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Caprice

Chapter V


Dr. Trafalgar returned home late in the afternoon, as the sun began its descent below the evergreen trees, to find dead animals tacked to the front of his door. Two rabbits and the head of a doe, its black coal eyes missing from their sockets. The blood had seeped down the dark wood, staining it, and a puddle that he would barely be able to leap over gathered at his feet.

"Shachi! Shachi, come outside at once and clean up your mess!" the doctor cried, irritated more than anything at being unable to enter his humble abode. "Shachi! I will not play demonic games with you."

Bepo wandered over and sniffed at the deer head. "Freshly killed," he informed his companion through pointed teeth, who clearly could tell for himself. The blood was still dripping and had not yet hardened. He did not want to sully himself just for his morbid curiosity, yet he had the uncanny feeling that at least the gory remains of the deer would still be warm to the touch.

"Shach–"

"I'm here, Master!"

The doctor looked up to see his little whale-like boggart clamouring down a bunch of vines from a window above. He looked nearly human in his little cap and boyish garb, but his feet were horridly clawed and webbed. They also shone as if slick. Law immediately thought he had been playing in either the lake or the washbasin earlier.

If his floors were wet, too, on top of this disgrace…

"I'm here," Shachi said as he alighted on the ground, clawed toes sifting through dirt cheerily. The doctor gave an exaggerated head nod towards his front door. "Oh dear," Shachi breathed out through his gills, "Oh dear. Well. I was not the culprit."

"It smells like that shapeshifter," Bepo informed them. His chest puffed, and Trafalgar knew the bear would gloat later that he had known better than to let strangers past their threshold. "I think he meant them as thanks or something."

"Clean it up anyway, Shachi," Dr. Trafalgar instructed. "It is an abhorrent mess and I have work to prepare for later this evening. When I come back I hope it'll be clean. What an idiotic way to thank a man…"

Shachi immediately began to grumble under his fangs, and Trafalgar added, "I shall bring you back something from Grove 52. Squid, or something else that is equally slimy."

Shachi brightened immensely. The way to a whale-boggart's heart was certainly through his preference for seafood.

"By the way, where is Robin?"

Shachi wriggled his clawed toes, disturbing the dirt around his feet. "I think she said she'd be at the library in Grove 32. She didn't leave that long ago. The tiger-man went with her. He must have done this just before he left…rude."

Trafalgar grunted. It wasn't his business, and he no interest really in the affairs of a vampire passing through, even if they were dear friends who oft exchanged letters. He mounted Bepo and headed off again through the forest, leaving Shachi to make sense of the mess for him. Besides, there was always something for a doctor to do during the daytime. He had two empty cylinders stashed in Grove 2, a rather lawless area but a good place to hide things. One sickly patient liable to die at any time sprang to mind as he thought of those glass jars he stashed away.

He figured he might as well do some collecting while he had some spare time on his hands.

"To Grove 2, Bepo, then to the docks. Quickly, I want to catch the merchants before they close up shop for the day," Trafalgar informed his steed. Bepo huffed and his hide shivered in a white spasm as he altered his form slightly. Leaner legs and an elongated neck. More horse-like. Faster and more appealing to the eye, certainly.

They arrived in the lawless area of Sabaody, which was a collection of little huts that made up the 'grove,' many of them taverns where ruffians and bandits reigned supreme. The area was surrounded by a dense wood rumoured to have been the territory of a witch. An old folktale of the people of Sabaody, Trafalgar soon discovered. Nevertheless, the people refused to set foot in the surrounding woods of Groves 1 through to 29, often indicated on maps as red wash of colour dotted along the fringes of the town's centre. He more or less claimed the areas indicated in red for his own purposes.

Bepo spiralled down a hidden path into the woods just outside of the tiny hamlet. Trafalgar could see lamps through the trees. Once off the main road Bepo changed into a form more suited for crashing through the bushes. Though Trafalgar hated being jarred about on the back of a bear, he bore it as the form gave Bepo much relief. Besides, it would be a long, horsey night for him yet.

"That tree, Bepo. On the other side."

Bepo rounded a particular elderly birch and skidded to a halt when Trafalgar tugged at the scruff of his neck. The cylinders were just where he'd left them, in a rotted hollow near the trunk. He grabbed them, cramming them inside his medical rucksack for later.

