REVISED: 13.07.2014.

Okay peeps, I'm currently writing two fics simultaneously (an unheard of effort from me, seriously). So updates will be slower, but hopefully more consistent over the next few weeks.

Disclaimers: None of the recognisable canon characters, nor the vampires from Chapter One belong to me. All other OCs and the plot are my creation.

Warnings: Nothing serious. Swearing and creepy conversations.


Tony awoke on the bed, there was no sleepiness or disorientation. One minute there was nothing, the next he was sitting up and looking around. Like someone had flicked a switch in his head. Off—click—on.

Bizarre.

He got up and stretched, looking about him. The room was lit only by a lamp on his work desk, and yet Tony suspected he didn't need it to see everything around him. Now that was an experiment he could conduct alone. Crossing to the desk he switched it off and looked about. Everything was as it had been before—only now the room lacked the yellow glow and deep shadows but was uniformly visible. Almost like he was seeing in infra-red, but with colour. More colours than he would have thought possible. He walked about the room, climbing up the stairs and even writing down some simple equations on a scrap of paper. When he turned the light back on, he saw that everything was as it had been a second ago.

Neat.

A knocking at the door startled him so much he actually jumped back.

"Tony?" the muffled voice of Steve from beyond. "I've got you some more… food." He said after a long moment.

Tony, not trusting his new instincts or abilities, swallowed and spoke. "Just leave it at the door, I'll get it in a second."

"Tony, there's things we need to talk about. And Bruce has all your stuff here too."

"Fine, fine. Just… not now, okay?" Tony gritted his teeth and fought to keep himself still. "What time is it?"

"Six pm. We gave you a bit of extra time to wake up."

"Great," Tony muttered to himself, then raised his voice. "Okay, thanks. Uh… just leave the blood there and give me some time. I need a shower too, so I'll be up in a second anyway."

"Alright, is an hour enough time?"

"Sure," Tony said, mollified by how accommodating everyone was being. Perhaps they thought he was still injured in some way. Speaking of injuries… he glanced down at the arc reactor in his chest.

What the hell should he do with this? What would become of this? He needed it if he wanted to power the Iron Man suits, but that didn't mean it had to sit in his chest. And for some reason it was beginning to hurt—a dull persistent ache around and beneath the housing that made absolutely no sense, nor had it ever done that before.

But if it stayed where it was then only Tony could use the suits, and that was a big bonus, considering various organisations' designs on his creation. He could guard the technology by keeping it buried (literally).

After a long moment, he walked up the steps and opened the door to see the same paper bag waiting for him. He looked inside and saw a fresh, full bag of blood. Where had that come from? Tony picked it up and walked through the mansion to his usual bedroom and ensuite, where he showered and changed into jeans and a plain t-shirt.

He eyed the blood bag and after a long moment, unscrewed the cap and took a sip. Cold and fucking disgusting. He resolved to heat the bag in a pot of hot water, and see what that did for the experience. So he set off for the kitchen, his bare feet whispering over the floor as he skipped down steps and padded through corridors.

Upon reaching the kitchen, he paused in the doorway. Steve, Bruce and Pepper were sitting with their backs to him at the island unit. Pepper had a glass of wine in her hand, while the two men were nursing different non-alcoholic beverages. Tony sniffed the air and surmised that it was Steve who was having the orange juice, and Bruce who was indulging in the Coca-Cola.

"That stuff will rot your teeth, Bruce," he said as he strolled into the room, as if he hadn't been spying on them. They looked surprised at his smooth entrance, but Tony tried not to react. He was aware that they had no idea how to behave around him—and he didn't want to make it any more awkward than it already was.

"Good evening, Tony," Pepper said, smiling at him as he flicked the kettle on.

"Hey Pep'," he said, offering a small close-lipped smile in return. "It's up to you guys to enjoy all my alcohol now."

"Don't speak too soon—we have no idea what your limits are yet," Steve said. He was probably trying to be reassuring in saying that, but it just made Tony feel vulnerable and defensive. Did they want to know his weaknesses? Or was he just being paranoid?

"Mm," he managed, putting the blood bag in a pan and setting it on the counter.

"What are you doing?"

"Well, I meant it when I said that I wanted my food warmed through," Tony said, a little too much acid in his voice. He had no idea why he was so annoyed, but he was, damn it. And worse, it was obvious.

