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Martha Behamfil, more commonly known as Nidhogg towards those who’s never met her in an informal setting, pulled him aside one day with a grave expression on her face. She handed to him a folder with information of the next target that he was assigned to.
Hound opened the folder then with a face that mirrored his friend’s. He expected the worst when he spotted her approaching him. But then again, with the kind of livelihood he had, it was only expected to constantly wait for the worst to happen. For the sake of normal human’s peace of mind, it is only natural for vampire hunters like them to seek out the more dangerous vampires that pose threat towards humankind.
In the folder was the blurry face of the vampire he’d been assigned to. He was unnaturally pale, paler than the others he’d seen. With that person’s complexion, it would have been hard to blend in amongst humans. His eyes glowed red in the dark, and hair was almost as pale as his skin.
Hound wordlessly prayed for the soul of whoever took the photo. He has heard of this vampire before. This era has deemed him to be among the most dangerous ones that has ever existed. He’s heard rumors of how he was casted out by his own kind and has never belonged anywhere else ever since. Wanderer was the type of vampire that hides by himself and only comes out when it was feeding time.
He wouldn’t have been considered important if that was all he did. However, a few years back, there had been a case of mass murder tied with Wanderer. The authorities that investigated and concluded that it had been a fight between him and his kin. Everything within proximity was dragged into the fight, and no one but said vampire was confirmed to have survived.
So what was it that he did for him to have his neck back on the chopping board?
However, Hound is not the type to question his superiors. He only tightens his lips and nods stiffly. He closes the folder and tucks it under his coat, vanishing back in the shadows as he had been trained to do.
Wanderer…no one else knows it, but Hound was almost sure he’s encountered that vampire before.
His memories had been as blurry and unreliable as the photo, but he could not mistake the red eyes of a vampire. When he had been a child, a family outing quickly turned into a bloody accident when a starved vampire stumbled upon them.
Hound—then still named Naib Subedar, would have not survived if it wasn’t for a third-party. In-between fighting off the claws of unconsciousness and pain from having one of his eyes damaged, he had seen a vicious figure tearing through the flesh of the rogue vampire and leaving the body limp and lifeless on the ground.
It was supposed to be terrifying for a child.
(However, he’d only faintly remembered the surviving vampire rush over to him as if he was truly concerned. His face was blurry, and his fangs were so terrifyingly sharp. But that vampire hunched and made himself as small and as least threatening as possible. When he bit the wounds on the young boy’s body, Naib had panicked.
It was only a brief sting from the fangs sinking into his flesh. Instead of the pain, a warm feeling bordering pleasure washed over him.
When he woke up, his wounds had been mostly healed. Only less serious ones remain, as well as the irreparable damage in his eye.)
Naib Subedar trained to be a vampire hunter since that day, and soon discarded his birth name to become Hound.
He felt as if he was indebted to the vampire that saved his life that day. After all, their kind was never known to care about the life of their food. A thousand questions he wanted to ask, things he want to clarify, yet was never able to.
His job was his job. Hound had been taught to put it before his personal feelings.
(There was a question in the exam before he’d been formally accepted as a hunter. If someone he knew, family or a loved one, was a vampire or turned into one, what would he have done?
He answered that he would lop their head off and string their cool bodies out to dry in the sun.
He’s passed with flying marks.)
Hunting in cold-blood has always been one of his best skills.
A reclusive vampire like Wanderer would never be found anywhere in a populated area. But that doesn’t mean he would completely isolate himself. Rather, he’d choose somewhere quiet, where he could still get a supply of food while also being able to keep to himself.
Hound found what he was looking for in the eighth village he visited. When he asked, the townsfolk responded that they’d seen a pale man wandering around only at night and never at day. A man with unnatural silver hair and red eyes, one who never came by to buy food or drinks, and never talked longer than a handful of sentences.
But he did not lower his guard down. The hunter feared that his hunt had been too…simple. Nothing ever goes as smoothly as it did for him. His target was supposed to be someone who massacred a large group of people just because they got in the way.
Maybe fighting Wanderer himself would be more of a challenge, that’s why it was easy to find him.