The docks, Groves 50 through to 59, were peasant hamlets that were attached to the sea. He rode through the middle of civilization to get there, prompting Bepo into a very horse-like gallop. Not many souls were wandering about their respective hamlets or walking down the roads at this hour as it was nearing supper, but those he did encounter waved respectfully. He gave off a definite aura of being in a great hurry, and they marvelled after him, he knew. It helped keep up the tireless appearance of being dedicated to his work.

Bepo was winded by the time they arrived at the marketplace down on the wharf of Grove 53. Trafalgar bought some squid off of a fisherman and a few fish from the stall next to him for Penguin. He then caught a farmer trying to trade a freshly killed goose for either some fish or money from a vendor. The vendor wasn't looking to buy or trade, and Trafalgar made an offer for Bepo's sake. He just hoped Bepo wasn't salivating too openly.

After he was finished his shopping and had tied everything but the goose down to Bepo using a rope he had in his rucksack, he departed for a new location. He went to the farthest reaches of the township of Sabaody, to Grove 74, where he knew one very sick resident lived.

When he arrived he left Bepo in dense shrubbery, hidden from sight. "Enjoy your goose, but don't eat any of the fish."

Bepo snorted. "The only thing I like from the water is waterfowl."

He left him to the distinct sound of crunching bones and ripping flesh. Bepo was making a mess. He sighed, knowing it was too late to reprimand his steed, and continued on his way.

It was mere coincidence that he should run into a maid on his way up the pathway to one of the homes with thatched roofing. She took one look at him, stammered unintelligibly, and then pointed eagerly in the direction of the house.

He sighed once more. Damn. He was late.

Wordlessly he went inside and was directed to the bedside of one very pale, very much dead man under a cloth.

"Your master is dead," he told the maid girl quite plainly. She nodded, lip trembling.

"Before he… he sent me yesterday to the lawyer, for his will and all, and just now I was leaving to go to my Master's cousin's estate, sir. Mister Hawkins and his family? They promised to do the funeral arrangements when they were here last."

Dr. Trafalgar nodded. It seemed as though the dead body would be in good hands. He was just glad he was not being coerced into cleaning it and preparing it to be laid out in the front parlour – apart from the latter it had already been done. He could see the maid had wrapped a handkerchief beneath the chin and around the top of the head, and fastened it tightly. The maid then went on to explain that he'd died in sleep so there were no final words to be recorded, and that his eyes had been closed already. She'd also placed a linen cloth over the body and coins over the eyes to ward off the corpse's desire to bring someone else to the grave.

"All the mirrors in the house are covered with black sheets as well, doctor," she said.

Despite feeling an inkling of disappointment at having arrived too late to salvage a certain something from his victim's body, he had to admire this young woman's attention to detail.

"You are very efficient," he said. "Cleaning the body and all. He is dressed in a white nightgown, I presume?"

"Yes," the girl answered. "With white socks, doctor. I didn't tie his ankles together though…"

"Ah, I suppose I can take care of that. You've certainly done enough. Why don't you go to the estate of Mr. Hawkins now? I'll finish up here and move him into the parlour before the family arrives."

"Oh, oh!" she cried. "Are you sure you can lift him by yourself? He's quite a large man. Or rather he was."

Trafalgar snickered at the innocent concern. "Yes, I'm much stronger than I appear." He ushered the girl out, thankful that maids were generally very trusting of doctors. Anyone else and the girl wouldn't have left her master's side.

He stared down at the body beneath him, then slipped a hand under both the linen cloth covering it and the nightgown, touching the chilled flesh. It had certainly been a few hours, yet for his purposes did he even need the body to be fresh? The internal organs would still be acceptable if he wasn't to use them for anything other than dissection and a little amusement over a cup of tea.

He didn't drink tea. For some reason, the thought brought laughter out through his lips. Laughing in the face of Death…how rude of him. Oh well, he was already disrespecting the dead with his scheming.

He withdrew a scalpel, a medical saw, and a cloth from his rucksack, as well as one of the jars he'd picked up. With his supplies on hand, he went to work. He made two cuts, one down the middle of the chest and one over the heart, breaking ribs as he went. He retrieved what he wanted, holding it in his hands before placing it into the jar. When he finished only a bloody piece of cloth told of his lecherous deeds, and he could either wash or burn that later. He'd taken what he wanted and sewn the incisions up.

