Archive of Our Own

Thanatos was rather surprised at how much fun he was having. When Madame Nocta had initially shown him his redistricting papers, he’d had to step out of the room to stop the choking panic from clawing at his insides. The image of his old life, of returning to his job and his apartment and his lover after so long away, had been the only thing keeping him going for so long that the idea of changing that image made him sick. “It’ll be quiet,” she’d assured him. “No one will know what you are. You can relax, recover. It will be good for you.” Thanatos hadn’t believed her, but now, as the damp wind ruffled his hair and sent ripples over the nearby lake, he was forced to admit this world was rather quaint.

He could almost convince himself it was just like home, at least, before the “engine of progress” had compressed every ounce of magic from the land. The countryside was littered with small villages of wood and stone instead of towering metropoles of metal and glass. The air held none of the heavy odour of burning oil; if anything, it crackled and pulsed with magic in the way the ancient forests had when the fae still inhabited them. If it weren’t for the various ruins that evoked to those in the know the aura of an advanced society, he would have believed it was the ninth century again. Wandering from place to place, offering his eyes, his voice, and his stories to anyone who could use him in exchange for a few coins, and flirting with people in taverns, it was quite akin to the way he’d lived before he’d met the Archfey. One could almost call it idyllic.

“Hey, Thanatos! There you are,” a voice called from behind him, and he turned to see Bastian pushing through the market crowd toward him. “Thought I’d lost you for a bit. Crowd too much for you?”

There was one major difference between this world and his own, and here was a prime example of it: one could tell just by looking that Bastian was a dragon. If the prismatic hair and the horns weren’t a dead giveaway, the shimmering scales certainly were. He wasn’t the only one, either. A vampire blended right in among the varying peoples of this world, and Thanatos didn’t even bother to wear the glasses that obscured his eye color and slitted pupils anymore. He still became rather on edge in the market crowds, but even that he was doing much better with than he had a month ago. He’d been able to drift from stall to stall with the crowd for almost an hour before he’d felt claustrophobic.

Thanatos nodded acknowledgement of Bastian’s presence and alighted from the fencepost. “I just needed some air. Find everything you wanted?” If he recalled correctly, they were supposed to be replenishing supplies after an unfortunate encounter with a river (that had not at all been Thanatos’s fault).

Bastian only shrugged. “He’s the one shopping. Weather’s turning. Ought to get back together with Mariano and head out before it gets too bright for you.”

The sun here burned much brighter than Thanatos was used to, and even cloudy days pricked uncomfortably at his skin. The locals had been kind to him, though, and no one had hesitated to offer him shelter or clothing or food that he inevitably had to refuse. The hat that he was wearing and had reinforced with a layer of Shadow had been forced upon him by a kindly old woman who had noticed his discomfort while he was carrying her shopping for her on a not-so-cloudy afternoon. She couldn’t have known that his refusal to put a square millimetre of exposed skin in direct sunlight was an aversion to screaming immolation and subsequent death, but she’d pushed her hat onto his head anyway, and called him a sweet young man who needed to take better care of himself. That sort of behaviour had by far been the norm, and for that, he was grateful.

“That little basket all you’re getting?” Bastian asked, edging a hand under the fabric cover, but pulling it back when Thanatos swatted at it.

“The two of you have been very kind. I thought that perhaps I could repay the favour by taking care of dinner for tonight.” It had been a long while since he’d had to cook anything, but he still remembered some of the things his mother had taught him, oh so long ago, and he felt the need to provide something other than diverting conversation for once.

Bastian walked ahead of him in the crowd, forging a less constricted path for Thanatos to follow as the pair threaded their way back to the meeting point. “You don’t even eat. How’re you gonna know if it’s any good?”

“I’ll just have to have you taste for me.”

“Sure thing.” The dragon grinned in that toothy way of his, and Thanatos allowed himself a small one in return.

He’d come out to the two of them during the second week. Not about his taste for men: the reality of that oozed from his pores and was apparent in every movement. The wistful stares he threw at every young man who looked even a bit like the Archfey left little room for doubt. About his taste for blood. Thanatos had violated Clandestine Accord and clued two mortals in on the fact that he was a vampire. It hadn’t phased them at all. There were very few things that could rattle Mariano, and Bastian was a dragon. A vampire wasn’t a threat, and so he didn’t care. Thanatos had felt silly for even being slightly anxious about it. The way they looked at each other, talked to each other, to him, he just knew. They’d felt safe. Thanatos hadn’t felt safe in decades. Not since the Culling War.

Twenty-five years of paranoia had turned an easygoing, charismatic Thanatos into a nervous wreck of a man who jumped at every shadow. He’d heard Tenebrus and the Council talking about him: the psychological effects of his job had made him nearly useless at it, and they were planning to replace him. The war had ended before they had the chance, but still. He knew he wasn’t the same man his Archfey had fallen in love with. That thought alone made him want to shatter into a thousand porcelain fragments, but living here had started to fill in the jagged gouges the war had left on his soul. The people were kinder, didn’t treat him like a monster even when they couldn’t know he was one. (Not like home. On Earth Four, even the slightest deviation from the norm had put him at risk of discovery.) He wasn’t constantly on the defensive anymore.

The crowd opened up a bit, and he could now see slightly further ahead. Ah, there was Mariano. His dark hair rose up above most of the bobbing heads of the market-goers, and the soft lines of his face were broken slightly by a brow furrowed in concentration. Comparing products, perhaps? He’s rather particular about the supplies. He was still deep in discussion with a shopkeeper, though from the amount he was carrying, it seemed as if he must be nearly done with his shopping. “I’ll be right back, found something I want to pick up,” Bastian leaned down to whisper in his ear, melting into the crowd again before Thanatos could even respond. He felt a bit nervous in the crowd by himself, but he could see Mariano, at least, and the hat would probably make him easy enough to find again. He found a quiet spot between two stalls, where he was offered a seat and an apple by an old woman selling fruit. With a smile, he accepted the former, but of course not the latter.

The market had been set up in the hollow shell of some ancient building, and most of the shops on this side of the square were peddling foodstuffs of some kind, set up on the raised ground on either side of the makeshift thoroughfare created by the terrain. This particular ruin gave Thanatos the nagging sensation that he was late to catch a train. He supposed it’d be a long time before he saw another train, given his reassignment. It would have been strange to go back to his Earth after a quarter-century of war, anyhow, let alone live in the cottage without the Archfey. He wasn’t even sure he knew how to fit himself back into a fast-paced mortal society now that he’d had the fear of other people forcibly drilled into him. There hadn’t been a moment in the last decade or so when he hadn’t been acutely wary of other vampires out to give him a glowing recommendation to the nearest Reaper. Relax, Than. There aren’t any other vampires in this area, he reminded himself. He had a hundred miles of clearance before he encroached on anyone else’s hunting grounds. Anyone who wanted to mess with him would have Mariano to contend with, anyhow. No one had got through him yet.