He was pointed to the direction of the mountain where they said the strange man always heads towards when it was almost daybreak. It was a tall mountain, but the path was surprisingly easy to walk. As if the vampire had personally made sure it wouldn’t be too slippery nor would it be an inconvenience.
It was nighttime when Hound reached the peak of the mountain. It was only thanks to his training that he wasn’t out of breath when he finally stopped.
It is still a disadvantage for him, seeing as the vampire would be able to move freely outside during the night. He cursed his inability to arrive earlier, preferably when the sun was still up. He knew the vampire must’ve already sensed his presence and it was useless to back out now.
On top of that mountain was a hut. Its windows are tightly shut, but the door was left ajar. He can see the interior of the small house from where he was standing. He can see how messy it was, a collection of rocks scattered everywhere on the table, and a magnet discarded uselessly on the floor.
The sight made him want to raise an eyebrow.
Hound came to the conclusion that his target was not home. It was either he was down in the village, or he had been hiding in the trees, waiting for the opportunity to attack his prey.
Even the softest hoot from an owl can startle the hunter with how tense he was.
He did not get attacked. Rather, he only heard the sound of someone approaching, crushing a branch on the way.
Hound whipped his head to the source, ready for whatever would come next. Or at least, he thought he was. Because he was thoroughly disarmed at the sight of the vampire in a dark outfit, with features similar to the image on the file, looking back at him quietly, a handful of clothes in his arms.
Hound’s jaw dropped slightly despite his wishes to keep it shut. “What are you doing?”
“Uh, laundry?” the supposed vampire frowned back at him as if he was the stupid one. “What are you doing? In my house too?”
Laundry.
A vampire was trying to do laundry in front of him, a vampire hunter.
The situation was so absurd that Hound lost all his edge and stood there stupidly. His hand that was reaching for a blade immediately fell limp to his side. He no longer cared if he was openly gaping.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Why the fuck are you doing laundry during the night?”
“Because it is convenient…?”
“Convenient?” Hound echoed in disbelief. “The hell are you supposed to dry it, then? You’re in a forest in the mountain. Mold would only cling to your clothes overnight. You’d smell like absolute shit.”
“No I won’t,” answered the vampire, looking incredibly offended.
“Are you kidding me? Just do laundry during the day like a normal—”
And then he paused.
Because of the stupid situation, Hound almost forgot he was talking with an undead supernatural creature. Therefore, because of their nature, Wanderer would not be able to go outside during the day without turning to a pile of ashes.
Hold on a second, why was he debating laundry with a vampire in the first place?!
His mission was to cut the head off of this creature before he becomes even more of a threat. He was not supposed to be arguing with Wanderer about why it was better to dry the laundry during the morning rather than the night.
However, as he looks at the wronged expression on the vampire’s pale face, and back at the absolute mess of a house that he can see from outside, Hound felt something he doesn’t commonly feel these days.
Second-hand embarrassment.
If his late mother was to see this hopeless display in front of him, Hound was sure she’d have chewed his ear off for not knowing how to function like a proper person. He was horrified at the thought that he can clearly envision the woman yelling angrily at the person dubbed as one of the most dangerous vampires of the era for not knowing how to properly clean after himself.
“You—” his words died in his mouth.
Wanderer scoffed and turned around back somewhere to the forest. Probably to actually fucking finish his laundry in the middle of the night like the moron he was showing himself to be.
What the hell is this situation.
What was his purpose here if he can see that the vampire is slowly killing himself? He had no doubt that Wanderer would one day trip in something inside his own house and cut his head off with how disorganized everything looks.
His job was his job. There is no place for personal—
Goddammit.
Hound wondered since when did “killing in cold blood” become “wanting to teach your target how to do basic household chores”.
“Do you not know how to properly store your stupid rocks away?!”
“I did!”
“You call that storing away? You just tossed everything on top of your table! Is this house a trashcan?!”
“Are you my mother?” Wanderer shot back bitterly as he was forced to gather his rocks and dump it somewhere out of the way. “Who even asked you to do my chores?”
“I do whatever shit I want to do,” Hound rolled his eyes.
“Then don’t make it my problem.” The vampire eyed him warily. “And you have one hell of a vocabulary.”