The nice thing about corpses that had been dead for several hours was that the blood was mostly stagnant and didn't run all over the place.

He finished dressing up the corpse and then left a note, explaining that he'd gone through all the rituals needed for a proper burial. He knew they wouldn't check anything on a closer scale. They never did.

All of his long-time caprice serum victims were people that wouldn't be too closely looked after. He had screened them well in advance. That was one of the many advantages to being a trusted doctor.

Moving the body was an arduous task, but somehow he managed and laid him out on a table in the front parlour of the home. After a moment's contemplation he folded the stiff, lifeless arms over the broad chest. The dead looked like the picture of a sleeping man. His work was thorough.

Now, it was dusk and he had to return home to prepare for his visit to the Eustass estate in the wee hours of the night. There was still much preparation to be done.

-oOo-

"Perhaps you should get some rest, my Lord?"

Lord Portgas looked up and saw that Marco had returned to his study, wearing a face of concern. "I thought you would be in bed by this hour yourself, Marco. In fact, I believe I sent you there."

Marco gave him a wry smile and said, "I cannot sleep knowing you're still awake. Forgive me for disobeying your orders, my Lord."

The lord sighed and shut the book he had in his lap, a text concerning primitive art that had been found in the New World. He hadn't really been reading it anyway. It was impossible to get any reading done when his blood was boiling so.

"Tea?" Marco asked tentatively. The man's deep, sonorous voice had stolen all of the lord's attention.

"No," the lord said. He placed the book on a nearby table, aware that if he didn't do it now, he would likely drop it on the floor like a fool in the presence of this man. "No, I'm not really planning on staying up much longer." He looked over to Marco, and his body was pulled closer to the edge of the seat. He simply could not avoid it.

"Marco, what is your opinion of me?" he asked suddenly. He wanted to know. "It has been a few days now, and surely you have formed one?"

"Ah," Marco mumbled, "I can't say I've formed an opinion just yet. I mean, a few days is not long enough to do so, my Lord. I still don't know a great deal about you."

Lord Portgas contemplated this, crossing one leg over the other as he leaned back in his seat. "Hmm. I see. Well, you should know that I enjoy art immensely. I have a great appreciation for it, and I am something of a painter myself. I enjoy portraiture."

"Oh, is that so?" Marco gave him a genuinely enthusiastic little smile. "You have people sit for you, then?"

"Yes. All the time. Yet at the moment I don't have many people in the area that I can convince to lounge about for a few hours in one position."

"That's unfortunate," Marco said, tanned face softening. Part of Marco's appeal, the lord supposed, was his general empathy for people. Whoever had raised him had done a good job of it.

Lord Portgas pursed his lips, wondering if he dared broach his true reason for bring up the subject. He snickered at his apprehension, and decided that if he didn't dare now, he likely would not get another convenient chance.

"Marco, I wish to ask a favour of you. See, I enjoy painting those that I believe have a strong tolerance for holding a single position at length, as well as those who have many layers of hidden emotion. So, it has occurred to me that perhaps the perfect subject would be mine own servant."

His valet was silent for a few seconds, blankly blinking at him through long lashes. Finally he said, "You don't mean to suggest…?"

"I do, of course. You would be the perfect sitter. If you are willing."

He could see Marco was confused, and rightly so. "But wouldn't you rather paint someone who is… I'm sure if you asked the duchess, or one of her noblewomen, they would be more apt to–"

"No, no," Lord Portgas interrupted. He cringed as he used a bit more force than was necessary to get his point across and softened himself immediately. "I haven't the patience to paint every fold of a woman's dress. Besides, I am very interested at this point in time in the more…revealing art of the painters and sculptors in old Italy. The classical Romans and Greeks, too, had the right idea. The human form is better expressed without, or with minimal clothing, wouldn't you agree? Not multiple petticoats and what have you."

Marco's eyes had widened and he seemed about to topple over. He said nothing, unable to refuse as it was a request of his master, yet unable to accept either.

"If you are willing," Lord Portgas repeated. "If not, it changes nothing. I'm merely bored of books and in need of something more expressive to occupy my time."

