Confessions

When Alfred woke next evening from rest, pain was the first thing he felt. Groaning, he still had to admit that it was better than yesternight.

Herbert awoke soon after and looked at Alfred, concerned. He carefully lifted the barrier over their connection. The agony was still strong, but more bearable now. Still, he closed the connection again as well as he could. Where was the point in suffering alongside Alfred physically?

"How do you feel?" Herbert asked the younger vampire. Admittedly, he knew it already, but it was polite to ask anyway.

Alfred merely nodded to sign that he was better. A moment of silence passed, before Alfred, still a little sleepy, asked: "Don't Viennese vampires sleep in coffins?"

Herbert chuckled. "I suppose they do. But many guest rooms are made for both vampires and humans – we also have some guest chambers in the castle and there are no coffins in them. A vampire doesn't have to sleep in a coffin, though that's usual – it's just instinct to us. But I also spend a day in bed at home once in a while – mostly when I'm with a pretty man."

Alfred felt strange. Would Herbert talk about him like this in a couple of weeks? Just being a random "pretty man", allowed to warm his bed for a short while? This prospect bothered him. But maybe their bond of blood that Herbert had established so rashly would make the difference?

Herbert thought he felt chagrin via their cushioned connection. He lowered the barrier once more and could be sure now. Yes, Alfred was obviously sullen. Was it possible that his Chéri was jealous? Herbert felt butterflies in his stomach. Softly, he laid a finger under Alfred's chin and stole the first kiss of the night.

"But I've never seen a more beautiful man than you. I can't wait to welcome you in my bed," he whispered and the younger vampire closed his eyes. The discontent disappeared and Herbert felt instead pleasure, comfort, and even a bit arousal. Contended, he closed the barrier again.

Alfred noticed for the first time the difference between his and Herbert's feelings. Up to now it had been only a big mingled knot. But this stomach tingling just didn't fit his present thoughts and emotions. Still, his lips prickled when Herbert kissed them. The elder's words, following the kiss, swiped all of his negative thoughts away and left a warm trace in his body. Alfred found himself to be curious of the moment when he'd lie in Herbert's bed.

Another kiss was interrupted by a knock on the door. "May I come in?" a dark voice asked.

Herbert sat up in bed and signed to Alfred that he could stay down. "Yes, Father," he answered and the door opened.

"Good evening, you two. How do you feel, Alfred?" he asked,when he had pulled the door shut behind him.

"Better, Your Excellency," answered Alfred, who tried to sit up despite Herbert's sign, but the Prince hindered him while the Count said: "Don't! Please remain abed. Herbert – our host awaits you in the parlor in ten minute's time. See you in a bit." Then he left the room again.

Herbert stretched, rose, and took the fresh shirt from the table. He at least wanted to be as proper as possible for their host. While he changed, he murmured to Alfred: "I'm really exited to finally learn who our host is. I'll tell you everything later, all right?"

He combed his hair with his fingers provisionally before he bound the strands into a plait in his neck. Maybe his host could provide him with a brush? Hell, he would never leave the castle again unprepared for a sudden journey. He took a look at Alfred, who had closed his eyes and obviously was about to sleep again for a bit. Then Herbert left the room and looked around for the parlor.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

A servant helped Herbert eventually find the room. The vampire named Baptiste stood at the window, turning around when Herbert entered, wine glass in hand. Baptiste had apparently been older than his father when he had been changed, as the more grey than brown hair showed. Nevertheless, he was as attractive and agile as all vampires were.

"Ah, the young prince," he welcomed Herbert and pointed at a comfortable chair, while he seated himself in another. Herbert merely nodded and sat down. A wine glass, obviously meant for him, stood on the table and Herbert took it instantly, lured by the wondrous smell. After raising the glass to his host, he took a sip. It was very tasty – Herbert immensely enjoyed red wine mixed with human blood; a rarity in their castle in Transylvania.