“Do you like it?”

“Hm?”

The laugh was like birdsong, and it came from a girl, about nineteen, behind the fruit stand, helping the old woman set out more goods. “You were staring, mister. Do you like the hairpin? My mother made it for me.” Like most of the denizens here, her skin was a deep ochre, with matching eyes that held a mischievous smile and an effortless charm.

He had been staring; he realised. The pin was an array of jasmine-like blooms on a fastening of ebony and amethyst. It looked like something the Archfey would have worn, not in the early days of their relationship when they’d been doing the courtship dance of fey prince and vampire, no, this was something ae would have worn to a coffeehouse date or to the cinema, a coy reminder of the power that lurked behind the mortal disguise. Thanatos summoned up a smile and gave a wry chuckle, hoping his expression didn’t seem tortured. “You remind me of someone, that’s all.” Oh. It was easier than he’d expected to become the charming vampire once again. Maybe he really was getting better.

The girl returned his smile. “Someone you like?” She turned away a little, then met his eyes again.

“Someone I love.”

The grief must have shown through in his eyes for a moment, because the girl’s smile turned sad. “What happened to them?”

He hesitated, deciding how much of his pain was worth pouring out to a stranger. “Gone. Said they would return, but, well. I’ve had to move, and I fear we may never be reunited.” His gaze drifted away toward the shifting clouds. Bastian was right. The weather would clear up soon.

“Take it then,” she said, and his brow furrowed as his eyes returned to look at her. She took his hand in hers and pressed the pin into it. “My mother made it as a good-luck charm. Maybe it will bring the two of you back together.”

Why would she give something like that to a stranger? Part of him wondered if it might be some sort of trap, but he pushed the thought away. Humans weren’t like vampires. Every gesture of goodwill wasn’t a secret power play with them. Sometimes they did these things on a whim, or even out of kindness. It was a foolish thing for her to do, though, so he demurred. “Oh, miss, I couldn’t possibly take such a precious heirloom—”

“Surely you won’t refuse a gift,” she countered, and the expression of mischief on her face melted the last of the ice in his heart. Maybe things truly were looking up.

Thanatos bowed. “Then I shall graciously accept. However,” he added, setting his basket down for a moment, “allow me to return the favour. A charm for a charm. My partner gave this to me a long time ago. It, too, is good luck. May it bring you winds of fortune.” He removed the earring from his right ear, a dangle shaped vaguely like a wreath. In truth, it was a ritual sigil, one of the Archfey’s smallest and subtlest protection blessings. Woven directly from aer magic into metal, he’d worn it for almost two hundred years, and he credited his continued existence a significant amount to the Archfey’s protection rather than any qualities he himself possessed. For a moment, he questioned why he would give away something so precious on a whim, but the girl’s gift had struck a chord with him, made him feel as if the dark days might be over. That was worth the loss of the charm.

The young woman accepted the earring and worked into her own ear, and the two of them shared a smile, and a laugh, and a blush. One couldn’t fault Thanatos for finding comfort in the sweet moment, but of course, the universe saw fit to punish him for allowing himself to relax. “The fuck you think you’re doing, dipshit?” a gruff voice called from behind him. And here we go.

He went for his usual disarming smile. “Ah, you must be the boyfriend.”

“Fiancé,” the young lady corrected mildly. Of course he was.

The fiancé in question wasted no time in invading Thanatos’s personal space. “You gotta be stupid to chat up another man’s girl like that.” He folded his arms, probably trying to look intimidating. It was sort of working.

Thanatos’s eyebrows raised. “If that’s what you think flirting looks like, my condolences to your lady-love. I was nothing more than cordial. Aren’t you just the strapping young man though,” he purred. “I cannot fault the lady’s taste.” Now that was flirting. The tried-and-true Thanatos method of getting out of this sort of tight spot was to play up his flamboyance until their discomfort outweighed their indignation. “Baffle them with his bullshit,” as it were. It usually worked long enough for him to work out some method of escape.

“Leave it, Javier. He’s not bothering me. We were just talking,” the girl said, annoyed.

Javier was not dissuaded. “I don’t want random guys feeling like they can talk to you, Violetta. And that didn’t look like talking.”

Thanatos saw this as a chance to cut back in. “I assure you, I have no interest in absconding with your sweetheart. My intentions with her were purely platonic, for my tastes lie elsewhere, if you take my meaning.”

From the way Javier picked him up by his collar, Thanatos got the idea that he might not have understood some of those words. “Are you saying you don’t think she’s pretty? Take it back right now!”

Oh, by the celestial river… Annoyance ignited in Thanatos’s chest, and he was firing back before he could think about it. “I didn’t say she wasn’t pretty, you oaf. I said I was fucking gay! By the Divines, humans grow ever more stupid. I’m married too, if it matters—”

“Is there a problem here?” Oh, thank fuck. Mariano, his knight in shining armour once again. Part of him orchestrated these scenarios intentionally just to have a chance to see the mage work. Bastian was hanging back, presumably to watch the show. He gave Thanatos a little wave and a grin and appeared to have found himself some sort of drink. Typical Bastian.

Javier looked Mariano up and down. Tall and broad, the dark-skinned mage certainly carried his share of scars, from the clearly deliberate burns on his arms to the blade-mark under his jawline. Thanatos thought it added charm to the soft lines of Mariano’s face, especially when he smiled, which was often if Thanatos had anything to do with it. He was not smiling now. Mariano’s default expression was blank, unreadable, which combined with the silver-white pact rings around his dark irises and his subtle but not-insignificant musculature lent him quite the imposing air. Even behind the dark-rimmed glasses, it was clear that Mariano was not a man to be trifled with.

Undeterred, likely due to a lack of basic survival instinct, Javier pressed on. “Sure is. Your friend here’s about to eat shit for fucking with my girl. Unless you’d like to eat it for him?” Now, that was borderline suicidal. If he hadn’t known Mariano as well as he did, Thanatos would have expected a bloodbath.

Mariano looked up at Thanatos, still dangling in the air with an expression that read “I’m sorry, please save me again.” He didn’t speak, just removed his casting dagger from his belt, held it up, and ignited the blade, his war mage’s magic shooting up through the hilt and heating the metal until it glowed. A single eyebrow shifted, challenging Javier to try him.