“Problem?”
“No shit?”
“It’s either burning you at the stake or dealing with my language.”
There was a disbelieving laugh that echoed in that tiny space. “Are you threatening me now?”
“I’m not scared of one of the biggest threat towards humankind if that threat does a shitty job with his laundry.”
“Oh, fuck you.”
Hound refuses to sleep in the presence of a vampire. While he pities Wanderer and feels obligated to do his chores, there was still a wall between them that reminds them of their status as a vampire and his hunter.
When he’d taken too long to report back to Nidhogg, he received a call from her just to check if he was still alive.
“There are…complications.” He cringed at his own phrasing as he side glances the hut from his peripheral. “That vampire is more slippery than I thought.”
Martha is serious as she listens to his words. “Take your time and be careful,” she warns. “That is still someone capable of snapping your neck if he as much as touches you. If he really has been secluding himself, food will be scarce. He will not pass up the opportunity of food walking to his territory.”
Hound sees the curtains move slightly, as if someone was trying to peek outside. But the sun was too high up, and light immediately slipped past the gap. The person attempting to look at him immediately withdrew, pained cursing clearly heard even from the outside.
“…Right.” It was understandable that she is cautious. Martha doesn’t know of how much of an idiot Wanderer really is.
He hears her voice soften. “Hound…be well, okay?”
“Mhm.”
He hung up and returned to the poor excuse of a house. There he found Wanderer sitting in the farthest corner of the room, rubbing his smoldering face pitifully while inching away from the sunlight as the door opens.
“You are so stupid,” Hound spoke, a tinge of wonder in his tone as if it was something worth being amazed about.
“Thank you,” Wanderer spat back sarcastically.
He inched towards the vampire slowly, closing the door behind him. The entire room was now engulfed by the dark, but neither cared since it wasn’t like they had troubles seeing either way. “Let me see.”
The pale man reluctantly shifted so his burnt face and finger could be easily assessed. Hound poked the reddening areas tentatively and snickered when the other hissed in pain.
He feels as if he was living with a house pet…
“Why did you look out?” he asked. “It’s obviously still daytime, you dumbass.”
Wanderer let out a huff of…amusement? as their touch parted. Looking up, the hunter notices how red eyes twinkled with interest as well as curiosity. It didn’t dwindle even as he tilts his head and smirks when Hound scowls in annoyance.
“What?”
“You’re supposed to be after my head,” pointed out the vampire.
“You want me to cut it off now?” he offered as he reaches for his knife. “I could do it if you want.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“Why wouldn’t I?” he challenges. He fails to notice how he was still crouched too close to the vampire, so close that he can see how sharp the other’s fangs were. There was a faint warm breath on his skin, but he pretended as if there wasn’t.
Wanderer tilted his head up and closer, but did not break their centimeters of distance.
Suddenly, Hound became aware of the suffocating heat in the air. The feeling of his limbs pressing against another person’s in a way he tends to do when he was about to deal the finishing blow. A cold hand grips the wrist that was reaching for his knife, and pulls it along to raise it in the air.
“Because,” the vampire grinned widely. His canines flashed dangerously in the dark. “Most food is best devoured hot.”
That ended with Hound jerking away with an angered expression in his face. He scrambles out to leave and pretends to be unaffected by what was said. Wanderer’s snickers had been heard even as he loudly slams the door close behind him.
Those words didn’t even make sense.
(The tips of his ears were not burning.)
Wanderer has made quite a few enemies, both among his kind, as well as with humans.
Unfortunately, Hound made the terrible mistake of associating himself with the vampire. Because while he still hadn’t done as his mission wanted him to do, he was currently retreating as fast as he can away from the danger that looms and chases after him.
The wound on his shoulder slows him down. He was usually resistant to pain, but he can still feel the gash dripping with sweet, sweet blood, leaving a trail no matter how far he runs. Something was probably infused with the blade that he was stabbed with, with how he feels something in his system slowing down his movements.
He feels pathetic as his foot gets caught in a root and sends him crashing to the ground.
(He was a reliable vampire hunter, goddammit. Not some distressed maiden.)
Bloody Sword sneers as he approaches from behind.