"How is your consort?" asked Baptiste. There was not a trace of judgement in his voice, but that didn't surprise Herbert. His sexual preferences were no cause of uproar, at least in a vampire's point of view. Most vampires simply didn't care who lay together in bed. He had never met a vampire shocked about his love for men. That was reserved for the moral uprightness of humans.

"He feels a bit better," Herbert told, wanting to ask about the possibility of a bath when the door opened and his father entered.

"Ah, here comes our Don Juan. Next time your father is on a girl's hunt, pray remind him of the outcome of the last time," Baptiste laughed boomingly.

Herbert bit back a grin with difficulty. Don Juan? Girl's hunt? Tensely, he watched his father, expecting a tirade – which failed to appear. Breda just grimaced at Baptiste and sat down like a chastened school-boy. Herbert would not have believed this, had he not seen it with his own eyes.

"Herbert, this is my good friend Baptiste Gerbier, Baptiste, my son Herbert," Breda introduced the men to each other, took his wine glass, and tipped half of it into his throat.

"It's really a pleasure for me to finally meet you, Herbert. Your father has told me much about you."

Herbert didn't mind Baptiste calling him by his name. Unlike his father, he had never been insistent on titles and formalities. And if their host called even his father by his name... Since the Count obviously had forgiven Baptiste his impudence, Herbert decided to cheek back.

"Unfortunately I can't affirm the same for you. My father has never talked about you, even though we have been in Vienna together before. How did you meet?"

Could it be that his father was uncomfortable? Right now he tossed the rest of the wine down, very noncommittally.

"Well, when I met your father the first time, I just saved him in time to perform a major blunder. I must say even back then he had this tendency to get enthusiastic about the wrong women that were no good for him," told Baptiste merrily, causing Breda to moan "Baptiste" that sounded both irritated and aghast, but also a bit amused.

"The woman that had stirred your father's interest had been no one else than the sister of the then empress," Baptiste kept explaining, unmoved, and Herbert regarded his words with interest.

"Baptiste, if you really must tell it, than please tell at least the truth. This woman had been well past 40 and a nun – my son knows me well enough to know that she didn't 'stir my interest' in those intentions you imply. I was just hungry."

Herbert smiled. No, his father would never be interested in a nun. The girls he picked for the ball every year were all quite young – most of the time even younger than he. At first he had been bewildered by this, but it didn't bother him anymore. After all, his father never criticized his consorts. The least he could do was return the favor.

"Yes, but it could have become a severe problem, had you sank your teeth into that old bat. So I took Breda by the scruff of his neck and dragged him home – with which I mean this very house. In the following months he was only allowed to leave this house in my company."

"I had been lucky to choose the wrong victim. If I hadn't, Baptiste would have probably never befriended me. Wrong victim maybe, but right place and right time," Breda added.

"Months?" Herbert asked puzzled. He couldn't remember when his father had been that long away from the castle.

"Nine months, to be exact," his father admitted. Breda looked at the table, incapable of looking his son in the eyes when he made his confession. "It was right after my changing. I had been strong enough to escape Nikolai's influence, but was far away from being able to confront him. I was a newly risen vampire – I mean to say I was just like every newly risen vampire. Without Baptiste I'd probably still be Nikolai's minion today."

"Don't be so tough on yourself, Breda, my friend. You weren't like every newly risen vampire, when you arrived here. Do you think I would have bothered if you had been? I knew you were special. You had it in you the entire time, all I had to do was reveal it. I can't do magic," Baptiste appeased.

Silence filled the room. Finally composing himself, Breda flicked his gaze to Herbert. His son seemed to be deeply immersed in thoughts. Breda was just trying to find an excuse when Herbert spoke:

"I'm happy to finally find out who your teacher was. I never expected to meet him today."

Breda stumbled over Herbert's words. "Finally find out?" he asked with hoarse voice.

Herbert looked at him with a soft smile. "Father, I might not be a bookworm like you, but I'm no fool. That was a damn long summer I had to spend with my grandparents back then – almost two years long, if I remember it correctly. Moreover, someone had to teach you all those things you taught me before you could confront Nikolai."