“You really don’t want to fight him,” Thanatos supplied, helpfully.

Javier looked as if he might try it anyway, but Violetta read the situation correctly. Smart girl. “Let’s just go, Javier. I’m fine, it’s not worth it!” she implored, pulling on his arm.

A moment’s hesitation, then the brute relented. “Whatever,” he spat, and threw Thanatos down. The vampire sat down hard in the dirt, hat askew, but that was better than having his neck wrung on what had otherwise been a fairly pleasant afternoon. His basket was down here too, fortunately undamaged. “Let’s go, Violetta.” Javier stalked off, pushing through the crowd.

Thanatos let out a heavy sigh of relief. He took the hand Mariano stretched down toward him and allowed himself to be helped to his feet. “You okay?” Mariano asked, observing his slanted hat and open collar. Thanatos felt the heat rising in his face.

He cleared his throat. “Quite all right, thanks to you, once again. Just in time, too.” He had to stop doing this. As entertaining as it was to be rescued time and time again, the risk to his person was too high. Mariano might save him, but not necessarily before he was seriously damaged.

“You have to stop doing this, I’m not always going to show up right when you need me, you know.” Mariano picked up the basket from the ground and handed it to Thanatos, who suddenly thought he might repeat the whole procedure again tomorrow.

“Oh, but you do it so well! The spectacle, the cinema! You play quite the dashing hero,” he enthused, attempting to distract from how hot he suddenly felt under his silk shirt.

Mariano looked away, probably looking for his dragon in the crowd. It was difficult to tell with Mariano, but Thanatos got the idea he might have said something wrong. Fortunately for him, Bastian returned, amused as usual. “Thought you were going to teach him a lesson. Too bad you let him get away.”

“Wasn’t worth it.” Mariano shrugged. “He was just a blowhard, and I’m sure Than started it, anyway.” He accepted his bag back from Bastian and instinctively sorted through it, as was his habit.

“I’m sure I resent that remark!” Thanatos spluttered, but before he could really get going with his retort, Violetta pushed her way back through the crowd toward them.

“I’m sorry about him. You didn’t deserve that. I should go, but here, take this. For your friend with the pretty eyes.” She pressed a meat bun into his hand and vanished again.

Thanatos blinked in momentary confusion, then held the pastry out to Mariano, who also seemed confused. “Me?”

“I think it’s relatively clear she didn’t mean Bastian. No offense meant, of course.”

Bastian grinned. “None taken. Eat it, Mariano, looks good. If you won’t, I will.”

“But your eyes-” Mariano began, meaning Thanatos’s crimson ones rather than Bastian’s white-silver.

“Oh? Taken your fancy, have they?” It came out more flirtatious than he’d intended, he was having trouble shaking off the performance. “Alluring as they may be, I already have a gift from the lady, and I can’t eat it anyhow. Take the bread and the compliment, mortal mage.” One would have to be blind to fail to acknowledge that Mariano was attractive, in Thanatos’s opinion, but Mariano didn’t seem to process it the same way.

“I- okay.” He didn’t seem convinced, but he always looked like that.

Better to just distract him, then. “Good show, Mariano. Another innocent man rescued, another reward earned. Let’s move on before I am reduced to ash, eh?” That was something he was actually worried about, not just a diversionary tactic. The clouds were moving uncomfortably quickly, hurried on by the wind.

“Wouldn’t want to have to scoop him up off of the ground. That’d take ages,” Bastian joked. Mariano laughed, and all was right with the world again.

As Bastian had predicted, the sky was nearly clear when the sun finally slipped below the horizon. The particular corner of the glade where they had built the fire was sufficiently shaded for Thanatos not to have to focus on protecting himself from the light. Not that he had much else to do than leaf through his well-worn copy of Theogonia, which had managed to survive the war tucked into a corner of his briefcase. He didn’t need to read the pages anymore, so many times had he been over these same words in the two thousand years since this particular edition had been published, but turning the leaves and skimming the familiar passages was of comfort to him, a habit he’d developed to unwind after a long day. The woods were quiet except for the soft chirping of insects and the scrape of Mariano’s knife against the whetstone.

“Is it done yet?” This was the fourth time Bastian had asked in the last hour. Thanatos didn’t blame him. The tantalising aroma of slow-cooked meat rising from the stew pot filled the air and stimulated the appetite. His sense of smell had shifted since becoming a vampire, but if one thing had remained the same, the scent still took him back to his childhood, helping his mother by the stove.

“Not quite.” Thanatos gave the pot a stir and tested the meat with the spoon. “About ten more minutes.”

Bastian groaned. “That’s what you said ten minutes ago.”

“No, ten minutes ago I said twenty minutes.”

“Fifteen,” said Mariano, inspecting the blade’s edge in the firelight.

“Hm?” It was the first time Mariano had spoken in an hour or so. Thanatos hadn’t even known he was listening.

The scraping resumed. “You said fifteen minutes. Ten minutes ago.”

“Did I?” Thanatos couldn’t recall, but if Mariano thought so, it must be true.

“Yeah.” There was a beat of silence, and then the rustle of a page and the scrape of the whetstone.

The pot simmered happily despite Bastian’s impatient scrutiny. “Can’t we just eat it now?”

Mariano laughed. “I’m sure it’ll be worth the wait, Bastian. We can’t all eat raw meat, you know. Though maybe next time pick something that doesn’t take as long, Than.”

Thanatos gave a snort of mock-indignation. “Genius cannot be rushed, mortal mage. This is an heirloom recipe passed down to me by my mother.” They’d had servants to cook for them, of course. A magistrate’s wife would never have been expected to do that sort of thing, but Thanatos’s mother had loved every part of the process from selecting ingredients to serving. She’d taught him to cut vegetables and to know when meat was tender. It was incredibly rare for him to need to use those skills, but his hands knew what to do. In a way, it was as if his mother was still alive.

True to his estimate, the stew was ready in about ten minutes. Bastian would have been happy to eat the meat before it was cooked, and if Thanatos was careful, he could sip at the tomato base without making himself ill, but it was Mariano’s opinion that mattered.

Fortunately, the mage’s first spoonful earned a smile. “It’s good!”

Thanatos sighed with relief. “I’m glad you find it so. It’s been quite a few years since I’ve had the occasion to cook, you understand.”

“It doesn’t show. It’s just too bad you can’t taste it,” Mariano said, attacking another spoonful. That dispelled the last of Thanatos’s worries that he was just saying it to be nice. Even if that would have been out of character for someone so straightforward, the apprehension was habitual.

