with Damien transforming into a vampire before. If so I apologize in advance and hope you don't take offense, dear fellow author...
A/N 2: the phrase 'flesh of my flesh' is from the Bible, Genesis 2:23
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"Go", Gerald Tarrant whispered (CoS, p. 482)
Through the channel Damien could sense Tarrant's visceral dread of dying once again so shortly after his resurrection, and thinking of all the stuff they had been through side by side, of the Hunter's torture at the hands of entities cruel and merciless beyond human reckoning and his altruistic sacrifice on Mount Shaitan, he made his choice without so much as a whiff of regret. "No chance in hell, my friend", he replied with a grim smile and remained right in the line of fire.
A cold hand gently came to rest on his shoulder, but the warrior knight didn't dare to take his eyes off Andrys for a second. "Don't be a fool, Vryce. Now is not the time to strive for martyrdom."
"You're a fine one to talk, Gerald!" Damien blurted out exasperatedly. "I'm not the one who kicked the bucket for the sake of humankind on that vulking volcano. You saved us all from eternal slavery, and I won't have that child kill you as a reward for your trials. Period."
"How very touching", Tarrant's last living descendant spat venomously. "Do you really believe in that ridiculous crap you're trying to sell me? He isn't a saviour but a monster, an evil thing that has crept out of the abysses of hell where he belongs, and I won't miss the chance of avenging my blood relatives for the sake of your fairy tales. For the last time: get out of my way or die!"
"No. I regret what happened to your family, but your ancestor is my friend, and if you want to harm him you have to do that over my dead body."
"That so?" Andrys laughed manically, his sweaty features twisted into a grimace of hatred. "I don't give a damn whether you live or die, stranger, but as you're so fond of your friend you certainly won't mind going ahead on his road to perdition. You had your chance!"
The Forest had stopped shaking by now, but a Working was still out of the question if one wasn't keen on having one's brain fried to a crisp. Although the Hunter was standing still as a marble statue Vryce could feel his fury in his very bones, his adamant determination to attack at the first possible moment, and he prayed that the adept wouldn't be misled to a lethal error. Not yet, Gerald, he thought beseechingly. Don't make me mourn you once again. Just check yourself and keep him talking. As long as he's babbling he won't shoot, and it'll buy me time to find a way of getting us out of this mess alive."
Maybe Damien should have taken into consideration that the road to hell was paved with good intentions, but as matters stood he was shell-shocked when one of Amoril's white wolves suddenly came dashing into the study. His eyes a glowing purple and his snout slavering the animal was a frightening sight to behold, and whether Andrys feared an ambush or just acted instinctively Damien had to look on helplessly as trembling fingers were pulling the trigger. When he was hit by the bolt the warrior knight staggered back a few steps under the impact of the shot, staring in utter disbelieve at the sharp piece of iron protruding from his chest. In the next instance his legs gave way under him, and his mouth filling with his lifeblood he collapsed into a heap.
Something tugged at his sword belt, but his body rapidly going into a state of shock he was but dimly aware that Gerald was rushing past his fallen form in a motion so utterly inhuman that under different circumstances it would have frozen the marrow in his bones. His eyesight rapidly narrowing to a tunnel he couldn't perceive what was coming to pass any longer, but his hearing sense was the last to go, and as the jet-black darkness finally wrapped its icy tendrils around him a blood-curdling howl and Andrys Tarrant's piercing screams of agony were accompanying him on his lonely road into oblivion.
When Damien finally came to again he found himself on a black marble slab with the God of Pleasure hovering over him like a frightened mother-hen. "How are you, Damien?", the Iezu asked anxiously. "You were... out cold for almost two hours, and I was beginning to wonder whether Gerald hadn't miscalculated for once. He doesn't like to hear it, but he isn't infallible, as you very well know."