His subtle insistence was what wore Marco down. That, and Marco sincerely wished to please his master by obedience. "It would be an honour. When do you wish to have me sit for you?"

"Tomorrow should be wonderful. I have a feeling that it should be a marvellous summer day tomorrow, perfect to paint outside. Or, we could do it here in this room. The lighting is fair."

His lord's excitement brought a hesitant smile out of Marco. "Well then. Tomorrow I shall rise early and get the brunt of the day's tasks out of the way."

"Then you should sleep. Go. Good night, Marco."

"G'night, my Lord," he chorused, leaving the room with the grace in his carriage that Lord Portgas loved to admire. He felt giddy at the thought of what tomorrow would bring. He honestly had not anticipated that Marco would agree so easily.

He spent the better part of the night lounging in bed, his eyes toying with the shadows of the room and imagining all the different ways he could position his servant to create a pleasing portrait.

-oOo-

Dr. Trafalgar arrived at the Eustass estate a few hours after midnight, leaving Bepo to sit in a nearby stream to wash his bloody muzzle off. The moon was radiant, shining down through the trees as he crossed a meadow and traversed through the Eustass courtyard. He approached first the doorway, taking in the sight of the massive manor, then moved around to the side of the house. Here there were a few windows he could likely climb in through.

If he weren't a vampire.

He circled the house to gather his rampaging thoughts and then approached the door once more, grasping the bronze knocker to clap it hard against the metal surface of the plate behind. The metallic clanging roused a servant, who opened the door to find the doctor shrouded in fog.

The poor creature, in that awkward stage between boy and man, appeared to be scared witless. It was not often that people visited this late at night, and never in fog illuminated by moonlight.

Fog was eerie and some considered it to be a demonic trademark. He had a feeling he could lump the boy in with those superstitious sorts.

"I am doctor Trafalgar Law. Surely you've heard of me. I wish to room here and wait for your master to awaken. Will you let me in?"

The boy glanced behind him into the gloom of the house, waving the candle he held on a plate in his hands around so firelight lit the room immediately behind him. "O-oh, oh, certainly doctor. Come in."

Dr. Trafalgar glided inside, smiling smugly at how easy it was to convince humans to let a creature of night through their house's threshold. Now that he was in, it would be simple to take control and do as he pleased.

"Go to bed, boy, and leave me that candle. I'll settle myself in the parlour," the doctor commanded sternly, leaving little room for argument. The child looked at him and nodded, too nervous by his authoritarian tone to object. Trafalgar could be rather imposing, and besides, everyone trusted the doctor not to do anything strange.

The boy scampered off, leaving the candle behind on a table. As soon as he was out of sight, the doctor went over and blew the flame out. He wouldn't need it to see, considering his eyesight in ethereal darkness was superb, and if he did wish the young Lord Eustass to see him, there would be plenty of moonlight to aide his eyes should the man's bedchamber have a window.

He treaded lightly up the nearest stairs, medical bag slung over his shoulder. He had a feeling the bedchambers of the nobles would be up on the second floor of the home. He turned right upon ascending the marble steps and began opening doors. He found the elder Eustass first, snoring away. As he stood in the doorway, he fancied what he could do to the man. Kill him, certainly. Draw out his death with his fanciful caprice serum.

If he was but a human, which Trafalgar had yet to check for.

He ambled over to the bedside and hovered over the man's wrinkled face. He knew not if there was some absolute way of checking for the authenticity of one who had demon's blood in their veins, but he knew a human when he smelt one.

This one smelt very appetizing, if a bit aged. Like milk left in the sun.

He drew back in disgust at the thought and quitted the chamber before he could become engrossed in the scent of fresh, unspoilt blood churning beneath the surface of the elder lord's skin. It had been long since he'd last sunk his teeth into someone still alive. He didn't murder openly these days – disappearances or dead, pockmarked bodies were liable to raise torches and pitchforks in Sabaody. He wished to avoid the hubbub if at all possible. This was exactly why he played around with people, degraded their bodies until death was but a kind and expected release from it all.

It was much subtler, anyway. Yet boring. He could gather his drink of choice almost too easily. He had it down to an art. And when a gentleman has worked something down to an art, he finds that it is no longer desirable.