“Oh, I remember it well enough. Enjoy it in my stead.”

“Doesn’t it make you hungry, watching other people eat?” Bastian mused, though most of his attention was caught up in finding more bits of tender meat to fish out of the stew, which Thanatos took as a victory.

He shrugged. “Mortal food is, at best, unappetizing to me at this point. My senses of taste and smell are so altered that it doesn’t register to my mind as consumable.” He was hungry, though, he realised. It had been three days since he’d eaten last: though he’d gone out yesterday and the day before, he’d been unlucky and had found no one else wandering the wilds.

House Iuventae contracts rarely came with non-sapient sustenance clauses. The Shadow could tell the difference, and if Thanatos tried to cheat, it would punish him for it with days of nausea and cramps. It was for that reason that he preferred to eat every other day if he could. A human could survive a litre of blood loss much more easily than two or three. It looked as if he’d actually have to kill today if he didn’t want to lose control of himself later, though. He’d made peace with the concept millennia ago — or so he told himself, but drinking only prepared blood during the war had brought back a vague discomfort. Prudence told him to avoid specific details when discussing it with the others, regardless. He didn’t want to know what they’d truly think of him.

Oblivious to Thanatos’s introspection, Bastian had come up with a theory of his own. “But if you dried it out or whatever, made it into flour, couldn’t you make, say, blood bread or some shit like that?”

“Well, yes, actually. House Nocta does extensive research on alternative ways to prepare blood. Whether it’s edible depends on one’s specific contract. I have a special provision that allows me to consume most liquids, but anything solid makes me ill, blood-based or otherwise.” He didn’t regret it. He was happy to never taste cake again in exchange for still being able to drink wine. The stew he was sipping at was still rather flavourless, though.

“It’s so interesting that your people have found different ways to work with your condition,” said Mariano.

Was it? Thanatos had never thought so. “Necessity is the mother of invention. But enough about vampires. Shall I read you out a story tonight?”

This got Bastian’s attention. “Do the one with the king and the wild man. I like that one.”

“Ah, yes, the epic of Gilgamesh.” He didn’t have a copy of that one in his carpetbag, but he could do the first hour or so from memory, and pick up the book from the Archfey’s later if he needed it. (If he could bear it. The sight of the empty house had made him feel hollow the last time he’d been.) He shut his eyes, took a deep breath, and when next he opened them, his voice had changed to that of the orator. “This is one of the oldest stories in the world, about two thousand years older than me, even. Translated from the tablets of an ancient civilization, large segments of the story are missing, but what we do have tells the story of a mighty king and his quest to discover the secret of immortality. Let me tell you of a man who had seen everything, whom the god Anu had granted all knowledge, who had seen secrets and hidden things, even from the time before the Flood. ”

As usual, his audience was rapt, caught up by his words and taken to a time five millennia in the past, when giants walked the earth. He’d go hunting later in the evening, once the magic of ancient fable faded to that of the sandman’s sleep.

Thanatos leaned against a tree and tied his hair up into a low ponytail. He’d left his travelling jacket back at the camp as well, leaving him in just his silk shirt, tie, and trousers. The less restricted his movement was, the better, and it had the benefit of making him look younger and less careworn. He hated this, really. When he talked and laughed with Mariano and Bastian, he could pretend that he was perfectly ordinary, still fully human, but when he hunted, it was clear that he was anything but. He wasn’t even an ambush predator like Tenebrus or most other hunting vampires, the sharpening of his senses and the way his night vision flattened everything into shades of grey save for outlines of delicious scarlet around everything with a heartbeat was of little use to him. All it did was remind him how little humanity was left in him.

In his element, Thanatos was a honey trap, an attractive, confident, charismatic man whom others would gladly follow into a dark alley for a tryst — with perhaps a little hypnotic encouragement. It fit his personality quite well, and he’d been able to carve a niche out for himself in both vampiric society and back on Earth Four. He was the very picture of a Iuventus, a man of words taken with alcohol and sex and other pleasures of the flesh. Or at least he had been. Before everything. He wanted very badly to return to feeling like that man. (If he thought about it too hard, he’d realise that luring people into the night to be devoured was also rather monstrous, so he didn’t.)

Right now, his priority was to return to the village and civilization. He was still getting back into the rhythm of pursuing prey, hunting instead of being hunted. It felt good to be out at night instead of having to worry about the sun surprising him. He decided to just try to enjoy the sense of freedom. Moving at a vampire’s speed, the wind singing through his hair, the moonlight lightly caressing his skin. All the horrors of the war: the daily grind of waking up, infiltrating a location, and running away that made him feel as if the dust and grime of the road soaked into his soul. That was all behind him now. He was an ordinary vampire now, without obligations or debts, free to eat and sleep and do whatever else his heart desired.

He really should have learned his lesson from earlier in the day. Stay on your toes, don’t stop to enjoy things. Don’t dare believe you’re out of the woods. You developed that paranoia for a reason. It was his own fault he was now lying on his back on the forest floor, his ankle held fast by a metal cord. One moment, he’d been darting through the trees trying to cover distance, and the next his head had hit a tree root and sent stars exploding behind his eyes. How long had he been unconscious? Ten seconds or ten minutes?

The impact alone might have killed a mortal, but Thanatos was merely concussed. Confusedly, he tried to pull his ankle free, and only succeeded in tightening the cable around the unfortunate limb. He would leave this part out whenever he told the story afterward, but in truth, he panicked. The idea of being trapped again, being captured again, was too much for him. His nails scrabbled for purchase in the soft loam, fighting to take him somewhere, anywhere that wasn’t here. His vision tinted red, his own too-loud heartbeat overwhelming his heightened senses. It felt as if it were another person who was thrashing and kicking, desperately trying to get away and only tightening the wire until it cut down to the bone.

He flinched at the snap of a branch, close, too close. “Well, well. Look what I got here. You ain’t a cougar, are you, buddy?” The voice was rough and belonged to a banjo-string sort of man now crouching three metres away.

This should have been his salvation. If Thanatos had been in his right mind, he would have turned on the charm and begged this man for help. But no. He’d been hungry too long; his Shadow was too close to the surface, converting his stress response from fawn to flight. He didn’t even know what small indication he must have picked up on, or perhaps he truly was the animal for which the trap had been originally purposed — but before he knew it, he’d drawn back toward the tree, hissing and baring his fangs.