Baptiste grinned, while Breda apparently had lost his composure, staring at Herbert incredulously. "But... you never..."

"I thought you felt better when you believed that I believe that you're that powerful as you always pretend to be. I mean to say: having always been that strong," Herbert corrected smilingly.

Baptiste guffawed again. "See, Breda? 300 years worth of worries for nothing. Your son obviously knows you better than you think."

Breda gulped and looked at Herbert, moved. Yes, it was true – Herbert knew him better than anybody. And how could he have hoped to fool his so sensitive boy? Herbert had subdued his native curiosity in this case, just to give him a good feeling – Herbert's ministrations almost ashamed him.

Baptiste leaned over the table, took the wine bottle, and filled Breda's glass again. Then he took his own glass, raising it to his guests: "To you both. I see now why you couldn't do without him, Breda."

They drank to their hearts' content and Herbert looked at his father questioningly. But again it was Baptiste who spoke.

"Your father saw me living here together with my daughter Elisabeth and noticed our close bonding. You certainly know that there are bondings even vampirism cannot destroy. In the last weeks of his first stay here, your father was torn between changing you to be with him forever, or leave you in your grandparent's care, and live a peaceful life. There were times when he was determined to let you live, for he knew Elisabeth and I had another kind of bonding to each other – I did not sire my daughter, but we had the same sire. We survived his perishing only because we had each other. Breda knew it would be different with you two. There would always be the sire-sired bonding between you, and the last thing he wanted to do was to enslave you."

All this information just swirled inside Herbert's head. It was almost too much for one night.

"But I couldn't," Breda confessed silently. "I couldn't do without you. There was just no sense in an eternity without you. You had been the source of my strength from the start; the strength I needed to become the vampire I am now. So I called you home after Nikolai's downfall and I changed you – fully knowing what I'd condemned you to."

Herbert grasped for his father's hand. He had never seen Breda von Krolock so weak as he appeared to be now. He had known his father's love since he could remember. There had never been just one day in the past 300 years had he not been certain of his father's love for him. But he had never declared it so openly as now – his father was usually too reserved to do so.

"I'm happy with my life, Father," he simply said and Breda looked at him gratefully. So much laid in these few words, especially forgiveness for the hard start; for the enslavement Herbert still had to feel today.

There was a knock on the door, causing both father and son to start – for one moment they had forgotten their surroundings. Now they remembered the presence of their host, who called, "Come in". Hastily, Herbert let go of his father's hand – Breda didn't seem to care to show emotions in Baptiste's presence, but who knew who'd enter right now?

It was Elisabeth. "Papa, Raimund is here and insists on talking to you. I showed him to your office."

Baptiste nodded and rose out of the chair. "Probably in need for some money – again," he explained to his guests with a tortured look. "I suppose that will need some time. Just feel right at home – is there anything I can provide you with?"

"Mabye," Herbert began timidly, and his host looked at him encouragingly. "Well – a bath would be wonderful."

"Between you and your father's guestroom is a bathroom at your disposal. We have warm running water," he praised with an aluring voice and Herbert sighed dreamily. Baptiste chuckled. "Your father already told me how much you love your bathtub. Well, I have to go. Greetings to your consort. It would be nice if he could keep us company tomorrow, when he feels up to it. And now, please, excuse me."

Baptiste left the parlor and Herbert sipped on his blood-wine with relish. He liked Baptiste. He seemed to have a good grip on his father, which earned his respect. Moreover, he had invited Alfred along and acknowledged him.

"How does Alfred really feel?" his father asked now, taking up Baptiste's thread.

"Better. The agony lessened. The amount of blood has helped him. Really, thank you so much."

Breda waved him off. "And how are things between you?"

The instantly dreamily look spreading over Herbert's face was warning enough. His son had fallen in love head over heels – again.

