Disclaimer: The Legend of Zelda, its characters and locations are all property of Nintendo. Any and all OCs and original locations belong to me unless specifically stated to belong to someone else.

Sanguine Shackles
Chapter 14
A Fortuitous Encounter

At some point, he must have passed out. He knew this, because he could in no way recall ever thinking that going to sleep face-down in a wide-open clearing, exposed to the elements, fauna, and random passers-by on the road at the end of it, was a good idea. Granted, it wasn't a big road—more an access path for the wood cutters who had...well, cleared the aforementioned clearing.

Sitting up took three attempts, his ribs still aching, and it was with a groan that he realised he must have slept through the day, if only because of how raw and tight the skin of his right cheek (the only part of him that had been exposed to the sun) felt. If he had a mirror, he was sure he'd find the flesh there covered in the worst sort of sunburn.

Another thing the myths got wrong—direct exposure to the sun would certainly hurt and, eventually, kill a vampire, but nowhere near as fast as the stories, where even a single ray would have the evil leech burst into flames like a demon crossing a temple threshold.

Luckily, the sun had already set, only the pink tinge to the sky and clouds betraying its passage. An unpleasant wind had begun to blow, and Sheik was glad he couldn't feel the chill in it too much, but at least the rain had stopped at some point, and the sun had dried his clothes during the day. That improved his mood a little, despite his injuries and the hollow feeling of his guts...until he realised something, which prompted the question currently burning in his mind.

Where the hell am I?!

His memories of the night before were all fuzzy, the only thing he could remember with any sort of clarity being the encounter with the party of hunters, and...ah...

He looked at his left arm, which he'd done his best to wrap up after digging the bullet out with his bare fingers. Washing it in a stream had probably not been the best way to clean the wound, but it was all he'd had at the time. He carefully replaced it in the makeshift sling he'd made out of the remains of one of his shirts, hoping he'd find a town nearby, with medical supplies so he could at least clean and wrap up the wound properly. Vampire or no, he doubted walking around with an open wound was a good idea.

And those hunters...

Jhaan, Reyne and...Magnus, was it?

He wanted to beat himself for his own stupidity in that farce. He'd thought, at first, that lighting the fire was a mistake. The rational part of his mind had certainly given him an earful. But old habits and his own personal desire for comfort had won out...and look where that had gotten him. Nearly killed by his own blood.

There was no doubt the Sheikah woman was a relative. She wouldn't have been present at the clan meeting if she weren't, but that was about the extent to Sheik's knowledge of her. Granted, he wasn't all that familiar with his extended family—he'd always reported directly to Impa, and the other hunters at the Studio (as well as Zelda) had filled in for the rest of the clan. When he made it home, he'd have Kafei look her up. He'd have to attend another meeting soon anyway, to be acknowledged by the elders as the new Half-Sun leader.

He looked up at the sky again, trying to guess the sun's position based on what little light remained. If he could figure out the compass directions, at least he'd know which way to go, even if he had no idea where he was in the world right now.

Eugh, no idea, he thought after a minute of increasingly frustrated glaring at the sky. Doesn't matter, I suppose. Only one way to go, really.

The access road was lined by trees on both sides, the middle of it a muddy mess, scored by dozens of boot tracks and dragged tree logs. If nothing else, that proved he was somewhere that was still travelled by people, rather than the middle of the wilderness.

Every step took more effort than it should have. His hunger was making itself known as more than just a perpetual dry feeling in his mouth. It was actively sapping his strength, now, and even if he'd just slept the entire day away like an idiot, he still wouldn't mind having a lie-down.

Pathetic, he thought. Some hunter I am...couldn't even scrounge up a rat like this...

In the back of his head, a constant worry that the hunters were still on his tail kept niggling at him as well. In hindsight, killing them would have been the safer option. No one would be alive to reveal to the hunters at large that a Sheikah had been turned, wouldn't paint a giant target on his back.

I really should have killed them...

Misplaced loyalty. It was hard to get rid of—he'd always been a hunter, and he'd imagined he'd always be a hunter, even unofficially...but that had been naïve, hadn't it? His friends and family at the Sanctuary might not have minded his...condition, but the rest of the hunters certainly would. He'd never be accepted.

Even so, he found he could not muster any sort of killing intent, not even against those who'd tried to kill him the night before. They were only acting on what they'd been taught, what they'd been taught to fear.

Did they know, though, who or what I was? Or was it just a coincidence? Did she realise who I was, based on what I said?

Lost in thought and numbed by pain, he didn't realise that the last light of the day disappeared, and he was walking through the woods in pitch black darkness. The mud sucked at his boots, threw him off-balance. More than once did he find himself on his knees in the road, blinking in confusion when his ribs were suddenly burning at the sudden movement of his fall.