The kettle boiled and shut off, so Tony was given the perfect excuse to turn away from their discomfited expressions add a little cold water to the pan and pour hot water over the blood bag. As they waited in uncomfortable silence for several long, long moments, Tony finally spoke up. "So, you wanted to talk to me about something?"

"Oh! Yes, it's about the alterations." Pepper said, consulting her tablet.

"Alterations?"

"Well, to your schedule and to the mansion. I've already contracted for completely UV-proof glass to be installed in every window and door in your properties—that includes the Tower. There's also the… food… issue. I'm not entirely sure how we're going to deal with that yet. You've probably got enough for the week, if you have one bag a day." Pepper seemed hesitant to call it what it was, and that annoyed Tony. Annoyed and hurt him.

"And after that?"

"I don't know. We can't rob blood banks—people will start to notice."

"Like they'll notice I'm suddenly nocturnal and have fangs?" Tony said, his voice levelling into that bland tone of sarcasm that could cut through steel. "Or that I'm dead?"

"You're not dead, Tony." Steve said, frowning even as his eyes betrayed his anguish.

Tony fished the blood bag from the pan and shot them a grin that only a hungry vampire is capable of before unscrewing the cap and taking a big slurp of blood. Warmed through, it was absolutely delicious. His eyes actually fluttered slightly as he swallowed deeply. Again and again. When about half the contents were gone, he felt his stomach tighten and he stopped, recapping the bag and putting it back in the pan to stay warm. Then, remembering he had a point to make, he walked over to Bruce and grabbed the man's warm hand, lifting it to his own throat. "Do you feel a pulse, doctor?" he asked, leaning on the final word. "Do you?"

"No." Bruce pulled his hand away, his face carefully blank. "We knew this already Tony. You're undead."

"What does that even mean?" Tony exclaimed, backing away again to his side of the island unit. "Why are you all treating me like I've got a bomb strapped to me? I'm already dead, or undead, or whatever you want to call it. What's the worst that could happen now?"

"The worst would be that you die the sort of death you can't wake up from." Steve argued, getting to his feet. "Stop pushing us away, Tony."

Tony felt himself sag slightly. He knew that they only wanted to help, but since he was so utterly powerless, he resented their intrusion somewhat. Realising that during his internal scream, the silence had gone on too long, he straightened and looked away from them.

"I need some air." He snapped, and stormed out, ignoring the exclamations behind him even though he could hear them perfectly. Bursting out into the garden, he inhaled deeply and smelled a thousand scents on the freezing November air. Exhaust fumes, food, humans, concrete, smoke… He didn't feel the cold as before—aware of it, yes, but not hurt by it. In a t-shirt and bare feet he walked further into the garden, uncaring of all about him. He sat down on a stone bench and leaned forward on his elbows, head hanging low. The irritation served to distract him from the inner panic welling up each time he paused to consider what had happened to him.

What could he do?


A phone rang and was swiftly answered after only two shrill screams.

"Hello?" a woman's voice, the accent crisply English.

"It's Alfred," said a man on the other end. "You said you wanted news if our friend did anything untoward."

A sigh. "Last I heard, he was in the Americas."

"And still is. Four days ago he had his lackeys abduct Antony Stark and I suspect that the billionaire was turned. Although since the Iron Man's friends rescued him almost immediately, there is the possibility that 'the Master', as he now calls himself, did not have the time to actually do the deed."

A pause.

"I think you'll agree that this has gone on long enough," Alfred added.

"Indeed it has. How do you find these things out so quickly, Alfie?" the woman said in mocking wonder.

"You know perfectly well," Alfred replied curtly. "Now if you don't mind, it's dinner time and Rhona has made game stew."

"Goodbye then. Please give my regards to your delightful family."

The line went dead.

Time to leave Serbia.


Over the next week, Tony grew accustomed to being nocturnal. Steve and Bruce were staying in the mansion with him, which left the newly born vampire frustrated. He felt trapped enough as it was, without having to consider others' feelings. They were too kind and accommodating, hypersensitive to his moods and giving him all the space he needed. And when he wanted to talk—about as often as he felt like a cheeseburger—they were happy to sit with him and chat. The manor's blinds and curtains were permanently drawn and Tony could now walk through the house at any time of the day. He was initially cautious about this measure but quickly regained his usual confidence.

With UV proof windows already being installed in the Tower, Tony planned to move back into his preferred residence before Christmas. But for the time being he amused himself with engineering tinkerings and small projects. He tried to ignore the vampire thing, but every time he got hungry the realisation returned.