Vryce couldn't have agreed more but decided to focus on more urgent matters instead of holding forth about Tarrant's virtues or lack thereof. To his astonishment he felt astoundingly well for a man who had very nearly died of a spring bolt shot. Although his front was drenched in blood not just the pain of his injury but all the other minor ailments of a body overtaxed beyond human endurance were gone, and when he drew a deep breath his lungs were carrying out their duty just fine. Frowning the warrior knight ripped the tatters which had once represented one of his favourite shirts apart without bothering about opening the remaining buttons and blinked confusedly. Instead on a nasty wound his gaze fell on tanned skin as soft as a baby bottom, and from what he could see each and every souvenir of his encounters with fierce demonlings and human but no less deadly enemies had miraculously disappeared as well. Damien resisted the overwhelming urge to pinch himself just by a very small margin. Fortunately a true Healing wasn't denied to Gerald any longer after the breaking of his accursed compact, but he couldn't even begin to fathom why his companion had wasted precious energy reserves on ridding him of the scars he had honourably acquired in battle.
Still somewhat bewildered the former priest sat up. "What the hell happened after I passed out, Karril? Did Tarrant heal me? And what about that mad look-alike of him and the crusaders?"
"Heal you?" The Iezu looked away, and Damien got the distinct impression that he would have preferred to be somewhere else. "I suggest that you ask Gerald about your state of health, priest. In terms of your brothers in arms... I suppose not many of them will be able to bellyache about their foolishness to attack the Lord of the Forest when he's finished with them. He wasn't exactly overjoyed that you were shot, and we both know that leniency isn't one of his preeminent character traits. With Narilka already pregnant and the continuation of the bloodline secured Andrys was the first one to perish, and as you might be able to envisage feeding the Hunter he didn't die an easy death. Gerald was still in a foul mood when he left to make an end of that insane campaign, and I don't think you'll have to worry about another crusade for many years to come."
Imagining the adept's personal vendetta on the men who had dared to intrude into his domain and had futilely destroyed the better part of his cherished library Vryce shuddered involuntarily. In a minute he would get going and try to prevent Tarrant from finishing the Church's warriors off to a man, but since he had woken up from his blackout his body was demanding nourishment with increasing insistence, and with an inward shrug he grabbed his nearby pack and rummaged through its contents until he found a dry crust and a piece of cheese which still looked reasonably digestible.
"I wouldn't eat that if I were you, Damien", the Iezu warned. "Don't ask me why, but I'm afraid you won't find that kind of food palatable anymore."
Starving the warrior knight didn't pay too much attention on Karril's admonition and wolfed down bread and cheese without even bothering to chew, but he hadn't quite finished his meal when he was starting to feel unsettlingly queasy. In the next instance he had to give in to an irresistible bout of nausea, and he couldn't stop heaving until his insides were dry again. "Dear God in Heaven, that was awful", he choked out, wiping his watering eyes. "The bloody cheese must have gone off."
"It wasn't the cheese", the God of Pleasure muttered uncomfortably. "Actually I'm not altogether keen on breaking the bad news to you, but with regard to the fact that Gerald is still enjoying himself with hunting down those pompous idiots I fear I won't get around it lest further harm is done. You weren't just out cold, Damien. Like Tarrant on Mount Shaitan you died, truly died, but this time it wasn't our progenitor who resurrected you. I don't know exactly how it came to pass, but I fear that somehow you are destined to, well, share Gerald's fate. I'm sorry."
Share Gerald's fate? At first the warrior knight wasn't able to make head nor tail of the Iezu's words, but when his flabbergasted brain had finally processed the implications of Karril's statement he was up from his sinister resting place in a blink and crossed the distance to him in three long strides, his hands closing around the chubby neck of Tarrant's friend in a death grip. 'You have to be out of your mind, demon", he roared ferociously. "That's one of your tricks, a scheme you have cooked up with that vulking manipulative bastard to drive me over the edge at last. A fine thank you that is for saving his treacherous butt once again!"
"Let me assure you that I'm speaking nothing but the truth, priest. I can comprehend that this comes quite as a surprise for you, but..."
"A surprise?" Vryce yelled at the top of his lungs. "If this weren't a blatant lie it would go down in history as the most ridiculous understatement ever, but I'm human, you crazy son of a bitch, human and no undead monstrosity who bartered his humanity to the Unnamed like somebody I won't mention. Do you understand what I'm saying?"