"Never has there been one so pretty," he fancied and Breda pricked his ears. That was an impressing superlative, considering the number of Herbert's former consorts over the past 300 years. Only few of them had shared Herbert's preference and only one of them had had real feelings for his son, as far as Breda could remember. And his son was so full of love to give – way more than one could expect of a creature of their race.

He really wouldn't begrudge him a success with Alfred. He didn't know the boy that well yet, but the little he knew was promising. He was intelligent, prudent, and he seemed strong of character, considering the short conversation he had overheard last night. He seemed to learn quickly, since he already could reflect his own emotions that well. He also was true to him, proving this with the act to save him yesternight. No, there was not better consort for his son to be found at the moment. He didn't really know why, but he had already grown fond of the boy. That had never happened before with any of his creatures.

He banished these thoughts to follow Herbert's words again, who had apparently told him about all of Alfred's advantages and now said:

"...and last morning, before we went to sleep, he had kissed me of his own accord."

Surprised by the abrupt ending of Herbert's tale, Breda stammered: "Well... that... that sounds really nice, doesn't it?" He should have listened to his son. But he had just noticed something else in Herbert's look. Something Breda related to a bad conscience.

"Has something else happened between you?" he asked and saw his suspicion confirmed true. There was no doubt that Herbert appeared rueful.

Damn! His father noticed it every time. Herbert shook his head not even a bit convincingly and tried to smile the problem away. While many women (and some men) would have sighed and swooned seeing this smile, Breda merely frowned and looked at him sternly.

"My beloved son, you have always been a pathetic liar. And you don't even have to say something."

Herbert sought help from the unfortunately unresponsive ceiling, as if aid would wait there. Unfortunately, there was only stucco and the blond vampire knew his father would know the truth anyway, sooner or later. Why not now? Perhaps he wouldn't rage as much here as a guest as he would at home?

"Well..." he said hesitantly and Breda made himself comfortable in his chair. He wanted to sit firmly. "You know, actually... It came very sudden, for all of us. And Alfred is not guilty, he didn't know anything about it."

"Herbert, your words make no sense."

Herbert yielded. "It happened in the train. Alfred and I – well, we kissed. Alfred's teeth stretched and he ripped my lip open."

Breda nodded. He could understand that much. It had been a good sign that Alfred's fangs stretched while kissing. A distinct sign of arousal. There was hope for Herbert yet. Since Alfred was a young vampire having barely control over his teeth, it was unlikely that he only had pretended.

"Well, that can happen with a newly risen vampire. He has no real control yet over his vampiric body functions – he didn't do it on purpose," Herbert tried to appease his father, while there was no reason to do so – yet. So he just nodded to signal that Alfred would not be punished for biting his son's lip unintentedly. Of course not. Why would Herbert suppose so?

"Well, I bled a bit. Not bad, really. And – and – and I offered him to lick the blood."

One comital brow disappeared under black hair. Whoa! Now this confession got more interesting. So Herbert let Alfred taste his blood. After only three nights. His infatuation must really be strong. He kept on looking at his son sternly and waited.

"And... well... Alfred... He didn't know what he did, of course not... but he offered me to... to... taste his blood also."

"And you couldn't resist."

It was a conclusion, not a question. And it sounded more resigned than angry. That encouraged Herbert. He shook his head remorsefully. "I... I just didn't think about the consequences. I haven't thought..."

"No, Herbert. Of course not. For you seldom think before you do something."

Uh-oh. The voice had changed from resigned to sarcastic. Not good.

"Have you ANY idea, what you've brought about?" The voice rose.

"I do, in the meantime," Herbert admitted sheepishly.

Breda clasped his hands before his face, rubbing his temples. Why couldn't he feel any rage? He should be extremely angry with Herbert now. But all he could feel was disbelief. And no matter what his son had done and how incredibly stupid it had been – it has happened and no tantrum of his could ever change it again. He could only hope for Herbert (and his own nerves) that this madness turned out to be something positive. If it had been any other person than Alfred... maybe he'd be shocked even more so. But Alfred was promising. It could turn out well. He liked him.