The man only grinned. “Who-wee, ain’t you a feisty one? Hold on, red eyes, dark hair… You’re the fucker Javier was tellin’ us about, tryin’ to muscle up on his girl. Oh, he’s gonna love this. What kind of freak are you, anyway, with teeth like that?” Oh, fucking fantastic. They’d set him up on a world where people didn’t believe in vampires, and here he was screwing it up. “Eh, doesn’t matter. Wait ’til I get Javier and the guys. It’s gonna be a riot! Not like you have much of a choice but to sit, though, huh?” The man laughed cruelly and wandered off.

Alone again. Thanatos was used to how this sort of thing went by now. The hunter would come back with a group of men, and they would kick Thanatos around until they were tired of him, and then they would probably “kill” him and dump his body somewhere. He’d wait until they left and drag himself off to lick his wounds. It would be tolerable. He would just have to endure.

Mariano was pacing again. Bastian watched him for a few minutes, hoping he would come back to bed, but eventually gave up. “Something on your mind?”

“Than’s not back yet.” Bastian had to admit that was strange. Thanatos had never been gone for over four hours before. He’d usually slip away an hour or two after dusk and return just after midnight, blood-drunk and stifling hiccups. He should have been back three hours ago.

“You want to go after him?” Mariano nodded. Bastian had already got to his feet. He knew Mariano well enough by now to know he couldn’t just stand by. “It’s a lot of ground to cover. What if we don’t find him?”

“He probably went back to the village. We can start that way and fan out if we need to. It’s all well and good if he comes back on his own, but if he’s in trouble…” Mariano trailed off, his pensive gaze wandering toward the forest and taking his feet with it.

Bastian doused the fire and moved to catch up. “I’m sure he just fell asleep somewhere,” he commented, but knew as soon as the words were spoken that they were false. Than didn’t sleep anywhere he didn’t feel safe, and definitely not by accident. When they’d first met, the two of them had spent three days in a stalemate waiting for the other to fall asleep first. It had become clear by then that Thanatos wasn’t even slightly a threat, but Bastian had had to be the one to give up on the whole thing. Than hadn’t seemed like he could, even if he’d wanted to. Even utter exhaustion couldn’t convince his body to rest if it wasn’t safe.

No, it was much more likely that he’d managed to get himself into a situation he couldn’t get himself out of. At this point, it happened so often that Bastian wondered if Thanatos did it on purpose just to enjoy the privilege of having Mariano rescue him. Not that he could blame him. Mariano took on the “knight in shining armour” role quite handsomely, all shining blade and “put him down” and “let him go.” If the mage didn’t have such a tendency to hurt himself while taking care of others, it might have been worth trying himself, but he’d seen what lengths Mariano would push himself to in order to save him. If the idiot got himself killed, it’d be much less fun.

Tracking Thanatos wasn’t difficult. The vampire didn’t have any particular abilities that lent themselves to obscure a trail. He’d been moving quickly, but not particularly quietly. They heard the commotion up ahead before they saw it: a group of about ten people, talking and yelling and throwing spears, rocks, and crossbow bolts, all centred on a tree at the edge of the clearing. The place looked like a war zone. Broken branches littered the forest floor, some splashed with dark red. Black liquid pooled in some places and flowed in others, streaming down from holes in the surrounding trees that looked like they’d been punctured with incredible force. A mass of dark hair and torn fabric, stained with blood, lay at the foot of the central tree. The same black liquid guttered weakly into a half-dome in an attempt to stop more projectiles, but couldn’t hold its shape and joined the rest of the dark splatters on the ground. Surely that wasn’t…?

Another rock bounced off of the figure’s shoulder, leaving behind a line of red that spilled down the pale skin exposed by his ruined sleeve. He shifted and some of the hair fell to the side, revealing a single scarlet eye, darting from side to side, searching for an escape. The leader of the pack, recognizable as the brute from earlier in the day, hurled another stone that struck the wounded creature across the temple. A yelp of pain rang out, but then the shape was silent.

“I think I finally got him!” Javier exclaimed. “How much do you think they’ll pay for his head?”

Mariano had already come to his conclusion. “Leave him.” Despite the lack of exclamation point, his voice was clear and cold and had an impressive volume that carried it well enough to make the rabble stop what they were doing.

Javier turned to see who had spoken. “You again? Seems like you really want trouble. Why do you care so much about this monster, anyway? All it wanted was the steal our people away in the night. I did this town a favour by exterminating it.”

“You’ll regret laying hands on him.” A statement of fact, not a threat. Mariano never threatened.

Javier snorted. “I don’t think so. Maybe I should take care of you, too, for protecting that thing. Boys!” At his command, the scattered hunters left off taking potshots at Thanatos and aimed their weapons at the new threat.

Bastian loved watching this part. Mariano fought like a wild thing, with a magic that was hungry, ruthlessly efficient and utterly without mercy. In some ways, one could say he fought like a dragon. Bastian couldn’t afford to be distracted watching his mage work, though. Rescuing Thanatos was more important, and so he refocused, his new objective heavily discouraging any of Javier’s goons from running to his aid.

Mariano let out a deep breath and put his magic away. The smell of charred flesh rose over the scent of the forest at night — more of which was Bastian’s work than his, if he was honest. “We’re all clear now, Than. Are you all right?” The figure by the tree made no sound, and Bastian threw Mariano an inquisitive glance. He elected to approach, wanting to see if that last rock had knocked the vampire unconscious.

Unconscious he was not, and the speed at which he withdrew toward the perceived safety of the tree surprised even Mariano. The curtain of his hair obscured his face, and it was a bit unsettling the way the glowing red eyes watched Mariano through the tangle, pupils narrowed into slits with none of the good humour or charm he was used to seeing in them. If the vampire weren’t wearing Thanatos’s clothes — or, rather, what was left of them — he’d almost believe it wasn’t Than he was watching at all. Thanatos’s eyes showed no recognition, only wary apprehension, as if he were waiting for Mariano to reveal threatening intent. Was he too far gone to realize who they were?

Mariano continued to approach, slowly, giving Thanatos time to track his movements. “You’re safe now,” he murmured. “It’s just me. It’s Mariano, you know me. Bastian’s here too. Let him see you, Bastian.” Bastian approached as he was told, but Thanatos backed away, which pulled taut a thin wire around his ankle. The metal had cut into his flesh to the point that white bone was visible amidst the mess of pink and red. “That hurts a lot, doesn’t it? Let us help you. We’ll get that off of you and get you somewhere we can treat it, okay?” He could only hope that their potions would work on a vampire. It didn’t look at all treatable otherwise.