"I think he's understanding you very well, Vryce", a quiet voice cut into his ramblings. "As usual you are making yourself rather clear. And now kindly let go of Karril and pull yourself together. We have to talk."
Damien whirled around. At first sight the Hunter looked his haughty, unruffled self, his midnight blue silken robes of an age long gone by impeccably clean and his light brown hair arranged in gleaming waves, but his pale eyes were locked on Vryce's face with a strange mixture of curiosity and keen vigilance.
"That's just like you, Gerald. Going a hunting and leaving me behind with a fledgling vampire of your own making! I hope you don't mind that now you're back I'm off to more pleasant occupations while you can try to talk some sense into the priest's stubborn head. For today I've had it up to here with pocketing insults." Without so much as a farewell nod the God of Pleasure vanished into the ether in a huff, leaving no trace of his existence behind.
"Now that fellow lost his sanity for good", the warrior knight grumbled exasperatedly. "To call me a vampire just because I brought up the vulking cheese again! Maybe Calesta wasn't the only Iezu with an unbalanced mind."
"Calesta's aspect was sadism, as you very well know, Vryce. As much as we wished otherwise he was exactly what his nature demanded. As I used to be before you contaminated my pure evil with your taint of humanity. Maybe you should learn a lesson from him before it's too late."
Damien gaped at the Hunter in utter bewilderment. "Has everybody gone crazy today? Learn a lesson from Calesta? You don't expect me to run riot and set my mind on enslaving mankind, do you?"
"Don't be a bigger fool than you have to be", the adept retorted icily. "Considering your masochistic tendencies I don't suspect that you will develop a sadistic streak all at once, but that doesn't change the fact that you have to adjust to the altered circumstances. Admittedly for now it might be but a small consolation, but in time you will regain a certain amount of control, and if you want to indulge your philanthropic dispositions you don't even have to kill your prey. Luckily for you there's no compact cutting you off from showing whatever small amount of mercy as it happened to me.
"Kill my prey? You can't be serious! I've always thought you had a rather weird sense of humour, but right now you're outdoing yourself."
"Actually I'm in no laughing mood. I can understand that you're feeling a tad overtaken by the events. So do I, by the way, but that's not the point now. As you can't bring yourself to give me some credence we just have to analyze the changes in your body step by step. First of all your vision has improved considerably, hasn't it? With regard to the fact that I don't have power over fire open flames are banned from my sleeping chamber. That includes torches, candles and lamps, and if you were still human you wouldn't be able to see your hand in front of your face down here without Working your sight."
Tarrant stepped closer and touched his chest with a perfectly manicured fingernail. "Second: your skin. It's devoid of any human warmth whatsoever although not as cold as my own, and all your wounds closed on their own account after you died. Even your scars are gone, and believe me that this wasn't my doing. Third: your heart isn't beating any longer, and your respiration is nothing but a habit you could switch off at will if you so choose. It's a law of nature that every mortal creature has to breathe, be it plant, animal or human. That at the very least should give you some food for thought. 'When one is in the presence of the seemingly impossible, that which is merely unlikely becomes more plausible by contrast' (BSR, p. 481), I stated a thousand years ago, and that theorem is no less applicable nowadays than it was then."
"Gerald, I... I just don't get it", the warrior knight stammered. "It can't be true, it mustn't be true..."
The Hunter shrugged. "Stubbornly denying the obvious won't change the facts and is futile in the extreme", he continued adamantly, "and for your own good I hope you'll accept the final conclusive evidence. You are ravenous, more so with every passing second, but mortal fare doesn't agree with you any longer. Your appetites have changed, Vryce, whether you like it or not. It is said that the proof of the pudding is in the eating, so let me show you what your transformed body is craving for instead of wasting time on fruitless discussions."