"Have you explained it to Alfred?" he asked, calmer than he felt.

"Yes, he knows. And he isn't mad at me, at least for the moment. He's just happy to be able to feel again. My emotions, yes, but it seems he learns faster now about his own."

Breda nodded. That made sense and against his will, he found himself curious about how this bond of blood would quicken Alfred's development.

"When... when it doesn't work, then..." Herbert began, but stopped when his father showed him a dismissive hand, shaking his head.

"Don't even think about it. You got the both of you into trouble, you will accept responsibility for it. For all eternity. Do you really think it would be that easy to get rid of Alfred, when you don't want to put up with him anymore? The chances of you perishing alongside him are far better than you surviving. This bonding goes deeper than you obviously can imagine in your juvenility."

Breda swiped his face with his hand. You didn't became a "father" any day. For that, Alfred would be something like a second son to him from now on. Nothing else caused the bond of blood. Alfred and Herbert were one. Had he already felt the consequences? Was his immediate taking to Alfred caused by this? He had never liked a new vampire that quickly. And if he was honest to himself, this liking went deeper than pure goodwill. He was really fond of the boy and had not known why, up to now. This could be the answer to it all.

Herbert was lucky that he owed him after his own confession before. His son had forgiven him, without batting an eye. Why punish him now, when it wouldn't change anything anyway?

"Get out of my sight. Make a bath for this poor boy. We'll see each other tomorrow," he only said and felt a smile rise when Herbert downright fled from the room, obviously more than happy to have escaped that leniently.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Herbert opened the door to the smaller guest chamber, his thoughts still back in the parlor. Hell, that had been really enough for one night – too much information and tension. He really deserved a relaxing bath now.

But his thoughts were pushed away by tenderness when his gaze fell on the young man lying on his bed, looking at him now with shining green eyes.

"Hey, just wait what I have to tell you," Herbert said when he entered, shutting the door firmly behind him.

"It's a recurring pattern."

"Pardon me?"

"The carpet. At a first glance it looks like it is completely wild, but the longer you look at it, the more you see that it's a recurring pattern."

Herbert looked down at the carpet – a tangle of colors and shapes. It was a really ugly carpet. Then he looked back at Alfred and at last the penny dropped.

"Oh Alfred, forgive me. I should have arranged for them to bring you something to read or so. I completely lost track of time." Herbert looked at at the wall clock and started. "Past midnight? Oh, hell, I'm really sorry. I'll make it up to you. There is a bathroom next to here and I'm going to draw a bath for you. Nice warm water. You'll surely make some steps to the bathroom, won't you? Tomorrow you won't have to be bored. Our host Baptiste invited you to come along into the parlor – if you'll feel up to it. But I'm sure you will," Herbert chattered away.

Alfred chuckled. "You're crazy. All right, I forgive you, if you just stop burying me with words. And a bath would be really nice. The pain is better, I'm sure I'll manage a couple of steps."

Alfred looked so amused that Herbert couldn't leave the room without stealing a kiss from him. "I'll be back in a moment," he said before disappearing into the next room.

While he drew the water his thoughts went back to the parlor again. His father had been exceptionally collected, considering the magnitude of his lapse. And he seemed to accept Alfred as a part of him very willingly. In fact, his father had seemed to grasp the situation better than he had done up to now.

He'll see tomorrow how his father would behave towards Alfred. So far he seemed to be well-disposed concerning Alfred and didn't seem to blame him for anything. The blame was all his, Herbert's. And it was his luck that he had a father that loved him above all things.

A tear of affection ran down his face when the warmth flooded his body again, as it had done so often during that conversation with his father and Baptiste. He had had to compose himself down there, but now he could vent his feelings.

Everything would fall into place. Suddenly he felt like his existence began anew this night – and everything would be even better than before. For there was Alfred now.

And with this sense of pleasure in his belly he went to help Alfred get to his bath.

TBC