Only when he heard muted voices in the distance and smelled cooking meat in the air did his consciousness return to the waking world, and he realised how exposed he was. Several piles of lumber had been stacked up alongside the road, and a cart stood nearby. The lights of a camp could be seen among the trees, and Sheik knew he'd found the lumberjacks.

He turned off the road, creeping closer to the camp under the covers of the trees and bushes around him. A camp meant people, and people meant supplies. He'd lost most of his thanks to Jhaan and the others...and perhaps there would be something he could...could eat. Chickens, or pigs, or...or...

It was a strange quirk of his mind, deciding that he'd have no trouble drinking the blood of a chicken or a pig, but balking at the idea of draining a horse. He understood it with sapient beings like people, but that was also because of his sense of morals (what little he had left, at least).

Then again, maybe he wouldn't have to. If the men at the camp were cooking meat, surely they had animals meant for slaughter? These people spent weeks—months, even!—in the woods, chopping down trees. They had to get their food fresh somehow!

So he decided to wait. There were at least a dozen men in the camp, plus a few already sleeping in the tents. As soon as everyone was asleep, he'd sneak in and find something of use, whether it was supplies or food. It nearly filled him with shame, knowing he was living up to the ugly rumours about his people being thieves and criminals and gods knew what else, but...the hunger was too difficult to ignore now. His body had no hope of repairing the damage done to it on its own without sustenance.

He must have dozed off again, at some point, because suddenly the camp went silent save for the sounds of breathing coming from the tents. His trousers had soaked through from sitting on the still-wet forest floor, and the muscles of his torso had stiffened because of the uncomfortable position. He thanked his lucky stars the lumberjacks weren't a routined lot—surely a perimeter sweep would have revealed his presence.

Deciding he had no time to waste, Sheik left his pack in his hiding spot and slowly crept into the camp, keeping to the shadows and avoiding the light of the lamps, lit to keep wildlife away. The camp had clearly been here for a while, based on the amount of rubbish and various conveniences the men had clearly built. He steered clear of the ramshackle outhouses, though—he doubted his nose would survive such an encounter. The mixed smells of unwashed bodies, food both cooked and rotten, alcohol and old vomit were bad enough.

A cursory search of the open part of the camp revealed nothing but old scraps, to his disappointment. There were horses in a stable-like shack near the opening to what appeared to be a larger road, but he wouldn't touch them unless he had no other choice. Plus, the sheer noise it'd create would surely rouse the camp. If he were weak after the encounter with the green men, he was absolutely feeble after fighting Jhaan's party.

He'd have to start searching the tents at this rate, but they weren't large, and just one tiny mistake would result in a catastrophic mess he wasn't sure he could handle right now.

He spotted a slightly larger tent at the centre of the tent rows, and his stomach roiled with hunger at the sight of blood splatters visible on the once-white canvas of it. A large pot in a fire pit at the front suggested it was the cook's tent.

Surely there will be something in there!

To his disappointment, he found only dead chickens, already bled, and one sleeping cook, snoring loudly on his cot. There was plenty of food for mortals, but none that would do Sheik any good.

Damn...guess I'll have to try...try...

His thoughts trailed off completely as he stepped closer to the cot and caught a scent he couldn't place...other than it being absolutely heavenly. Sniffing at the air, he took another few steps closer, curiously gazing at the sleeping cook, trying to figure out where the scent was coming from.

Irony...with...oh...oh no!

Before he knew what he was doing, he leaning over the cook, his knee resting on the side of the cot, staring down at the exposed neck of the man. Tattooed and not very familiar with the concept of personal hygiene, the thought of biting into that neck was repulsive...and irresistible. Sheik's fangs were already out, and he felt himself, to his shame, drooling.

Just a little bite, he thought. To keep me going. He'll feel good after a while anyway...might even fall back asleep, thinking it's a dream...gods, he stinks...but it smells so good...

It was the same way he'd felt when straddling Jhaan. He could almost hear the beating of his heart, see the veins on his neck pulsating with the rush of blood...but now he found it almost impossible to stop...

This is fine...I'm doing it to survive, that's it...that's it...Link would understand...wouldn't he?

He could have told himself it was a bad idea over and over until the end times, and he still would have convinced himself it was all right. But the thought of Link's disappointment, the face his lover would make when Sheik told him of what he'd done...that was unbearable.

He thinks I'm better than this...knows I'm better than this...

His mouth was inches from the man's neck, leaning over him like a lover, like he was about to kiss him. No...Link wouldn't approve of this...they were monsters, but they were better than their instincts.

No!

Sheik slowly pulled himself back from the brink, pulling away from the cot at the same time, trying to keep his unsteady breathing calm. This was...bad, but he'd managed to stop himself just in time. Letting his fangs flick back into place, he breathed out and eased himself off the cot.

The man shifted, and his eyes opened. The moment seemed to last for an eternity before they widened, and he opened his mouth with a bellow.