From the folds of his cloak the adept unearthed a small canteen and unscrewed it without further ado. Damien's nostrils flared very much in the manner of a scenting predator when he was hit by the delicious aroma of fresh, warm blood, and shivering with greed he ripped the vessel from Tarrant's hand and brought it to his lips. He was just about giving in to the mind-blowing hunger and downing the contents like an alcoholic thirsty for the first drink after a long abstinence when the channel opened wide and he saw himself through the Hunter's eyes, crouching like an uncat closing in for the kill, his pupils slits and his canines transformed to pointed weapons bearing no resemblance to a human denture whatsoever. To his horror the warrior knight finally realized the terrible truth, and appalled beyond words he flung the canteen into a far corner.
"What have you done to me, you bastard?", he whispered brokenly. "You told me long ago that you wanted to corrupt me, but couldn't you just content yourself with stripping me of the vocation which meant the world to me? But no, you never do things by halves. You had to drag me all the way down to hell, literally and metaphorically. I hope you are proud of yourself."
A faint flicker of emotion stirred in the fathomless depths of those unearthly silver eyes, but it was gone again before Damien could put a name on it. "Be assured that transforming you wasn't my intention, Vryce. In all those years I've never even thought of passing on the gift, or curse as you might call it, and I didn't know it was possible. Until now. I can only assume that swallowing a drop of my blood had a rather unexpected side-effect on you. Surely you know the ancient tales from Earth which insist that drinking of a vampire's blood you are doomed to become like him after your death, and perhaps you had rather not listened too closely to those excesses of human superstition. Our planet is fickle, and the fae very likely reacted to your fears and triggered the transformation process. I deeply regret what has come to pass, but..."
"For God's sake just spare me your lectures on the fae and your damned regrets, Hunter! A fat lot of use that is to me! There's just one thing I have to know. Where's my sword?"
"Safely stored away for now. Until you come to terms with your fate don't even bother to ask me where, and just in case you're toying with the idea of meeting the dawn you should take into consideration that I Worked the doors and windows upstairs as well as the secret passage. I only make a mistake once, and nothing will get in or out of my castle again without my consent", the adept continued smugly. "I might curse the night it became necessary to offer you the bond, but as my creation you are as much a part of me as the Forest, and although I'm loth to admit it I somehow feel responsible for your well-being. By now you should be aware that I'm not inclined to taking chances, and the sooner you accept that there is no easy way out the better for both of us. That settled let's move on to more urgent matters. You need blood, but unfortunately those fools defiled the emergency rations in my storage room. For obvious reasons I can't let you out for a hunt, but if you give me your word of honour not to attempt anything rash in my absence I could agree to find you a suitable victim for once. I've still unfinished business with the few surviving crusaders trying to flee from my realm."
"Have you lost your mind, you corrupted son of a bitch?" Damien growled menacingly. "You damned my soul to hell, but you can neither hold me prisoner for all eternity nor force the vulking blood down my throat! Just get lost and shove your 'suitable victim' where the sun doesn't shine, damn you!"
"Really, Vryce, you should pay more attention to my words instead of lamenting about your fate, not to mention that I won't allow anybody to throw me out of my resting place. For the time being you are a guest in my domain, on my terms, and I'd be very much obliged to you for keeping your temper in check. Concerning the problem of finding acceptable sustenance your restraint indisputably is outstanding for one of our kind and I honour you for it, but in the end you won't stand a chance to fight the urge to feed no matter how hard you try. I know what it's like, and I don't care to relive that experience."
Tarrant cut himself off with a barely perceivable shudder, and a gut-wrenching expression of stark terror passed over his ageless countenance. "The thirst is... unquenchable in the beginning", the Hunter whispered, "and it took me decades to impose my will on my feeding habits. Centuries to find a way to sustain myself other than with human blood. Do yourself a favour and bow to the inevitable before the gnawing pangs of hunger start in earnest. What you're feeling now is but a small reminder of it. See, and you'll understand what I'm talking about."
All at once the Neocount's most private sanctuary faded into nonexistence, and Damien found himself in a narrow lane only inadequately lit by a single streetlamp. Judging from the constellation of the stars it had to be in the deep of the night, but strangely the warrior knight had no difficulties seeing the portly, middle-aged man who was bawling a silly ditty on his way home quite clearly. The banal scene was as peaceful as it went, but just when he was about asking Tarrant why the heck he was bothering him with the meaningless image of a drunk his gaze locked on a shadowy shape crouching behind a corner. To his astonishment Vryce's vision zoomed in on the motionless figure without his help, and he very nearly keeled over with dread. The stranger's silken robes were a filthy, torn mess and the expression on his face barely identifiable under all those layers of caked dirt and blood only marginally human, but Damien would have recognized that tall, lean frame under millions. Oh God, Gerald...
