Farewell

"Be careful with this," Herbert urged caution to the two vampires carrying the heavy trunk down the stairs. That was no easy work for Baptiste's servants, since the stairwell was very narrow. Furthermore, the amount of luggage was astonishing for guests that had arrived with nothing at all.

Alfred followed both the trunk and Herbert down the stairs. He carried the packed book that Herbert had bought him yesterday on the market, which he'd take inside the coach. He could barely wait to start reading it. He had looked for this copy of May's traveling reports for a long while.

His head already daydreaming about the Apache's world, Alfred paid the steps no mind anymore. What will happen will happen; Alfred missed the last step, landing unexpectedly far down on the floor, beginning to totter around. Fortunately Herbert was by his side, steadying him at once.

"S-sorry," Alfred stammered in embarrassment after dashing against Herbert's breast. He disentangled himself from the laughing prince's arms and bent to pick up the book that had fallen out of his hand during this clumsy act. For the first time since changing into a vampire, Alfred had the feeling of his face turning the red that he had had so often as a human. How awkward!

"Never mind. Are you hurt? And just after your past injury got better," Herbert added, chuckling about Alfred's clumsiness.

Alfred unbent and shook his head. Herbert noticed that Alfred's pale face shimmered darker than usual. Vampires couldn't really turn red – the stolen blood just couldn't manage it – but obviously Alfred's body tried its best to dissent with this fact. Herbert found that exceptionally sweet. Automatically he reached out to stroke a lock of Alfred's hair behind his ear. "You'll have to be a bit more careful if we want to bring you home in one piece."

"Good luck with that," Alfred murmured, voice dripping with sarcasm. Herbert was still chuckling silently. Well, if he could amuse the prince by stumbling every little while, Herbert would have a lot to laugh about.

Herbert, feeling Alfred's embarrassment, annoyance, and resignation via their blood connection, finally calmed down. Alfred's current emotions were so strong and distinct that they allowed him to read the younger vampire like the book in his hands. Herbert was careful to take this as an indication of Alfred's progress. Experience showed, that even almost emotionless vampires were able to severe and unintentional emotional outbursts – especially when they were angry.

"Ah, I think I understand now," Herbert soothed. "You're a little butterfingered – never mind, I'm able to take it." He pulled Alfred close and gave him a tender kiss.

Alfred leaned into the kiss and Herbert felt his anger subside.

"Come on, Chéri, I think we'll leave soon now," Herbert said after some time, took his cape from Alfred's arm before putting it on and dragging Alfred out onto the patio.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Breda and Baptiste already waited by the coach. With a smile, the old vampire noticed the book in Alfred's hand. Curiosity, the ability to marvel – those were the keys to become a good vampire.

Breda just nodded to the boys, while Baptiste, realizing the hour of goodbye to have come, tried to budge his stubborn, former pupil one last time.

"Now is the last opportunity, Breda: Do you really want none of my coachmen to accompany you? It would be much more comfortable for you."

"For the last time: No. Do you really think I could stand the billing and cooing of those two for two straight weeks while sitting opposite them?"

"Oh, I think they are a cute couple."

Breda rolled his eyes and Herbert chuckled again, while Alfred only started slowly to comprehend of whom the elder talked about right now – leading to a darker complexion again.

"Well, Father, since you want to renounce our company, you will also miss the great story Alfred is going to read to me during the journey," Herbert announced merrily.

"My beloved son, my ears are still quite well despite my age. I'm going to hear everything from inside the coach while sitting on the box." The thought alone made him pull a face.

"Well, then I wish you a lot fun, old friend," Baptiste laughed. "What book is it?" he asked Alfred.

"It's called 'Der Schatz im Silbersee' (A/N: 'The treasure in the Silverlake')," Alfred murmured. "The author's name is Karl May and..."

"Ah – the stories of good old Shatterhand," Baptiste interrupted him.

Alfred glanced up, taken aback. "You know the stories?"

"Certainly. I like good traveling reports. Do you know May's Orient-books too? Where Old Shatterhand is called Kara Ben Nemsi (A/N: Arabic for 'Karl, son of Germany') and his horse's name is Rih instead of Hatatitla?"

Alfred shook his head, impressed that the Viennese even could remember the Indian name of Shatterhand's horse. Alfred only knew the translations of the names – Winnetou's horse was called "wind" and Shatterhand's, "lightning" in the Apache language. "No, I've heard about them, but it was hard enough to get my hands on the books about May's travels in America."

"Oh, my young friend – don't let yourself get fooled by good Mister May. He writes really well and is entertaining – but I have been there myself, with the Natives in America and in the Orient. And I tell you, Karl May has never been to one of these places."

Alfred felt disappointment rise inside him. The Viennese laid an arm around his shoulders.