Thanatos remained silent. That was the weirdest thing about it. The Thanatos Mariano knew rarely stopped talking: his presence was a constant stream of words about everything and nothing, almost as if he were afraid to stop. Right about now, he would usually apologise profusely for needing to be rescued at all and be on the verge of composing an epic ballad about their combat prowess, maybe a little worse for wear but trying hard not to show it. As Mariano approached, all he could hear were the harsh exhales forcing themselves through the vampire’s nose. That it wasn’t broken was a miracle, considering the state of the rest of his face. Thanatos did a good job of not looking like a corpse most days, but the bruising mottling his cheeks and over his eyes appeared distinctly post-mortem. Tear tracks, long dried, were visible under the blood and dirt. And yet, through it all, he looked not fearful exactly, but… vigilant. Distrustful. He hadn’t given up at all. He was just waiting to see what else he would have to endure.

Mariano tried again. “Thanatos? Bastian’s gonna get that cord off of you, okay? And then you can just come to me. We’ll take you somewhere safe.” Thanatos still didn’t seem to hear, but Bastian’s approach certainly got his attention, eliciting a growl from deep within the vampire’s chest.

“Doesn’t seem like he wants our help,” Bastian murmured, slowing, but not stopping.

“He’s just afraid.” This was a sound like a cornered animal, not like a predator, ready to fight if he had to, but wanting to avoid it. “We can’t just leave him like this. He’ll understand once the wire’s gone.” At least, he probably would. “It’s okay, Than. Come to me, you’ll be safe. You trust me, right?” Mariano could only hope Thanatos did. It certainly seemed like it, given how quickly he’d started to account for the mage in his plans. Would that trust be able to cut through whatever was going on with him?

The growl became louder as the distance between Bastian and Thanatos closed, and escalated into a hiss when he got close enough to touch the wire. It was Mariano’s turn to fill the air with words, anything to distract Thanatos long enough for Bastian to do his thing. If Than tried to run again, he’d probably make everything worse. “Eyes on me, Than, that’s it. I know you’re scared. He won’t hurt you. We’re friends. You know that. You remember us. We’re going to get you out of here, and then we’ll make your leg stop hurting.” Mariano extended a hand toward his injured friend, proving that he held no weapon and no ill intent. It was up to Thanatos to believe him, if he even could right now.

Everything happened at once. A rush of dragon fire, the twang of metal parting from metal. Thanatos lunged toward Mariano at lightning speed, covering the distance between them before Bastian could even shout a warning. White-hot pain, a burst of warm blood, wet, lips, tongue, breath, a dull thud, blackness.

The thing was, Thanatos did recognize Mariano.

He knew the shape, the set of the shoulders. Muscular but soft, with hands capable of both brutality and tenderness. (How many times had he caught himself staring at those shoulders?) The luminous bands of silver-white that ringed his dark eyes, piercing in the darkness but always kind in the light. (How many times had he lost himself in those eyes?) He knew every scar that wound its way beneath the mage’s clothing: on his face, on his arms, on his back, his side, his hip. (He couldn’t help looking when they bathed together, especially not when Mariano would put a hand on his back and assure him he wouldn’t drown.) The lines of his face, the curve of his lips. (It was a victory every time he got those lips to smile for him.) The combat stance, practised and deliberate, deadly efficient. He knew the blaze of arcane power that surged up the mage’s blade, had memorised the arcs the light made in the night’s blackness as he fought. He knew Bastian’s familiar rumble, never too far behind. He knew the voice, the speech rhythm, the accent. He knew Mariano. And he did trust him, with his life if not his truth — and he was coming close to that as well. The only issue was that it wasn’t quite Thanatos in control of his body at the moment.

One could argue the semantics of the difference between a vampire and their Shadow all day long. The fact of the matter was that when it had become clear that those men intended to kill him and that they had no qualms about continuing to throw projectiles until his shields failed, Thanatos’s Shadow had said “Let me handle this,” and he’d willingly retreated to a little corner of his mind where he could curl up into a ball. What a coward he was. He couldn’t even sit here and fail to defend himself on his own.

Not that it did any good. Though his Shadow put up a much more valiant struggle than he would have, in the end, he was still reduced to cowering and snapping at anyone who got too close. HIs Shadow was rather single-minded. It didn’t care for the “let them think they’ve killed us and get away afterward” plan, but also didn’t exactly have any better ideas, leaving them in a stalemate that saw Thanatos losing a lot more blood than he could really afford.

When the others — his friends? no. travelling companions, surely — arrived, it sparked a small ember of hope. Mariano would save him again and all would be well. He could go home. He could sleep. He was so tired and so hungry…

This is good. It’ll be easier to kill two than ten, his Shadow advised. Kill? Why? Mariano wouldn’t try to hurt him. Probably. We need blood, dullard. Or do you expect me to heal that leg of yours with fairy dust? Oh, right. Well, he’d just have to hunt — Oh, and I suppose you intend to sprout wings? You and whose ankle? You’d pass out before you so much as put weight on it. No, he wouldn’t. He wasn’t that much of a pansy. Ah, of course. My apologies. I’ve clearly underestimated your power. Carry on then, it’ll be amusing to watch you fail.

Despite his argument with his Shadow, Thanatos wasn’t an idiot. He knew there was no way of getting more blood without taking it from one of the obvious sources his night vision outlined in a faintly pulsing red. He tried to warn them away as best he could without his voice — his Shadow had taken that for its own amusement, and it sounded nothing like him — but they just wouldn’t take the hint. As Mariano approached him, hand outstretched placatingly, full of “you’re safe now”s and “trust me”s, Thanatos felt a pang of frustrated disgust. Mariano deserved to be murdered by a vampire if he was going to be so recklessly trusting all the time. Didn’t he know a monster when he saw one?

Closer and closer. Bastian was coming to free him from the accursed wire. He’d be grateful for that. He wasn’t grateful for the way the heady scent of blood suffused his senses as the pair approached. So hungry… Heartbeats drummed in his ears, begging him to have a taste, just one taste. This is what he was made for, a single drop of warm salty wet and his problems would dissolve…

His vision went red, and he thrust himself forward toward salvation. Fangs met flesh, slicing through juicy veins and arteries bursting with divine flavour. He’d never tasted anything like this in his life. The blood itself was rich, a steadfast, refined taste without the cloying sweetness he’d come to associate with positive antigens, but underneath there was something else, something that crackled through his system and made him crave more.

Finally. This was what he’d been searching for.

Mariano returned to consciousness quickly. It was probably less than five seconds that he’d been out: his head had hit a tree root as he fell, that was all. “I’m fine, Bastian,” he mumbled, getting out ahead of the questions.