The consequence was that biting the senior Eustass suddenly became desirable, even if his rational conscious knew it to be disgusting.

He slunk around, peering here and there, and came upon another bedchamber belonging to the younger Eustass. He could hear the peaceful snores – not loud, yet absolutely riotous in the silence of the house – emanating from within. He entered and drew up alongside the crimson sheets on the bed.

Next he perused his medical bag, withdrawing from it a length of rope that had been cut into two pieces. He was a man who always had rope handy for just such occasions. With it he worked quickly, locating wrists and decorative holes in the bed's headboard and patching the two together. When he had both wrists tied securely, he watched from a distance as Lord Eustass woke, thrashing about fitfully but unable to break his binds.

He drew open the curtains, casting an expansive beam of moonlight onto the bed. When he was certain that Lord Eustass' blinking eyes were trying to focus on his dark silhouette, he let his voice ring out.

"Mister Eustass, it is a pleasure to see you again. I have returned for your check-up, as promised."

He swore he heard a beastly growl. Sure enough, as he took a few paces to the bedside, another growl emerged from the limp form of the man, whom had stopped thrashing at the sound of Trafalgar's voice.

"You."

"Oui, moi, seigneur de mauvaise humeur."

"Your French is detestable."

"Mon Français est parfait quand je suis à la bonne société," the doctor returned with a toothy smile. "Now, I wish to know how you are feeling. What happened to your poor body after I injected you with that drug?"

"I shall never tell you," snapped Eustass.

"Not even if I tickle your feet with a goose feather, Monsieur?"

Eustass swore and threw his weight against his binds, causing the headboard of the bed to tip forward and then smash back against the wall. It was a fierce attempt, but Dr. Trafalgar could see that his patient's strength was being sapped from his body. The drug meant to subdue him had some effect after all. Still, according to his extensive studies, if the man were human the drug should have left him barely able to open his eyes and certainly in no shape to twist his massive body about like a dying marlin.

"You tempt me to butcher you," the man said next after he regained his breath. "What the hell have you done to me?"

"Oh, this and that. It is of no import now. I can see the results quite clearly. Let us move on. I wish to ask more questions of you and your parentage, and seeing as how we're all tied up, I'm sure you'll be much more amiable than the last time I visited a few hours prior."

Dr. Trafalgar circled around the bed and approached from the other side, letting Lord Eustass see his face in the moonlight. He could see from this angle something that had escaped his notice until now. Those eyes that he'd caught before shining a deep red were lighter, fierier. Glinting at him with menace.

"I refuse. Untie me at once. I shall have you tried and executed for this. That, or I'll simply kill you myself. I'm sure that would be faster than going through the courts."

"You are hardly an agreeable man, Mister Eustass."

"I am sure my fists will be most agreeable with your face after you untie me."

The doctor pursed his lips. He was not irritated with the man's verbal baulking, no, not at all. He had all night. Besides, if he kept prodding away at this man, sooner or later he would get his answers, and the journey to the knowledge would certainly be upon a path of many pleasures.

"Mister Eustass," the doctor began again, "is it not a nice night? The moon is out in full force and the owls are singing haunting songs. Do you know much about owls, Mister Eustass?"

"Are you really that much of a birdman?" the lord asked with a grimace. "First that goose of yours, then penguins, and now owls?"

"I only wish to draw a comparison. See, I'm a creature of the night myself. I enjoy sitting up and watching the stars with a nice warm glass of…well, it is a drink few are inclined to indulge in." Trafalgar laughed lightly at himself for digressing. "What I mean to get at is that, like the nocturnal owl who takes in the night with his wide eyes, I do not tire easily when the sun is down. I shall be here until dawn, which is quite a few hours off."

"I'll be quite frank with you, doctor; you are a fucking tease of a man."

"Oh, you think highly of me then." The doctor rummaged about in his bag, fingered a few different vials and chemicals, and went back to an old favourite. "Remember our first meeting? Well, I have some more of that serum that taps into the most erotic of places in the brain. Would you like to sample it once more?"

Lord Eustass cringed and tried to scramble away from the doctor, but his legs were sluggish and that one attempt at freedom had left him exhausted. Whatever the doctor injected into his neck had certainly caused his muscles to go lax.

