Chapter Text
“You want protection from Dracula?” Trevor scoffs. “As if his castle would just appear right outside this damned tavern?” He’s torn between scorn and amusement at the ridiculousness of the request. Putting on his most pitying tone, he says, “I’m quite sure Dracula has more important places to be than a pimple on the backside of Wallachia.”
Everyone, including Trevor and the red faced man in front of him holding a piece of stale bread for bargaining, stops when a low rumble begins. People pale rapidly and start gathering anything not nailed down to throw against the windows and doors. The man, B-something, shakes his bread at Trevor and exclaims, “See! See! You damn fool! Now you won’t even get bread for taking him on! He’ll be coming soon!”
But the Hunter isn’t even looking at him anymore. Trevor is stuck staring out the nearest window numbly. There, in the distance, just inside the woods beyond the village, dark spires jut out at unnatural angles and tower over everything in sight. Clouds are already gathering and Trevor faces a dilemma he has no time to really think through.
“Shit,” he hisses through his teeth, striding through the patrons of the bar and shoving a chair away from the door. Looking at his hand on the door handle, Trevor scowls. “My life sucks.” Then he’s through the door and heading toward the ancient enemy of his family.
—
Getting there takes less time than expected, which, why wouldn’t it? Trevor has never had many favors given to him, much less from something as merciless as time. Trees have been felled by the arrival of the castle so he hides behind a particularly big trunk and takes a moment to think about how to get in. There’s not many options beyond just waltzing through the front door. Somehow, he doubts the vampire has much need for sewage channels. The exterior is unfortunately smooth between window ledges and balconies.
Trevor feels a flare of anger at himself. Normally he’d have busted in already. He’s stalling. But of course he’s stalling! It’s fucking Dracula! Trevor hasn’t had a good night’s sleep in a week. He can’t remember the last time he ate something besides shitty bread and ale. He’s not even sure he has enough weapons to last him two minutes in a battle with any vampire, let alone Dracula.
“Fuck.” He scrubs his hand through his hair. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
“I suppose you’ll do.” The voice startles Trevor and he instantly knows he won’t turn in time. A blow, and his vision goes dark.
—
“Your kind are odd, Hunter. Weak, yet so eager to fight, and, ultimately, die. Always rushing toward the end, running into the arms of the death so many fear. Hm. Perhaps you’ll be a better match, then. The others were nearly animals in their fear.” A pause, then the dark voice continues, “But then, some I assumed would be more composed… weren’t. We shall see.”
Groggily, and damn it does feel like a bad hangover, Trevor squints his eyes open. His head hurts and his vision is foggy. Then again, even if he were actually hungover, he’d still recognize the fact he is in a castle, a very, very large one, and that big shape pacing in front of him is most certainly a vampire with how he damn near glides across the floor.
Okay, Trevor thinks, trying not to panic, this is okay. He had to get in the castle somehow, right? This just made it easier. Dracula — fuck, shit, fuck, it’s Dracula — stops and turns on his heel toward Trevor’s prone body. Red eyes burn into his and, yeah, no, this was probably the worst possible way to get inside. Fuck.
Moving is now the only thing on Trevor’s mind, adrenaline pumping and clearing his vision in a split second. Have to get up, get some space, where’s his weapons? Ice shoots down his arms when he realizes he can’t feel any of the usual bumps between him and the floor. Of course, Dracula can touch holy items for a short amount of time, especially when covered. What the hell is the vampire planning to do to him?
“You are panicking as well, but I can see you are also scheming. I’m sure you’ve noticed I’ve disarmed you by now.” Dracula sneers slightly. “I would not recommend doing anything without thinking it through, but that notion is probably lost on a Belmont.” At Trevor’s scowl, Dracula sighs, rubbing his temple. It confuses Trevor a bit. Can vampires even get headaches? Either way, he uses the moment of apparent distraction to get to his feet and leap back. He’s a touch unbalanced, but that’s what happens when you’re knocked unconscious by a vampire. No weapons, but there’s plenty of random shit on the walls to work with—
A hand wraps around his throat, as cold and resolute as stone. Dracula stares down his nose, almost disappointed. “What did I just say, Belmont? You have nothing that can—” Trevor punches him in the face, and fuck, it hurts, but it does seem to stun the vampire lord, so he does it again. And once more, because the hold on his throat isn’t loosening at all, which, bad, very bad. Rage makes an appearance on his captor’s face. Okay, that’s much worse. “You insolent, ridiculous, inferior mongrel,” Dracula snarls, fangs bared and eyes going black. His aura almost glows with malevolence.