On that particular night, he was fiddling with a remote for the new electric doors when JARVIS alerted him to their visitor's presence.

"Sir, there appears to be a young woman at the gates of the property. She has been pressing the intercom button for precisely three seconds. Would you like to speak to her, or shall I ask Dr Banner to do so in your stead?"

"Nah it's okay—patch her through." Tony said, turning his attention to the CCTV live feed of a young woman in ripped narrow jeans and a black parka. She had a battered canvas rucksack with her and seemed unconcerned by her grand surroundings.

Tony pressed the intercom button and smiled. "Hello there," he drawled. "What can I do for you?"

The woman's eyes flicked up to the discreet camera, and Tony had the distinct impression that she could see him. He shrugged it off and waited for her to respond.

"Actually, Mr Stark," she said in a smooth British voice, "it is more about what I can do for you."

Normally that kind of offer would have been a not-so-subtle prelude to a blissful one night stand. But this woman didn't exude the 'easy-woman' vibe. Something was extremely off about this situation. From her battered plimsolls to her scraggly ash-blonde ponytail, she gave off the aura of casual sophistication that was at odds with her clothes. And there was a neutral, expectant look in her eyes that was just a little too self-assured for his liking.

"And how exactly do you think you can help me?" he asked.

"I am an expert in the chronic condition you have recently been diagnosed with," the woman answered, her tone calm. "I am here to help."

"Ha, good one," Tony dead-panned, his brain racing.

Who was this woman? How on earth did she—?

The woman flashed him a momentary grin—

oh-shit-those-teeth-no-fangs!-oh-shit

It was all the confirmation he really needed. He shut off the intercom. "JARVIS?"

"Yes sir?"

"Please inform Bruce of our guest and have him meet me in the lounge." Steve was out for the day, which was perhaps a blessing. He didn't like the idea of Steve being exposed to vampiric strength and savagery—at least Bruce could go green and Tony was already dead.

"Of course, sir."

Tony was on his feet and out the door before the AI had finished the reply. He dashed up to the ground floor before making his way more sedately down the path to the gate to the young woman. Warily, he studied every detail: she was not quite short and seemed to be in her early twenties, with ash blonde hair and clear hazel eyes. She was slim—not like Pepper's statuesque sleekness, nor Natasha's curvaceous athleticism—but in a narrow, lean sort of way. Like a ballet dancer, perhaps. Her jeans were a faded black and stone-washed, the black parka was old and plain, without any fake fur around the hood. Her skin was pale, but not luminously white like the other vampires. That didn't make any sense, but Tony didn't think his opening line should be to ask what make-up she wore. That would make the completely the wrong impression.

"Um… hi…" Tony said quietly, feeling apprehensive. Had he imagined it? This woman didn't appear to be anything like his kidnappers, but that didn't mean she was necessarily on his side.

"Mr Stark, good evening." She replied, stepping inside as the gate opened fractionally to let her in. "I am Eleanor Tolvay. Forgive me for my unannounced visit, I do not have a mobile phone."

"The pleasure is all mine," Tony replied, stepping aside and gesturing up to the mansion. "Shall we go inside?"

"That would be delightful," Eleanor said, smiling slightly as Tony led her through the mansion. Eleanor didn't seem to observe the house she was walking through, nor did she pay Tony any particular attention. Nevertheless, Tony was acutely aware of her presence.

Bruce looked up at them when they entered and he smiled politely as introductions were made. Eleanor accepted the offer of a drink, choosing a glass of wine over whisky or the fruit juice that Bruce opted for. She also declined a seat but bade the men to sit down, as if preparing to deliver a lecture. After shedding her parka—revealing a faded slogan t-shirt and a narrow, girlish figure.

"You are no doubt curious as to my identity and my motives for being here," she said, clasping her hands behind her back. She stood with the poise and stillness of a statue—which was rather creepy. "But you must understand, I am not used to sharing my secrets—any attempt to breach my privacy will be taken as an act of aggression and I will react accordingly." She paused and waited for their consent before continuing. "Mr Stark, you are aware of your new nature?"

Tony nodded. "I'm a vampire."

Eleanor nodded once. "That is correct. You have been inducted into a once noble bloodline that has since fallen into disrepute and not, I think, with your consent."

"Um, right." Tony said, wondering if there was a part of the story he'd missed.

Like how the hell she knows all this.