"I didn't feel this bad until now. I felt fine all evening and now I can't even move properly," the lord mused, nearly bemoaning his situation save for the fact that his tone was one of utter vexation. "What the fuck kind of a doctor are you? The doctor of death?"

"I am the kind that enjoys making discoveries, Mister Eustass. I find a great deal of people these days are not willing to take extensive measures for the good of the whole. Say one has a fantastic way to cure that plague ravaging certain parts of this world? He should want to test it first, and so needs a subject. You are my subject, but I have no interest in any plague."

Lord Eustass said nothing.

"Tell me of your mother."

"I don't know anything about her. I've been told she disappeared when my father died, not long after I turned seven. Then her corpse showed up near this estate, though I never did get to see it myself." Lord Eustass snorted at the muddled memory that surged forth. He had been just nine years old when that happened, and his governess had been planning to take him out for a walk when she'd discovered the body, rushed inside to tell his grandfather, and toppled over before his eyes. Oh, how she had shrieked nonsense before promptly fainting. It had been incredibly amusing as a child to witness his grandfather's reaction to this fainting business, really.

"You didn't wonder how that came about?"

"Who wouldn't wonder, doctor? Yet I don't care about her – I never knew her."

"Was she human?"

Lord Eustass eyes narrowed, with indignation, Trafalgar realized. "Of course she was human! What else would she be?"

The doctor was about to remark upon the shortcomings of the lord's knowledge with much wit when he was hit by an overwhelming flash of desire. It flushed his skin a light rouge and painted his fingertips a deathly white. The veins along his arms were bluish streaks, through his overcoat hid them from sight. He hadn't eaten lately, and he immediately regretted it for he thought of leaning down and nibbling on his patient.

Oh, he would have to go about this daintily; there was no means to repress this particular craving. The one condition he could not deal with was a demon within a demon.

He grasped his medical rucksack and rummaged about for a clean needle and a vial of a drug that induced sleep. When he located it, he plunged the needle in and drew up a healthy amount, then administered the drug before the lord knew what he was doing in the dark.

Lord Eustass grunted as the point penetrated his wrist, swore at him a few times, but did not strike him. He hadn't the strength.

Dr. Trafalgar sat by with a sleeve cuff over his nose, swallowing frantically to keep his saliva in check and breathing lowly to keep from filling his lungs with a musky scent that would drive him to act in an irrational way. He waited, patient as a dog for a meaty bone. Eventually, Lord Eustass' oaths died off and his body grew flaccid. As soon as he was sure, the doctor lowered his face to the nape of the man's neck and drank in his scent, flooding his internal demon with it for the first time.

It was a sweet, sweet odour, certainly, but it was not entirely a human scent. There were nuances in the smell to suggest human flesh, yet there was an ethereal quality about the skin when he grazed his lips against it.

Whatever it was about this man, it overpowered his common sense. He could not deny that this young lord had the most wonderful fragrance he'd ever had the pleasure of sniffing, but he could also not deny that this scent was eerie and made his heart flutter with worry.

He decided to bite now and weigh the consequences later.

He hardly spent time finding a preferable spot. He just curled his lips back, licked a patch of skin to coat it with numbing saliva, and sank his fangs in. Quickly, as the first trickle slipped around his teeth, he wrapped a gentle hand around the man's neck to keep himself from slipping around whilst locked in bliss.

As the blood touched his tastebuds and sent him into euphoria, he heard a low groan. He was inclined to ignore it, but the groan persisted as he began clenching and releasing his jaw, working the punctures wider. More of the man's life juice coated the back of his throat and slid into his stomach, and he came to the frenzied conclusion that this had to be the most sugary nectar he'd ever indulged in.

It tasted absolutely delicious, to put it rather frankly.

He withdrew to lap up some of the sticky sweetness from the man's skin that had missed imprisonment by his lips. He then paused, tongue above the wound, as a wheezing moan reached his ears. He moved back farther, disengaging from his task, and found two red eyes, wide as could be, staring into his very soul.

Oh, boggarts.

Lord Eustass' mouth was parted as he panted laboriously, seemingly using all of his willpower to stay conscious despite the drugs the doctor had administered to him. His mouth began to move, though no intelligible sound was produced.