Realization what was to come hit Vryce with the force of a tsunami, and petrified with horror he squeezed his eyes shut in a vain attempt to get around watching the butchering of that deplorable man, but it was no use. Faster than any human body had the right to move the adept pounced on his hapless victim and ripped his throat out with teeth like a mouthful of daggers, snarling like a rabid animal. A shower of blood splattered all over the place, and witnessing that scene of carnage Damien's capacity for rational thinking drowned in a surge of hunger so intense that he could barely remember his own name. Then the pain started, wave after wave of excruciating agony as if every cell of his body was exploding and his nerve endings were singed, and he finally knew how Tarrant must have felt on that damned roast in the realm of the Master of Lema. Nothing had ever hurt like this, and writhing on the hard stone floor he could think of nothing else but that he had to feed at once or he would welcome the true death with open arms.
Trembling in every limb he dragged himself to his knees and crawled laboriously into the corner where he had flung the damned canteen. It was empty, and half crazed with ravenousness the former priest lapped greedily at the small puddle on the stone floor like a starving animal, but it wasn't in the least sufficient to slake his burning hunger. All at once a silk-clad arm circled his waist and steadied him, and when he forced his eyes open he looked right into the Hunter's frowning face. "Gerald, please help me", he gasped, at the end of his tether. "I can't take this anymore. I have to... I need..."
"I know what you need, Vryce. I told you so. Why do you have to learn everything the hard way?" Sighing the adept drew his dagger and bared his left forearm. "As usual you are a veritable pain in the neck, but fortunately I had a good meal hunting down those imbeciles who dared to oppose me. In the long run I have no intention whatsoever to act as your personal blood preservation, but this once you can feed on me."
That act of compassion was so unlike the Hunter that it shook Damien to the core, and his deep gratitude finally penetrated the crimson fog of agony clouding his addled brain. When his companion had sacrificed an existence spanning nigh to a millennium for the sake of mankind on Mount Shaitan it had felt as if a part of his soul had died with him, and to the end of his days he would say thanksgiving prayers that he didn't have to bury Tarrant's corpse in those ghastly realms between life and death. The adept had suffered enough, had even come close to dying again that very day at the hands of his unworthy descendant, and he just couldn't take the responsibility for causing him further harm. "Gerald, don't", he choked out hoarsely. "Famished as you were you need the food yourself. It wouldn't be right."
The Hunter smiled faintly. "I won't pretend that I'm not grateful for your concern, but I drank enough to keep both of us going. I'm offering, Vryce."
Damien swallowed convulsively. Equipped with the keen senses of a predator he could smell the human blood Tarrant had recently fed on, and when the Neocount opened a vein in his wrist with a quick cut he simply couldn't restrain himself any longer. Surrendering to his baser instincts he pressed his mouth to the wound and started to suck.
Nothing in his entire life had ever felt so good like those first spurts of blood gushing down his throat, and moaning ecstatically he drove his teeth into the cold flesh with a vengeance. The adept winced but didn't draw back, letting him drink his fill of the precious fluid. As the gnawing pangs of hunger were slowly subsiding another kind of need flared up in his abdomen, and to his astonishment Vryce felt himself getting hard. Under different circumstances he might have panicked at the mere thought of desiring the Hunter, but in his current state he couldn't have cared less, and without thinking twice he pulled his companion into a close embrace. To his astonishment Tarrant acquiesced without protest, and with the tall body pressed tightly against his own there couldn't be a doubt that he was no less turned on by the proceedings than Damien himself.
Grinning the warrior knight released Gerald's wrist and shifted his focus a bit further southwards until the adept snaked out of his arms in one single, fluent motion. "We mustn't go on", he gasped out. "As much as I regret it all acts of procreation are as deadly to me as the sunlight, and I don't want to die again. Not now that I finally found something I thought I would never experience again."