"Tell me, how long were you the unwilling guest of the one you probably knew as 'the Master'?" Eleanor's face didn't betray a thing, but Tony suspected that she didn't consider the older vampire a friend.

"About three days. I wasn't told anything before I was…" he didn't know the correct term—all the pop culture references were either crude or melodramatic.

"Most of us like to say 'transformed' or 'turned'," Eleanor supplied gracefully. "Yet there are many ways of expressing the process. My personal favourite is 'born into darkness'—amusingly macabre and ultimately inaccurate." She actually smiled thinly before growing serious, her gaze slicing into him. "You are taking this very well. Is this due to pervading modern culture, or simply because you have exhausted all scientific possibilities for a reversal of the condition?"

"Probably both," Tony admitted. She sounded a bit like a doctor or psychiatrist.

Eleanor nodded and stooped to sip at her wine before straightening. "That makes this at once easier and more difficult," she said, as if admitting to some deadly weakness. "You have been forcibly taken from your vampiric creator—this is not usually the done thing amongst those of us who consider ourselves civilised. It is considered the duty of the creator to teach their newborn 'children'. And as much as it grieves me to do so, I am here to pick up the pieces." Her face didn't reveal her feelings, but her tone had darkened considerably.

"Since 'it grieves you' so terribly, why did you come here?" Tony asked, annoyance bleeding into his tone. He liked to think he was pretty approachable, fangs and all. "Does this mean I'm in trouble? Is there some sort of fanged committee that is after my head?"

Eleanor shook her head. "We are in no way organised. Only age and bloodline distinguishes individuals. Luckily for you, your pedigree is good. However I presume you do not wish to seek out your maker for the necessary mentoring."

"Got that right," Tony said forcefully.

"Which is why I am here to offer my protection and guidance," Eleanor said, as if this was the obvious next step.

But the silence that met her declaration was deafening. Eventually Bruce spoke up. "Protection? So Tony is in danger."

"If he doesn't find a teacher soon, he will be." Eleanor said. "And please believe me when I say that it is highly unlikely any other vampire will approach you with such a generous offer or such good intentions. If they contact you at all."

"And what's in it for you? A finder's fee?" Tony asked, suddenly aware that this vampire—while persuasive, charming and seemingly domesticated—may not have his best interests at heart. She may want his money and influence.

Or just his head over her mantelpiece.

Eleanor actually chuckled, real mirth spreading across her face like a sunbeam warming one's skin. "Mr Stark I have lived long enough to not be swayed by celebrity or heroism. And while I may not be wealthy I can look after myself. My motives are my own, but for now they align with yours." She tilted her head slightly, considering him. "I appreciate your suspicion and the fact that I must seem very strange to you, but I mean you no harm. I simply wish to help you. Nor will I entangle you in my own affairs." She finally sat down on the couch across from Tony and Bruce, lounging back and swirling the wine in its glass as she stared at them over its paper-thin rim. Waiting.

Tony and Bruce both hesitated, sharing a loaded look.

After another moment, Bruce spoke up. "What sort of danger would Tony be in if he refused your offer?"

Eleanor blinked slowly, as if this was a particularly dense question. "Since he does not know the first thing about his new state, let alone the rules of survival, Mr Stark would be lucky to live a year before he is killed."

"Who would want me dead?" Tony asked.

"Well apart from your personal and professional enemies, there are also other vampires, human authorities and of course your own friends."

"My friends?" Tony said sharply.

Eleanor gave him a deeply cynical look. "Please Mr Stark, do not insult my intelligence. Your situation will place immense moral and emotional strain on your friends. Think about it: you are now a ferocious death-bringer whose sole natural instinct is to devour human beings." She straightened and leaned forward, eyes starting to gleam with a strange intensity. "And I can guarantee that you will."

"But—" Tony protested.

"You will." Eleanor repeated, her voice deepening slightly. There was something truly frightening in her face as her burning gaze bore into them. And then she was on her feet in a flash—so unnaturally fast that they didn't catch her movement. It was a tiny display of power, but it was enough to make both men flinch. "I shall return in two days' time to receive your answer, thank you for the wine." She put her parka back on, picked up her bag and headed for the door. Tony hastened to escort her out, Bruce trailing in his wake as they saw her out.

After a formal goodbye at the gate, Eleanor turned away and marched off into the night.


What will Tony's answer be? Should he trust Eleanor? Will he kill someone?

Feedback fuels productivity and all suggestions welcomed.

~ L.