Panicking at his animalistic carelessness, the doctor tore his gaze away and swept it down the body of the lord. The moonlight showed a curved shape beneath the cover of a blanket and Dr. Trafalgar recognized the situation as it was.

"You are very aroused," he stated softly, licking warm gore from his lips. Now that he'd had a taste, his wits were sluggishly crawling back to him. "I find it most peculiar. Humans do not do that under the serum of a vampire. They simply wither and die."

He returned his eyes to the lord's face and found no surprise that wasn't already present.

He dropped his mouth to the weeping wound and lapped up the excess he'd drawn before sinking his fangs in once more. He expected either no sound, or the faintest inklings of a scream, yet what progressed through the lord's lips was a long sigh. Almost of contentment.

He continued to drink, his body aching from the angle at which he stooped to get his fill. Finally, despite knowing the lord's eyes were open and he was aware of the sensations of being used, he shimmied onto the bed and situated himself half on top and half to the side of the lord's much bulkier form, easing the uncomfortable curve of his back.

It didn't take long to draw out all he could put away without retching, and when Trafalgar finished he drew back to examine his patient's body once more to find it still stiff with desire.

Precisely what had happened the last time he'd allowed the lord to place a gob of vampire saliva upon his lips. No, more so.

After he covered the pockmarked skin he drew away the blanket from the body. The erection had pushed aside the nightgown. After a moment's deliberation and a glance to the half-lidded eyes of the owner of such an arousal, he took it in his hand and squeezed.

A wicked shudder ripped through the man's body, causing Trafalgar to jump a bit as well. This was abnormal. That the man should even have enough energy to keep his eyes open, let alone spasm, certainly spoke of a strange parentage.

He was impossibly intrigued.

Very slowly he ghosted his palm up and down, gauging the reaction of the one held captive by his ropes. There was mortification in that gaze, sure, yet there was also a genuine inquisitiveness that mirrored the doctor's own. He applied more pressure on the task quite literally in hand, and found that the lord's hips had begun to tremble. He brushed his other hand over the lord's stomach and felt his breathing, then his heart.

He expected it to beat rapidly. The tips of his fingers found a heartbeat that was fast, but it was to the point that Trafalgar feared the heart would give out. He stopped and withdrew to examine the face of the man whose eyes had slid shut wantonly.

Red eyes snapped open, gleaming with an angry challenge.

Despite knowing what was implied in that gaze, Dr. Trafalgar could not allow the young lord to gain leverage on him in any way through illicit action. Whereas demons and whatnot could be laughed off as a silly joke, mandrake relations could be cause for an investigation. Perhaps they would even skip the investigation and simply hoist him up onto a stake, then let him burn.

He withdrew all touch and made to untie the ropes. The man, he believed, was incapacitated. An invalid.

After the ropes were disentangled and put away neatly, the doctor checked the linen he had put on the puncture wound he'd inflicted. He didn't move the man's hands from behind his head, and certainly didn't dare to explore south once more. The linen was bloodied, but had sucked all the moisture from the wound. Yet flakes that would have to be cleaned still clung to the skin of the lord.

He had forgotten a second cloth and a flask of cleansing water. However, he would have had to conceal the bite mark the traditional way regardless of supplies. This man was clearly going to live; he did not need a Caladrius to tell him that much. Others he had feasted on he knew were going to be dressed and buried in a coffin. Those he could get away with a scrap of fabric being tied around a neck on the pretence of some demonic force trying to enter the body of the deceased through an orifice such as a gaping mouth. He had used such petty lies on superstitious humans before.

He lowered his mouth to the dried bits of blood and began to clean the afflicted area, brushing very carefully around the actual puncture points. He knew he had but to coat the wound to heal it by the time dawn arrived on the horizon, but the taste was so enchanting that he administered a cleansing that was excessive enough to close the pockmarks completely.

He did not feel the twitching of lively limbs until it was too late to avoid them.


A.N.: Extra lengthy chapter with what I hope is a healthy dose of Trafalgar-humour! Well, there is officially a lot of somewhat disturbing material in this story…but I think that's what makes it charming.

As always, I am indebted to all my readers! I'm kind of going through a tough spell, and it's always nice to be able to go back and read the positive encouragement you all send me.