"Don't give it a second thought. This book here is very good nevertheless," he said, pointing at the package in Alfred's hand. Then he turned to a servant standing in the entrance. "Paula, would you please pack Karl May's Orient-books for my young friend here? Hurry, the gentlemen want to leave."

"B—but I—I can't... You c-can't... I cannot accept this," Alfred whispered, torn between greed and politeness.

"Why not? I give them to you as a loan. You simply give them back to me on your next visit. I'm sure you will treat them with care." Then he turned to Herbert. "Actually, I wanted to give you a parting gift, too. But I've heard you already have as much hairwash-powder as possible."

"You can never have enough of this," Herbert answered with a certain note of accusation in his voice. "You can't purchase it in our area. I'm not even sure you could buy it in Kronstadt."

"Oh please, don't be angry with me," Baptiste laughed. "Because, you know – the sooner your last canister of hairwash-powder is empty, the sooner you and Alfred will come and visit me. If I gave you even more, I'd have to wait too long for you. I still have a healthy vampiristic egoism."

Herbert's frustration was gone at once and he joined in Baptiste's laughing. Even Alfred chuckled – maybe he would help the powder to go empty quicker? He'd like to come back to Baptiste soon.

Paula came rushing out of the house, handing over a hastily bound package of books to Alfred.

"Thank you very much, I will take good care of them," Alfred said and tried to shift the weight of the books so that he could take Baptiste's hand and shake it.

Baptiste shook Alfred's hand and placed a fatherly hand on his shoulder. "I wish you a good journey and to keep your work up. These two von Krolocks will help you. I'm sure you'll be a different vampire when we meet again – without having changed too much, hopefully."

Alfred didn't know what to reply and therefore just nodded. Then he turned to the coach and laid the books inside, climbing in afterward.

Baptiste said farewell to Breda and Herbert too, before Herbert also climbed into the coach, while Breda sat himself on the box.

"Well then, I wish you a safe journey. Pray come visit me soon. And enjoy your meal!" Baptiste called, waving, while Breda steered the horses out of the yard. Herbert and Alfred looked back until Baptiste's mansion was finally out of sight.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Enjoy your meal?" Alfred asked, a bit confused, but also anticipating. He wouldn't mind some blood to drink to strengthen for the upcoming journey. Bloodwine was nice, but it didn't really do much to soothe hunger.

"You'll see," Herbert merely said and couldn't be persuaded to say more.

"So, we'll be two weeks on the road?" Alfred asked, remembering another bit of the last conversation with Baptiste.

"Almost three," Breda explained from outside. Alfred was surprised that he could indeed hear the count as clearly as if he was inside the coach. He had not given his improved hearing a thought before. "We're going to need 18 nights, as long as nothing unpredictable happens, as is rarely is the case. So it's usually two to three days more. We can only drive during the night, which is hindering us a bit. But at least it's winter now and the nights are longer than the days."

"What will we do during daytime?" Alfred wanted to know.

"I've been traveling this route several times already. We'll have accommodation at different vampire-clans along the way. In case we don't reach one, there is a narrow, but lightproof cabinet in the coach-floor. That will be very cramped with three men, but it will work if need be," Breda explained.

After that they were silent for a bit, Herbert and Alfred looking out of the tiny windows to watch the town passing by. About half an hour later, the distances between houses became wider and the street was bumpier now. They had reached the outskirts. Slowly the last premises passed by and they drove into a forest.

Not even five minutes after the trees had replaced the houses, Breda announced: "Here we go."

"What happens?" Alfred asked, not understanding anything – for example, why Herbert was grinning, so pleased.

"Robbers," the prince simply said and his father added: "Alfred, I give you hereby permission to kill and drain every man you can get hands on."

Now comprehension dawned on Alfred's face and he felt tension and hunger for blood rise inside him. A small part of human-Alfred far back in his head was horrified by his anticipation of killing humans. But then again they were robbers – no loss for humanity. Actually they would render a service to society. And what's more, it meant blood and blood seemed to justify practically everything. Alfred felt his fangs stretch.

The coach stopped and they heard the racket of the fast-approaching men. Alfred took the handle to open the door, but Herbert held him back, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Remember: Do not drink if you killed in another way than a bite. The best is to stun them all and drink when none are stirring anymore. Alright?"

Alfred nodded. It had been a good idea of Herbert's to remind him on this particular rule for vampires. Herbert gave him an encouraging pat and seconds later they stormed out of the coach right between the distracted robbers – Breda shouldn't have all the fun alone.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Peter held the rock tightly in his hands when the sounds of the rolling coach approached. The thought alone to beat it into the head of a human made him feel nauseous – even more nauseous than hunger made him feel.