“Norton Campbell really got himself a dog,” he mocked. “A useless one at that.”
This situation is truly bad. He did not think Bloody Sword, another dangerous vampire amongst humans, would also appear. It was good that one wasn’t hostile towards him, but he cannot say the same for this one. He heard how it would take an entire group to behead this one if they were to fight head-on.
“A dog, you say,” Hound spits at the vampire’s feet, annoyed by the former words. “Motherfucker.”
“Hm.”
If anything, the indifference only irked him further. The growl that escaped his lips was absolutely furious. If he could grab the knife in his back, he only needs a chance where this piece of shit approached him for him to stab that smug expression off. He shouldn’t have went down the mountain, no matter how much his stomach wanted to eat human food after a long time…
“I’d keep you hostage,” the vampire muses. “Your blood does smell sweet. Maybe that useless brat knows what he was doing after all…”
Hound, in his fury, saw red.
But before he can force himself up, a loud growl kept him down. Something flew and collided against Bloody Sword, sending him flying back to the trees with a loud crash. The human refused to admit the relief that flooded him at the sight of a familiar pale figure, eyes glaring dangerously at the intruder.
(Reminiscent to that time from the past, where both were younger. When both where nothing but strangers.)
“Joseph...”
Furious was an understatement. Even with the man’s back turned, Hound can feel the boiling anger radiating from his vampire. He knows from the trembling shoulders and the balled up fist of the tall man, he was ready to tear his opponent to pieces for as much as taking one step in his mountain.
Things happened too fast for his poison-addled head. Hound simply chose to collapse on the ground with a groan, feeling more and more of the pain seep into his shoulder. He feels as if someone tossed boulder after boulder at him. It didn’t matter if he was in the middle of the mountain’s forest, he just wants things over quickly.
A face swam in his vision. He pinpointed the pale strands of hair and the slowly receding red from those eyes. So he’s back…
He could always blame it on the poison on his shoulder later when he forced a smile on his face. But the pinched expression on Wanderer did not fade.
“Sit up.”
“Mhmmm...nah.”
“Sit up, you moron.”
“I’m fine. It doesn’t hurt.”
“I don’t care.” So Hound was forcibly pulled to a sit. He scowled at his own thoughts, somehow feeling something off with how he refers to himself. Wanderer took that as him showing his displeasure for the forced movements, because the vampire flicked his forehead.
“You fucker,” he grumbled at the light pain.
“Keep still. I’ll suck out the poison.”
He’ll…what?
A brief moment of clarity overcame Hound. He struggled away from the vampire’s grip, but his uniform was still torn off because of the wound. The night’s breeze tickled at his skin, sending him shivering and cold as he complains loudly.
“Let go of me, you asshole—"
“You’re poisoned.”
“So what?!”
Too late for his complaints, he can feel a pair of fangs sink on his flesh, where the wound was. A nostalgic feeling wafted throughout the hunter’s body, something he almost forgotten what felt like. It was the same brief pain followed by a soothing pleasure that he felt as a child. The same feeling he someone couldn’t forget but also couldn’t quite put a finger on…
He can feel how the poisoned mixed with his blood had been sucked out by the vampire. It was so strange but oddly addicting that he did not notice how his hands reached up to grip weakly on Wanderer’s sleeves.
“Fuck,” he gasped.
The fang slinked off his skin. Wanderer turned his head and spit out the poison that he sucked out. His lips remained red. When he moved to stare at the human, his pupils were blown wide.
A pale tongue slipped out and licked the remaining blood off his lips.
What the fuck—
(That was hot.)
“Your blood still tastes sweet,” he whispered on the space between them.
(It was on the back of his mind how Norton did not spit back out the poison he just sucked out. He was too lightheaded to notice, and the vampire didn’t seem to care anyway.)
Everything, all the little moments of the present kept reminding him of that accident. That day, when Naib Subedar was tethering on the edge to the cliff of death. A faraway feeling of someone’s teeth on his skin, drinking blood and licking the wounds clean until it closes by itself…
“You…” he started, voice slightly slurred. “It really was you.”
His hand moved by itself, reaching out to touch the pale face. To trace the scar that mars the otherwise flawless skin.