His eyes averted Tarrant was staring fixedly into the distance, his face an impenetrable mask carved from precious but utterly cold marble, but Damien knew him well enough to recognize the tension in his shoulders and the slight crease between those elegantly arched eyebrows as a sure sign of distress. Startled by the unwonted admittance of very human emotions the warrior knight examined the striking features so close to his own. For the first time ever since he had met the Hunter in that dae in Briand he allowed himself to truly appreciate his breathtaking beauty, taking delight in the perfect proportions of the delicate bones and the flawless alabaster complexion. A warm surge of not quite brotherly love for the man he had walked to hell and back for welled up from a hidden place deep down in his soul, and his heart brimming over with joy he suddenly realized that maybe Gerald wasn't the only one who had found a priceless treasure that night he'd thought forever out of his reach.
Gently Damien cupped the pale cheeks and turned his head around to him. "Stop worrying, Gerald", he murmured tenderly. "The vulking compact doesn't exist any longer, and you are free to do as you please. Anyway you can't exactly call the lovemaking of two undead males an act of procreation, can you?"
For a long time Tarrant just faced him without moving a muscle, not even breathing, but just when Vryce was starting to wonder whether he had completely misinterpreted the situation the adept bent forwards and kissed him. His lips were soft and yielding, and absorbed in the pleasant occupation of exploring Gerald's mouth everything else became utterly insignificant. Lost in sensation the warrior knight very nearly jumped out of his skin when the world was zooming past him in a frightening rush all at once, and blinking his eyes open he found himself back on the black marble slab on which he had awakened from the sleep of death what seemed like an eternity ago. "I'd like to see the day you don't scare the shit out of me", Damien grumbled with fake annoyance. "Any other trick you completely forgot to inform me about?"
The Neocount looked down on him with barely veiled amusement. "You would be surprised, Vryce. The night is getting old and you have to rest soon, but I presume there's still enough time for a short object-lesson on one of my specialities. Shall we?"
Before he could open his mouth to inquire what the heck Tarrant was talking about the adept narrowed his eyes and raised a slender hand for a Working. In a blink Vryce's garments were gone as if they had never existed, and he goggled perplexedly at his naked limbs. "This speciality of yours is quite... amazing", Damien forced out when he had at least partially regained the capacity for coherent speech, "but I'm afraid you have me at a slight disadvantage now."
"As usual", the Hunter chuckled. "The disappearance of the rags you call your clothing wasn't a part of the lesson, though. Any third-class sorcerer worth his salt should be able to do that. Care to find out what's truly covered by your syllabus?"
The lascivious sparkle in those pale eyes left no doubt that Tarrant wasn't in the least referring to a subject standing a chance to be taught at Erna's schools, and his tongue seemingly glued to the roof of his mouth the warrior knight settled for a faint nod. As a reward for his compliance Gerald graced him with a radiant smile bearing no traces whatsoever of his accustomed arrogance and sarcasm, his visage suddenly so very young and beguiling that it took Vryce's breath away. Literally incapable of moving a muscle he watched in open wonder as the Hunter reopened the vein in his wrist with a fingernail transformed to a razorlike claw and took a big sip of his own blood. Then he kissed him again, and Damien's lips parted without hesitation, shivering with delight as the blood was running down his throat. Dear God in Heaven, Gerald feeding him mouth to mouth was the most mind-bogglingly erotic experience of his entire life, and his hunger flared up again with a vengeance, not for the red liquid that would determine the parameters of his very existence from now on but for the man he desired more than he had anything or anyone before.
Almost painfully aroused Damien fiddled around with the bothersome layers of cloth denying him access to the object of his desire until midnight blue silk tore to tatters under the iron grip of his fingers. "Why, you truly are an impatient man, Vryce", the Hunter purred into his ears. "I don't mind a certain amount of raging passion while bedding a man, but I'd rather not have to mend my robes all over again. It's getting a tad enervating."