Two weeks ago the farmer had chased him off the farm. Only because he stole a tiny bit of the aspic. Not for the first time, admittedly, but he was a tall guy and the small portions the farmer gave him to eat weren't not near enough. After some days and nights aimlessly wandering around (no other farmer wanted to employ him, since he could not show a letter of reference), he had joined the men around Henry three nights ago.

Henry had a small cabin in the middle of this forest and lived from the things he took from wealthy travelers. Admittedly, it didn't happen that often anymore that a coach was crossing this forest by night. That's why they earned their bread on markets in the Viennese outskirts with pick-pocketing.

Sometimes Peter thought back on his late parents and what they would say if they saw what had became of their son. But then hunger chased these thoughts away.

The coach was almost there now and all waited for Henry's signal. There were eight men, while the coach held maximum six men – so they outnumbered the travelers. Still Peter was clasping the stone tighter. Some of the others had knives – he didn't. He only owned the clothes he was wearing. So he had grabbed this rock when they were rushing out of the cabin after the lookout David had risen the alarm.

Finally Peter could see the coach through the leafless branches in the pale moonlight. There was only one coachman, so the number of their potential opponents reduced to five. Peter felt a tiny relief in his tension.

Henry gave the signal now. With a mighty roar, the men of the gang stormed out of the undergrowth and blocked the way. Peter joined them, realizing he was screaming along with the others. The horses balked and the coach halted. The coachman jumped from the box and entered a fist-fight with Henry and David. The other gang-members ran toward the coach door when it was flung open from the inside. Quickly, all tried to seek cover, for such an offensive counter-attack could only mean firearms. But the dreaded gunshots didn't come.

Instead, two young men (noble, by the state of their clothes) jumped out and ran toward them. Three of the men launched for the long-haired noble, while the others pounced on the other one. Peter should have helped these, but he scrupled again. The travelers were apparently unarmed and there were only three of them. So the stone in his hand would surely not be necessary.

But just when he thought about throwing the stone away he realized that something was terribly wrong. One second he had looked down at the rock in his fist, the other second, looking up, three of his companions lay lifeless on the ground.

The travelers defended themselves, and very successfully at that. Entranced, Peter watched the fight before his eyes, unable to move a muscle of his own. Each one of the travelers had already struck down one of his companions.

Henry still fought against the coachman, who had to swerve the long blade of Henry's stiletto again and again. But the man with the long black hair seemed to have the suppleness of a cat. Not one of Henry's thrusts met his aim.

A soft chink drew Peter's attention to the scenery nearer to him. The long-haired blond had knocked the knife out of one of his two remaining opponent's hands. Peter couldn't tell how the young man had achieved this, but he seemed to move super humanly fast and supply. Not long and the man that had lost his knife also lay lifeless on the ground.

Peter watched the last traveler now, fighting against just one opponent. Well, he wasn't sure one could still qualify this as fighting – the young noble seemed to rather play with Daniel than fight him. The latter was only just able to keep on his feet. The two opponents circled each other consistently, so that Peter could see the traveler's face for a moment – and started. That wasn't the face of a human, but the devil's face. Especially those long and pointy teeth scared him out of his wits.

But terror also enabled his muscles to move again. Now he was glad that he didn't throw away the rock after all. Peter rushed forwards, aiming for the head of the beast – when his fist with the stone was caught.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Herbert was annoyed. He had just knocked out his third opponent and saw his father out of the corner of his eye already bending over one man for drinking, when he turned to Alfred, seeing how he was about to be attacked from behind. Apparently the coward, who had only watched the fight, had decided at last to join in after all. And Alfred, completely immersed in the play with his prey wasn't paying attention.

Quick as a lightning Herbert rushed to Alfred's side and blocked the blow that would have caused the younger vampire some headache. Deciding that there was enough drinkable blood lying on the ground, Herbert wrenched the rock out of the man's arm and battered his skull with it. Deadly wounded, the young man dropped to the ground. Herbert rather hated this kind of violence, but no one, NO ONE, was messing with his Chéri.

Alfred also seemed to finally be done with testing his strength and pulled his victim in a twisting turn toward him, so he could sink his teeth into his neck immediately. Herbert nodded approvingly.

Then there was silence. Deadly silence.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Some hours later, the coach drove into the yard of a small premise on a hill, far away from the lights of the next village. The count had driven the coach the whole night long and Herbert and Alfred hadn't really tried to convince him to switch places.

Their bellies bulging, they rather lay than sat in the coach. Idly, they had limited conversation on the bare necessities, meaning they had been silent during most of the drive. Not even Alfred felt like beginning to read the book. He realized that vampires that had sucked dry two grown men didn't feel any different from humans after Christmas-dinner.

The vampires from the premise showed them into two small, but clean guest-rooms and left them alone afterward. Breda wished the boys a good rest and retreated into his chamber.