“You scared the shit out of me.” His tone was frustrated, yet relieved. Typical Bastian.

“Sorry.”

“Are you… okay?” Bastian inclined his head toward Mariano’s left hand, still extended awkwardly to the side.

“Yeah, I’m—” Oh. That’s where that feeling was coming from. “It doesn’t hurt, actually.” It really didn’t. Well, the pain was there, he could feel where Thanatos’s fangs had nestled into his flesh and the movement of his tongue as he sucked down as much as he could, but the whole thing was obscured by a pleasant numbness, as if any negativity was shot down before it could reach the surface. It was definitely weird to have a hungry vampire hanging from his wrist, but so far not bad.

Bastian had been squatting on his haunches beside them, and he shifted to a more comfortable sitting position with his legs folded under him. “So… you’re just gonna leave him like that, huh?”

“Yeah, I think so. He seems like he needs it.” Thanatos’s movements were more desperate than they were greedy, and if Mariano looked closely, he could see silent tears spilling from the vampire’s closed eyes. Relief? Regret? Perhaps both. The mage couldn’t hope to guess. “He’ll probably stop on his own when he’s done.” And if he didn’t, Mariano would just find some way to remove him gently if he felt a little woozy.

They didn’t have to wait long. Thanatos seemed to come to all at once, flinging himself away from Mariano in a windmill of tattered silk. He didn’t get far, the bad ankle hampered his motion and when he ran into a wall — more accurately identified as “Bastian” — he just sort of gave up. He curled himself into a ball in the dragon’s lap, stifled sobs and apologies leaking out from behind his arms over his face.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t- I couldn’t- I’m sorry—”

Mariano cut off the flow of words. “It’s okay, Than, you’re safe now, you don’t have to be afraid. No one’s going to hurt you.” His reassurances were indented to soothe, though it felt strange to just keep repeating the same thing.

They seemed to have the opposite effect. “It is not okay!” Thanatos exploded, and though his eyes were once again their usual crimson instead of the glowing scarlet, the emotion that blazed in them was pure self-loathing rage. “I hurt you, Mariano! I attacked you like some sort of feral creature! Ah, the indignity alone is like to see me in the grave, for you to see me like this—”

“I didn’t mind.”

“You—what?” Thanatos stopped short, as if Mariano’s words had put a stick through the spokes of the wheel of his consciousness. He sat with his mouth hanging open for a long moment, to the point where Mariano wondered if he was all right. It hadn’t been that unusual of a statement, had it? Mariano would gladly do the whole thing over again. Could Than really just not process that?

Mariano would have elaborated, if the confusion etched into Thanatos’s features hadn’t been wiped away by abject agony. He screamed, muscles spasming, and Bastian had to react quickly to prevent his face from hitting the ground. “Shit, what’s wrong with him?” Mariano didn’t know.

Thanatos was able to speak again after a few harrowing seconds, during which Mariano wasn’t even sure he was breathing. “The w-wire… still around my leg… My body is trying to heal the wound now that I have enough blood. The new flesh is being… c-cut through as it forms, please, please , by the gods, get it out!”

He cried out again, and sure enough, Mariano could see a fresh surge of blood (his blood?) from the ruined ankle. He steeled himself and plunged his fingers into the wound, searching for the offending object in the gore. Finding and pulling at the loop in the wire wasn’t difficult, but the damn thing refused to release, no matter how he attempted to convince it. It didn’t help that Thanatos’s face contorted with pain and he made increasingly loud but stifled sounds of misery the longer Mariano tried.

“It’s no good. I’m going to have to melt it,” Mariano concluded, pulling his casting dagger back out from his belt.

Thanatos’s face went bone white, and he swallowed hard, but he nodded. “I-if you notice I’m not… all here… at any point, if I don’t understand where I am, that’s common for me and there’s no cause for alarm. Just wait, I usually come out of it relatively quickly if there is no genuine danger.”

Mariano understood. Thanatos didn’t like to talk about his past very often, but it had clearly taken a toll on him in a way the mage could easily relate to. Sometimes there was no way to avoid a return of awful memories and you just had to pick yourself back up on the other side. “Hold him, Bastian.” Bastian laid Thanatos on the ground and moved to stabilise the leg. It was an unpleasant situation, but this needed to happen now. All Mariano could do was make sure it passed quickly.

Mariano pushed his magic through the blade, watching it heat up to the characteristic white-hot glow. He spread the gory mess of flesh apart to ensure he had a clear shot to the objective. He didn’t want to have to go in more than once. When he was confident in the positioning, he looked up to see if Than was ready — if a person could even really be ready for something like this. Mariano had done it to himself enough times to know that it was never really any better, and thinking about it more didn’t help. The vampire had caught what was left of his shirtsleeve between his teeth — which were still slightly stained with Mariano’s blood — and screwed his eyes shut. He took slow, deep breaths, carefully measured: he’d clearly had practice at this sort of thing. Professionalism, then. Mariano could do that.

Each of them had a job to do. Mariano’s responsibility was to cut through the wire as efficiently as possible, a task to which he applied his usual single-minded dedication, even though the smell of burning flesh was more sickening now than it had been earlier. It was made much easier by Bastian’s immovable hands, smoothing Thanatos’s helpless writhing down to the gentlest ripple so that Mariano barely noticed the vampire moving. Thanatos, for his part, did his best not to cry out, and mostly succeeded, though a few muffled wails slipped past the silk wadded up between his jaws.

Mariano stolidly pressed the blade through the wire, ignoring the sizzling of cauterised flesh and Thanatos’s sobs. The metal parted with a sharp pop, but they weren’t out of the woods yet; the wire itself was caught in regrowing muscle and wouldn’t just come away. The hot blade would only make this worse. He’d just have to rip it.

The sound that came out of Thanatos as the chunks of sinew tore away from the metal was unearthly, a howl of despair that seemed to reach inside of Mariano to rattle his bones. He refused to give ground, even as the grasping ligaments stretched to their utmost, desperately drawing the vampire’s flesh towards itself and finally failing with a wet pop. He could almost see muscle knitting itself together and fat rendering under skin once the wicked cord had at last been removed. Mariano flung the object that had given them so much trouble away toward the tree and went to check on Thanatos.

Thanatos had thought he’d adequately prepared. Really, he had. The meditative techniques he’d developed to keep him sane during the war had served him well: breathe carefully, don’t fight against the screams, let the impulse roll through you and, if it must, release wordlessly. Mariano wasn’t trying to torture him. He didn’t need to hold out against anything, and the pain would stop as soon as the wire was gone. It should have been simple. Ten years ago, he would have been able to endure it. But despite everything, the instant the searing hot metal had touched his skin, he’d been back in a holding cell begging for his life.