In the next instance Gerald was laying in his arms without a stitch on and the warrior knight feasted his eyes on the lithe frame so unlike his own muscular bulk, marvelling at the creamy white skin and the graceful, long limbs. His instincts screamed at him to have his way with Tarrant and fuck both of them into oblivion, but all at once utterly at loss how to proceed he hesitated. Although he had never lain with a man before the basics surely couldn't deviate that much from making love to a woman. Notwithstanding a jarring voice in the back of his mind piped up rather insistently, reminding him that the usage of a decent oil and a fair amount of preparation might be advisable all things considered, but when the adept pulled him on top of him with an inviting smile his reluctance melted away like snow on a hot August day
Trembling with desire he couldn't have resisted the pale fingers determinedly guiding him where he had never even thought of going before any more than he could have willingly stopped breathing in his mortal days. The adept's body welcomed him without any sign of discomfort, and moving inside him, ever so carefully at first and then faster with every passing second, was bliss beyond words. Spurned on by his lover's throaty moans Vryce was rapidly approaching the point of no return when Gerald grabbed his hips and brought his thrusts to a sudden halt. "Bite me again, Vryce", he whispered barely audibly. "I've never considered it possible that I would ask for this one day, but I .. I'd like it very much. Not my wrist this time, though. Be what you are meant to be and do it the old way."
Damien blinked, not quite trusting his ears. 'The old way?' After a mere few hours he still was an absolute newcomer in the ranks of the undead, but like everybody else on their strange planet he had heard his own fair share of disturbing tales about nocturnal hunters and their preference for delicate necks. In the wake of his transformation Tarrant evidently had been forced to exist as a low vampire. 'A pitiful half-life' (BSR, p. 378) he had called it in the Rakhlands long ago, leaving no doubt that he had despised taking on a form so purely centred on brutal physical violence. That the very same unrivalled master of self-control now was encouraging him to unleash the monster inside him was astounding, to put it mildly, and try as he might he simply couldn't wrap his head around it.
His mind reeling the warrior knight pondered his options. Unlike Gerald he hadn't struck a bargain with the Forces of the Dark to become what he was now. Although technically undead nobody was influencing his thought processes and committing him to completely embrace evil, and somehow that seemed to make a hell of a difference. After his thirst had been at least partially slaked he was still very much Damien Kilcannon Vryce, and he was dead set on retaining as much of his humanity as was possible under the given circumstances. Henceforth indulging in an act so utterly alien to the mortal plane that it defied description didn't seem altogether advisable as far as he was concerned.
For a moment Vryce was teetering on the brink of naked panic, but everything paled when the Hunter tilted back his head and pulled him closer until his mouth came to rest at the crook of the adept's neck. The delicious aroma of the veritable rivers of life coursing just below the surface was irresistible, and his new self reacted to the temptation with frightening intensity. His canines lengthening again Damien pressed closer with a hungry groan, grazing the soft skin with his fangs. The sweet taste of Tarrant's blood on his tongue was all it took to shatter the last remnants of his restraint, and instinctively he bit down harder, relishing in his lover's wild outcry of pleasure. Gerald's hands moved downwards to his buttocks, urging him on, and now there was no holding back any longer, no compunctions and principles, just the overwhelming need to move harder and faster and on and on in his desperate craving for release.
Rearing up under him like a wild unhorse the Hunter let go of his behind and snatched his left arm instead, burying his teeth in his wrist with an animalistic growl, and Vryce very nearly came undone. Now they were truly one, linked forever by a circular flow of blood and desire, and at this very moment he was damn sure the loss of his humanity had been worth it. Blood of my blood, flesh of my flesh, Tarrant's light tenor seemed to whisper at the back of his mind, and the yearning and affection in his mental voice propelled Damien's arousal to unprecedented heights. Then the adept came under him, jerking convulsively in the throes of passion and sobbing his name again and again, and the world faded into nonexistence as the rhythmical pulse around him triggered Damien's own climax.
Afterwards they were resting in each others arms, utterly blissed out. "What are your plans now?" the Hunter inquired after a while, his clear eyes locked on Damien's face with barely veiled apprehension. "Could you get used to the idea of making this place your permanent base, or do you still want to die again?"