“Father?” The call comes from up and behind them. Trevor would groan if he could. Another fucking vampire? The son of Dracula? Since when? “Father, enough of this. Stop!” And then Trevor is thrown against a stone wall. He feels, and hears, a few things snap when he hits a sconce and crumples to the ground with a wheeze. Laying there, he’s able to take in the blond, nearly white hair of another vampire standing between him certain death. Well, certain quick death. Who’s to say this new one won’t keep him a bit before killing him?
On a scale of ‘one’ to ‘about to be a family buffet’, Trevor thinks this is going poorly. Then he passes out.
—
He’s getting very tired of waking up to monologues. The blond vampire in front of him doesn’t seem to notice, or at least care, that Trevor’s regained his consciousness. “...completely unbelievable that he’d just grab a damned Hunter from the woods, as if that is any sort of solution. I was forgiving for the others, because he’s, well, he’s trying, Mother, but a Hunter? This is too far. Say the Hunter had actually been able to get a weapon? Of course, Father would prevail, but an injury in his state would certainly embolden the other lords.” He pauses, slumping into a chair, clutching a picture frame. His hair falls and shadows his face as he stares at it. “Oh, Mother. What should I do?”
“I'm in favor of letting the Hunter go,” Trevor rasps. It triggers a cough that causes enough pain to know he most certainly has a broken rib. Shit. Well, not drained yet; he can work with that.
The vampire, Dracula Jr.? Whatever, he stands and puts down the photo. “You’re awake.” His stance is stiff, but his unnervingly pale eyes are as piercing as Dracula’s.
“Don’t sound so happy there, someone might mistake you for feeling something.” As the words leave his mouth, Trevor understands that, perhaps, he shouldn’t antagonize his new captor. It’s a little hard to control himself, however, when the facts of his situation are weighing on his mind like a brick. He dies, or he brings down a few blood suckers and then dies. There’s not much more to it than that. Trevor had hoped he’d live a little longer than his mid twenties, but such is the life of a Hunter. Several family members had less.
“Would that I could release you, Hunter. You are injured,” Dracula Jr. says tonelessly.
Trevor scoffs. “And whose fault is that? Either release me or kill me now.”
Some heat enters the vampire’s voice, even if not his face. “It is yours, in fact. Had you not been stalking the woods, had you not assaulted my father—”
“Yeah, well, maybe don’t kidnap random townsfolk, huh, bloodsucker? Guy in the town over was trying to buy protection for his family because you fucks are killing anyone you can get your claws on!”
Recoiling, he snaps, “We do not kill anyone! They are returned as soon as I am able to get them back safely.”
“Oh yeah? The ones that do get back are stark raving mad, while the rest ‘safely’ get eaten by you and yours. Or do they simply get lost and starve to death?” Trevor wheezes a laugh. “Right, you don’t kill a single one, not at all.”
“And what do you know, Hunter? You murder those merely trying to survive, you take trophies, you revel in your disgusting legacy.”
“I kill monsters like you to keep people safe!” Pointing a finger to emphasize his point, Trevor pales at the pain moving his arm causes. He keeps himself up right just barely, sweating all the while.
The vampire regains his composure abruptly, leaning back where he had unconsciously been bent forward with indignation. “And yet, you are the only one left, aren’t you? Protecting those that quite obviously don’t want your protection, how noble.” Despite dripping with condescension, his voice is soft and smooth, like a knife so sharp you don’t realize you’ve been cut until you bleed. He walks to the door, saying, “You are injured, and unlike your kind, we have decency. You will stay until you have recovered enough to not be eaten by wolves immediately, but certainly no longer.” The sneer is audible, though Trevor is only able to see his pale hair and pristine shirt. “My name is Adrian Tepeş. Do not injure yourself further trying to leave, my father is still unhappy with your choice of assault.”
Trevor stares at the door as Adrian closes it, growling when he hears it lock from the outside. He lets himself slouch a bit, which also hurts but doesn’t strain his muscles as much. “Bastard,” he grumbles to himself. Refusing to think about what the vampire said to him, Trevor instead looks around. Of course, there is absolutely nothing in the room beyond the bed he’s on and the clothes he’s… not wearing.
Where the fuck are his clothes?