Herbert opened the trunk that some servants had brought into their room and pulled out the light clothing for the rest. Alfred took the clothes he was reaching him and changed at once.

This time Herbert didn't miss a moment of it – but couldn't feel particularly aroused, since Alfred seemed distant. But Alfred's emotions were so weak and indistinct that Herbert had a hard time interpreting them. Up to now he had been able to tie Alfred's silence to their feast and the pleasantly full bellies afterward. Now he was sure that there was more to it. So the prince also changed quickly and sat down on the bed next to Alfred, who already sat on the edge, looking distantly into the fire.

Softly, Herbert slung an arm around Alfred's shoulder and placed a kiss on his temple. He watched Alfred invitingly and before he could ask, Alfred started to speak.

"How do you and your father do it? When it happens. Or don't you even know this moment anymore?"

"I can't follow, Chéri. When what happens? What moment?"

"The moment you lose yourself."

Herbert regarded Alfred tenderly. What a special vampire he was! Reflective faculty, when he was still so young. Of course he knew now what Alfred was talking about.

"It gets easier to control with age, knowing your own abilities and having it done often enough," he explained truthfully.

"I... nothing could have stopped me. And I didn't want anything to stop me. It was – pure joy of killing. No, not killing. Torturing. I played with that man like a cat plays with a mouse. Without pity, without sympathy. Snuffing out his life, not because I had to for my own survival, but because it was fun," Alfred whispered haltingly, searching for words.

"Do you pity the man now?"

Alfred shook his head. "No, not even now. I'm not even sorry that I killed him. But – I'm horrified of how I did it. After all, I seem to be nothing but a monster."

Herbert took Alfred's hand, brought it to his lips and kissed it. "You're not a monster, Chéri. Just the fact that you don't feel well about your deed proves that. How many vampires do enjoy the hunt like this, what do you think? Each and every one, Alfred. That's the nature of the demon inside us. You are a young vampire with astonishing abilities. But even you will be overpowered by the demon in a hunting situation. It will happen the next times too, that you will 'lose yourself', as you have phrased it so fittingly. But the wonderful thing with you is, that you return to yourself afterward. Most vampires stay lost."

Alfred regarded Herbert's words with great interest. He felt hope flooding back into him. Herbert was right – he had found himself again. He had found this Alfred, who was looking at his deed disgustedly. And suddenly the deed itself seemed less horrible.

"Neither you nor your father played with their opponents like me," Alfred observed and Herbert felt relieved that he sounded far less downcast now.

"Father and I are fully aware of the abilities of our body, while you still have to test them. You still have no idea how fast and strong you are now as a vampire. It will take some time till you know your limits. It will happen often in the next time, that you will play with your prey – be it a human or an animal. And don't fool yourself – Father and I are playing too. It's in our nature, as I said. But we rather play with our human victims psychologically than physically now."

Alfred pondered about this for a while. It made sense and soothed his troubled mind. It put his deed into perspective. Finally smiling, he added: "Like your father seducing a young girl yearly to invite to the ball, just to kill her before ditching her?"

"You understand me," Herbert confirmed grinning. "That's exactly the kind of our game."

A big burden seemed to be lifted from Alfred's shoulders and he took a deep breath. To be honest, his biggest fear had been that Herbert might be repulsed by his lack of self control, his barbaric acting. He was still so far below Herbert and his father – what if Herbert had realized this, loosing his interest in him?

But obviously that wasn't the case. Rather the contrary – Herbert was here by his side, soothing him, explaining everything calmly and understandably. Alfred tried to find a way to pay Herbert back for all he did and had done for him since his changing. Well – he had an idea what Herbert would regard as the best payment, but it was too late for that, with the sunrise being that close. Probably there would not be time for this until they reached the castle, finally. But that didn't mean that Herbert had to suffer completely.

Alfred gave the prince a cheeky look and played his last sentence back like a tennis-ball. "I just hope it's not just a game with me?" he whispered with a telling voice, grinning at him.

A shiver went down Herbert's back and he felt his privates responding at once to Alfred's hoarse whispering. But as much as he was sorry about it, this region of his body still had to have a little patience. Yet he was determined to make the most of the remaining minutes until sunrise.

"Nonsense," he whispered back. "With you I prefer the physical play." With that he pushed Alfred's upper body gently back, rolling himself over him.

While Herbert began to shower him with wild kisses, Alfred struggled himself farther up the bed, pulling Herbert with him. Finally he lay with his head on the pillow, while Herbert opened the upper buttons of his shirt, starting to kiss collarbone and breast. Alfred closed his eyes and simply enjoyed. The sensation of Herbert's privates pressing against his own was incredibly good and the kisses left burning marks on his skin.

Much too early, the sun sent leaden tiredness and they fell asleep as they were, Herbert's lips still on Alfred's breast.

TBC