"And leave you to revisit your bad habits? Not a snowball's chance in hell! For my part we can spend the next millennium together, but there are some conditions."
"Conditions?" Tarrant scowled. "I don't deny that we had a pleasurable night, Vryce, but you had better remember that I won't be dictated to."
"Notwithstanding these are my terms: First of all there won't be any more killing. That includes the surviving crusaders. We are what we are, but from now on our donors will return home alive and kicking with a few bucks in their pockets for their contribution to our menu. You don't exactly strike me as a poor man, and you'll get over the loss soon. Agreed?"
"You need blood again, Vryce. The hunger's definitely addling your mind", the Hunter mused. "Wallow in your helper syndrome all the way you want to, but you don't truly suggest that I pay for my sustenance, do you?"
"Don't you worry about my mind, Gerald. It's working just fine. Reminds me that you finding a way out of this vulking mess is also a part of the bargain. It's about time that you put your brilliant brain cells into a better use than planning your next hunt."
Tarrant shot him a withering glare, and the warrior knight had to suppress a smile. "You might call me a fool, but I think I'm falling in love with you", he went on softly. "Nonetheless I can't be a part of the slaughtering of innocents. It would kill me as surely as the sunlight. Now you can either chuck me out and return to your accustomed lifestyle or make a compromise. The choice is yours."
A flash of defiance was passing over the angelic features, and Damien held his breath, praying with all his heart that he hadn't gone too far. "I should punish you for your audacity, Vryce", Tarrant replied eventually, "but maybe it's indeed time for a slight adjustment of what you call my lifestyle. Evolving is the price for survival, but don't expect me to make a volte-face overnight like the biblical Saul on our mother planet Earth. I'm going to need time to change my acquired tastes. So will you. But let me return to the topic of your precious crusaders. I killed about a dozen of them and the predators in my domain will have taken their death toll by now as well, but I suppose it wouldn't hurt if a few of them returned to Jaggonath alive. As a matter of fact they would do me a favour. The doctrine of deterrence presumably goes back to the dawn of mankind, and their horror stories about the lethal creatures of my Forrest might spare me a lot of further killing. Accept their miserable lives as a token of my esteem. Anything else you have to get off your chest?"
"Just one more thing, Gerald. I want a decent bed."
"A... bed?"
The expression on Tarrant's visage was priceless, and the former priest grinned broadly. "Yeah, a bed. Four legs, frame, mattress, quilts and pillows just in case you don't remember what it looks like. The whole works. For both of us. Presumably I should be grateful that you don't insist on sleeping in a coffin to keep up appearances, but I'd rather not spend the days down here on a vulking marble slab. And while we're at it your interior fitting could do with a bit of refurbishing as well", Damien added teasingly. "That orgy of red and black is outright depressing. No wonder that you've taken a fancy to acting the bad boy."
When Gerald turned his back on him Vryce was pretty sure he had finally crossed the line, and he called himself three times a fool. Why on Earth and Erna did he always have to behave like a bull in a china shop? The usually so headstrong adept had made a lot of concessions so far, and now he had to ruin everything with his banter. Ready to make amends he rested a hand on a cold shoulder and froze. Instead of being completely and utterly pissed off his lover was just about losing his fight against a wholly unwonted bout of mirth, and his entire body was shaking with suppressed laughter. "Mind telling me what's so funny?" Damien asked confusedly.
"You are truly priceless, Vryce", the Hunter sniggered. "So much to 'in my domain, on my terms'. For the sake of peace and quiet you shall have your bed, but banish the thought of me singing you to sleep. That would jar too much with my hard-earned bad boy image."
Heaving a sigh of stark relief the warrior knight reclined at Tarrant's side again and kissed the nape of his neck. By now he could feel the rising dawn in his bones, and a strange kind of lethargy came over him, whispering of the joy of resting in the cool, protective darkness just to rise again when the sun had set and the predators of the night left their lairs in the never-ending search for prey. From now on he would share their fate, but gazing at the alluring body in his arms his soul was utterly at peace for the first time in years. Smiling tenderly Damien closed his eyes and drifted of to sleep.