"Thief! Thief! Wake up, we're being robbed!"

Sheik lashed out, punching the man in the face just too late to stop him from crying out. He was out cold, but the rest of the camp had woken up, men crying to each other to catch the intruder. Panicking, Sheik burst out of the tent and ran directly into the barrel chest of a dazed-looking logger. Both cried out at the impact, and the man's arms came down, clumsily trying to catch him. Sheik darted out of his reach, instinctively reaching for a dagger but forcing himself not to. He wasn't trying to kill anyone—didn't want to kill anyone!

Have to run, run, run! How many fucking woodcutters are there in this camp?!

Wherever he turned or ran there was a big, burly bastard waiting for him, blocking his path. Opponents he had no chance of taking on in his weakened state, and he wasn't fast enough to keep running forever. His ribs ached, his head feeling like cotton. Where was the edge of the camp, where was—

He was surrounded—the men had forced him into a circle that was rapidly closing in on him. Trapped, like an animal. Like a beast. A monster. He growled and drew his dagger, hoping he wouldn't have to use it.

"Stay away from me!" he snapped, to which the men only reacted with laughter, some brandishing axes bigger than him.

"Would you look at this?" one of the loggers said, a huge beard obscuring most of his face, though his lips were locked in a disgusting sneer that was missing several teeth. "A little savage brat come in to steal from us!"

The men laughed more.

"Even brought his butter knife," he continued, staring at the dagger in Sheik's hand. He looked unconcerned...but Sheik knew his knife was sharp enough to cut his throat wide open with a single swipe. "How's Chef?" he asked to no one in particular.

"Little nomad knocked 'im out, chief!"

"How rude," the supposed chief said between the gaps in his teeth. "How're you going to repay us for that, boy?"

Sheik glared. "I'm sorry, I did not mean to hurt, but I was desperate. Let me go, and we can just...forget about this, right?"

Chief shook his head. "You come into our camp trying to steal our shit, knock our cook out, and you're asking us to just forget about it? That ain't how the world works, son. You gotta make this right. Got any ideas?" When Sheik said nothing, he looked at his men. "Anyone else?"

"Put him to work!" someone said, their tone lecherous. There were agreeing murmurs and chuckles. "Honest job for the savage! It's all they're good for!"

"You'd scrub up well, I think," the chief said, looking Sheik over like he was a connoisseur of some disgusting sort. "Ain't seen a woman in weeks...guess you'd do for a little while at least."

"Fuck you!" Sheik snarled, his patience snapping as he lunged at the man, aiming to stab him right in the gut, but he moved with surprising speed, grabbing Sheik's wrist and twisting his arm behind his back, forcing him down to his knees.

He tried to struggle, but he was too weak, too hungry, to put up much of a fight, his body sapped of strength. The stink of the man invaded his nose, sour and stale. Around him, the other men were closing in, grinning and spouting all sorts of insults at him, usually to the theme of what he'd do for a taste of their...well...

Sheik was furious with himself, vision fogging up a little.

I am such a fucking idiot! Goddamn useless piece of shit...should have died in the sewers! Hah, look at this goddamn mess...

A hand was cupping his chin, squeezing the sides of his jaw, forcing him to open his mouth.

"Got a nice set o' teeth," one of the men said. "Could sell 'em for a pretty penny—he won't need 'em with his new job!" The idea was met with more agreeing words and amused guffaws.

Humiliation burning, Sheik did the only thing he could at that moment. He clenched the muscles in the roof of his mouth, the same ones that had taken weeks for him to learn to control...and let his fangs slot into place.

The effect was immediate. The man inspecting his teeth gave a surprised cry and sprang back, pointing at him with wide eyes. "M-monster!"

The chief tightened his hold on Sheik's arm, which felt like it was about to break, while someone else took hold of his other arm, wrenching it out of the sling and causing him to cry out.

"Eh? What're those gnashers for, then?" the chief asked, chuckling at the way Sheik's eyes had clouded over with pain. "Some sort of wood sprite, are we?" He squeezed Sheik's wrist until he lost his grip on the dagger, picking it up and brushing the flat of the blade against Sheik's throat. "Always knew somethin' was wrong with you savages..." He put the edge to Sheik's skin, and he felt it cut through it like paper. "Any last words?"

"Kill the freak!"

"Slit him open!"

The calls to kill him were deafening, and Sheik felt resistance leaving his body more and more for every second that passed. He couldn't fight back, and his teeth hadn't provided the distraction he'd needed...at least he wasn't about to be murdered by his grandmother's kukri, which he'd left safely in his pack. Better it stay there, lost to the ages, than wind up in these bastards' hands...

"Pity," the chief said. "You'd have made a good whore—hrgh!"