He already knew, but the confirmation of that knowledge somehow made him feel even more light.
(He knew this mission was dangerous.)
“Hound—”
He feels the same annoyed twinge in his chest.
“Naib,” he insisted, just as his eyes were starting to drop from his tiredness. “It’s Naib Subedar.”
But it was just his delirious self speaking, confused from the poison, pain and pleasure. Now that the more urgent things is over, his body simply wanted to shut down and rest. The wound where the poison was extracted from is already starting to close as well.
So he missed how Wanderer’s eyes flashed with something unreadable.
“Okay, Subedar,” the vampire muttered as he reaches to fix the human’s clothes once more. “Just call me Norton Campbell too, then.”
Except Naib Subedar has already succumbed to the arms of unconsciousness.
The memories came back to him, embarrassingly clear and humiliating.
He swears it was just a moment of weakness. And there’s only one way to make up for his shame.
The second Naib Subedar’s eyes opened, his hands reached for the knife so conveniently next to the bed, and he lunged for the vampire sitting by the bedside.
It turned into a wild competition between their strength. Despite the obvious difference between a human’s and a vampire’s, Norton chose to hold himself back enough that they seem equal in strength. The table in the middle of the room got knocked away, and the chairs toppled over as if it doesn’t matter. Their sudden fighting broke the shelf where the rocks had been put, so they forcibly had to separate as it began raining rocks.
“Why the fuck do you collect rocks?!” Naib growled.
“Why shouldn’t I?”
“Whatever!” And then they continued their unplanned brawl as soon as all the rocks had fallen down.
“Stop moving, dammit!”
“You’re trying to cut my head off! Why would I not?!”
“I have to—fuck…I have to kill you, okay?”
Norton kicked him off his body and stood up with disbelief in his face. “I removed poison from your body and helped you, now you’re trying to kill me?”
“Who asked for your help anyway?!”
“Would you have rather died?”
“So what?!”
“So wha—What?!”
Naib threw his knife in frustration at the vampire, but it only dropped down uselessly to the wooden floor. He was glaring bitterly at the other, as if the sight of him was so painfully to his eyes. “You should go drop dead now. Not me. Let me do my stupid job and just stay still!”
This man—why was he so contradicting?
Naib woke up with memory of what had happened. Of course he was horrified! He came on that mountain to hunt down a vampire, not do his laundry and catch…stupid feelings! That wasn’t in the job description! Feelings are too dangerous. Especially since the object of affection was his supposed target!
Job first. Work when it’s working hours. DO. NOT. RAISE. BUTTERFLIES IN YOUR STOMACH.
“Goddammit Subedar—”
He shudders at the sudden jolt he felt at the sound of the name he discarded. He refuses to admit how nice it feels. “Don’t call me that!”
“You told me to call you that, now you’re retracting it? What kind of temperamental guy are you? Did the poison damage your head?”
He bristled, unwilling to admit how he was ashamed to admit how he cannot find it in him to kill the vampire before him. He’s done Wanderer’s laundry for almost a month now, what was he supposed to clean if that guy dies? But the problem was, he had a clean streak of never failing his missions. What was he supposed to tell Martha?
What, that he became a dumb, dimwitted hunter the moment he laid his eyes on the equally-dumb guy that saved his life when he was a child?
To his dismay, even without Naib admitting to these thoughts, Norton Campbell still somehow managed to catch onto his thoughts. His hands faltered, and a stupid grin crept up his face. “No way.”
“What do you mean no way, you—”
When he dodges another punch, the vampire’s movements almost look as if he’s merrily dancing away from the threat. He grinned and laughs at each futile hit that Naib sends his way. “You know, if you want me to die so bad, you can always die with me…”
“What.”
“Hound, you adorable puppy…”
“Bitch what—”
Wanderer grabbed both of his hands with one swift move, spreading it far apart to restrain the feral hunter in front of him. His eyes twinkled with the kind of shine that living beings tends to have. As if he was truly relieved, as if he was just another human standing next to Naib. Someone waiting for a long time now, and has waited enough.
“Do you trust me?”
Naib loathes how he falls apart at the question.
(So what if he does?)
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