His words were cut off as a crossbow bolt suddenly exploded out of his throat. He released both Sheik and his dagger, grabbing at the piece of metal jutting out of his body, mouth opening and closing uselessly, his voice reduced to a whisper-like whistle emanating from the hole in his neck. He pitched forward, landing next to Sheik in the dirt, movements slowing.

The rest of the camp was in a panic.

"He's not alone!"

"Where are they?!"

"Get your rifles, get your—argh!"

Sheik's vision was swimming, barely able to make out the shapes around him. Shadows were moving among the wood cutters, knives and swords flashing in the lantern lights as they mercilessly cut the men down like they were trees. A pool of blood was slowly growing beneath the chief's twitching body, the smell of his blood...intoxicating...

Sheik could no more hold himself back than he could stop a moving train. He crept over to the body, turning it over and ripping the bolt out of its neck, placing his mouth over the wound, lapping and sucking at it, trying to get as much of the life-giving fluid out of it as possible.

Bliss. Utter bliss. It was like a mist had been obscuring his mind, and when it lifted he could see everything clearly again. The pain of his body lessened a little, a warmth spreading through his limbs.

The man was nearly dry, and Sheik growled, shoving the body away and starting to lap at the pool beneath it, paying no heed to the dirt and mud he was consuming at the same time. He paid the silence around him no heed, and only became aware of a pair of boots in front of him when there was no more blood on the ground. He looked up, seeing the kindly looking face of a middle-aged woman with impossibly red hair staring down at him with a pitying expression.

"Gods, what have they done to you?" she asked, crouching down to get a better look at him. Her eyes shone amber in the dark. Around her, the shadows, now revealed to be men wearing black uniforms and black masks, all armed with a variety of cutting weapons, standing at attention. She reached out and placed a cool hand on Sheik's cheek, stroking it gently. "Lord Sheik?" she asked.

"You...know me?" Sheik managed to force out, his mouth full of...unspeakable things. "How?"

"I could smell you from miles away," she said, frowning at the state of him. "And who else would you be? When I heard them...I'm sorry, but I had no choice but to order my men to attack."

"Who...?"

"My name is Ise," she said, brushing some of her fiery red hair back. "Of Lumina," she added when there was no recognition to be had from the Sheikah. She frowned. "You poor thing, you must be starving. Why haven't you fed?"

"Haven't...been able...to..." Sheik slurred, his eyes closing involuntarily. The excitement of the night, his starvation, and exhaustion were taking their toll, and he felt his consciousness slipping away once more...

Ise watched as Emory's heir finally succumbed to his injuries and hunger, passing out in the mud, where he'd been lapping at the bloody runoffs seconds before. Gods knew what the young creature had been through, but it had clearly been a harrowing experience. Standing up, she snapped her fingers.

"Take him to the carriage—and be careful with him, for pity's sake!" she snapped, watching as two of her men picked Lord Sheik out of the mud and carried him out of the camp, back towards the main road.

It was mere luck she'd caught the scent of an unknown vampire on their way past, and had ordered a stop. Even luckier, still, that they'd managed to get there just in time to prevent the young vampire's execution.

"Have Lahr take a look at him," she ordered another man. "His wounds need cleaning."

"Yes, my lady," the man replied, taking off after the ones carrying the Sheikah.

The rest of her men were spreading out again, looking through the camp for stragglers. From the cooking tent, someone cried out, but it was cut off a moment later.

Ise didn't consider herself a particularly vengeful or malignant creature. She had her skeletons in the closet, true, but only ones that had been necessary. She didn't kill very often—but she felt no guilt for ordering the deaths of every man in this camp. The things they'd said...she'd have done the same for anyone, not just a fellow vampire.

Stealthy footsteps at her right, and she turned to the blonde human woman who'd appeared from the shadows, her eyes amber as well.

"Anything?" Ise asked.

"His things," she replied, handing Ise what appeared to be Lord Sheik's travelling gear. A couple of books, some ripped spare clothing, a pair of pistols, and a wicked-looking knife that appeared to be curved forward. The sort Emory had liked to use. A...kukri, she seemed to recall.

"Thank you, Anna," Ise said, smiling at her protégé. "Was there anything else?"

"No," Anna replied, frowning. "He seems to have travelled very light."

"Too light," Ise said, glaring at the dead men at their feet. "You heard what they intended before trying to kill him?"

"I did. I agree with this decision."

"Good." Ise turned back towards the road. "I'll head back to the carriage. Make this—"she gestured at the camp around them"—look like a bandit attack, will you? Steal some valuables. Can't have the hunters find this and track us down."

"As you wish, my lady." Anna bowed low, then turned around and began ordering the men about, following her orders.

Ise smiled again. She'd chosen well, with this one.

To be continued...

There is never not a good time for more OCs, right? It's like a sickness!

Ise is actually from Soul Remnants, a previous Zelda fic of mine. Granted, she wasn't a vampire in that one, but still!