The cloth gag was to prevent him from embarrassing himself in this scenario. If the others couldn’t hear him, they couldn’t know that between the stifled moans were pleas for mercy and offers of servitude. Thanatos wasn’t even aware of his surroundings now. The only thing that cut through the waves of blistering misery was the firm grasp that kept his leg in place. That touch felt warm, comforting somehow, an anchor of hey, you’re safe, I’ve got you in a sea of no no please I’ll do anything please stop .

The burning finally stopped, and for a moment he felt a flicker of hope that it might be over. (Of course not, they’re just switching tools, you know better than that.) His chest heaved, and he tried to stop the shuddering sobs that poured from him like smoke from incense, but it was like trying to catch that same smoke between his fingers. He was just beginning to think that perhaps it was over after all when his vision went white and a horrible crackling static filled his ears. Was he screaming? He couldn’t tell. The smell of his own burning flesh was thrust into the forefront of his consciousness along with the metallic taste of his blood overriding what was left of Mariano’s flavour. Had he bitten through his tongue? He couldn’t understand what was happening. His entire leg was agony, every nerve buzzed angrily and he couldn’t tell where the origin of the pain was. Had… his leg been amputated? It’d take ages to grow back…

He must have blacked out for a moment. He couldn’t remember what he’d been doing. His only awareness was that every muscle in his body was screaming in pain, though passive, not active: soreness, not injury. He also noticed he wasn’t breathing as his vision cleared, showing him the forest floor, albeit blurry. Why would… Ah. He must be playing dead. Rumholt would always go easy for a bit if he thought he’d killed Thanatos, and so he’d taken to feigning the period of insensibility before the Shadow would forcibly revive him. He couldn’t do it too early or too often, but if used correctly, it would grant him a reprieve from the worst of the abuse.

Thanatos wasn’t sure why Rumholt would have dragged him out into the woods to torture him rather than use one of the numerous and very expensive custom-designed sex-cum-torture chambers in his mansion, but he supposed it had been explained to him already and he’d just forgotten. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d… lost… significant chunks of time that he knew he must have been conscious during. He’d just have to trust his past self and continue the fiction.

He didn’t flinch at the familiar crunch of boots on leaves, nor did he choke on the torn strips of fabric that peeled from his tongue. That was strange. Rumholt had never gagged Thanatos before. He liked to hear him whine and beg, and he certainly wouldn’t bother to clear Thanatos’s airway if he choked to death. Who was this?

“Than? Are you okay? I got it out, it’s gone. You can heal now.” That certainly wasn’t Rumholt’s voice. He did recognise it; it was just so difficult to place anything just now. His head was stuffed with cotton and a frightful headache pounded behind his eyes.

The person tilted their head to look him in the eyes. For a moment he saw Rumholt’s teasing grin, but then the image resolved itself into the soft features and the white-rimmed eyes of the man he wanted to see most in the world right now. His perpetual saviour.

“…Mariano?”

Thanatos didn’t quite believe it wasn’t a dream, but the relieved smile was definitely Mariano’s. “Yeah. It’s me.”

“You came… I didn’t think you would.” He never thought anyone would. There was no point. The transition from despair to relief was much easier than that from hope to despair. He knew that from experience. Occasionally, he had the fortune to be pleasantly surprised.

Bastian snorted. “What, you thought we’d just leave you?”

“Yes.” It would have been the smart thing to do.

Mariano frowned. It somehow didn’t take away from the overall charm of his face. “Well, we wouldn’t. We’d never do that.” No, you wouldn’t, would you? You’d never leave a comrade behind.

Mariano wasn’t like Thanatos. He didn’t value his own skin above everything else. The same fanatical devotion Thanatos dedicated to survival, Mariano turned toward those whom he loved. Admirable, really, though a bit of a wasted trait on a mortal who would only get a hundred-odd years anyway if all went well. A short life was even more valuable than a long one and certainly more worthy of being preserved.

“Let’s get you back to camp,” Mariano was saying now, and Thanatos realised he was drifting. He was exhausted and his head ached terribly. Camp and sleep sounded very good. “Can you walk?” He shook his head no and instantly regretted it. The movement sent his vision spinning, and he was forced to squeeze his eyes shut or lose the blood in his stomach. He was so cold…

His stomach lurched as the ground fell away beneath him, and he wondered if he was dying. It stopped after a moment, though, and it was evidently Mariano’s shirt that Thanatos’s fingers were so tightly wound into as the mage lifted him into the air effortlessly with his arms hooked under Thanatos’s knees. The day he’d met the Archfey, ae’d carried him just like this, and now, as Thanatos looked up at the face framed by the glittering night sky, he got the same feeling of beholding the face of a god.

“Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme…” It wasn’t the first time Thanatos had had this dream. It was a pleasant dream, one that had kept him going on the darkest nights when he’d truly believed death had come to claim him. The Archfey would sing to him while braiding his hair, the same way ae had many a time over the centuries of their relationship. He’d gotten to the point during one of his longer captivities where he could fully hallucinate the scene and make himself believe it was real. Scarborough Fair was aer favorite song. He could smell the sandalwood and cedar oil ae used in aer bathwater and feel the strokes of the brush and aer fingers braiding patterns into his dark hair. As he came more and more to consciousness, though, the more he realised the hands weren’t as soft as the Archfey’s, the tune wasn’t one he’d heard before, the voice wasn’t quite right. He picked his head up off of the lap slowly, muscles protesting.

“…Mariano?”

Mariano tucked a lock of his own hair behind his ear and adjusted his glasses in a way that made Thanatos’s heartbeat quicken. “Glad you’re awake. When you passed out about an hour ago, I wasn’t sure you were coming back. You seemed cold, so we put you by the fire.” The crackling warmth made Thanatos feel much better. It eased the bone-deep chill that had taken hold of him earlier and soothed his tired muscles. “Bastian believed in you the whole time, though,” Mariano added, and the dragon rumbled assent from his position on the other side of the clearing, patiently stacking firewood. “How are you feeling?”

Hungry. He’d never been so hungry in his life. You’re being dramatic. If you were truly starving, you’d be feral, his Shadow commented. “Need to—ugh…” Thanatos clutched his stomach as it twisted inside of him and let out a sound like a strangled cat. “Need to hunt. I must have… used everything up…”

Could he walk? He had to try. He had to get away, get somewhere with a proper food source. The moment he tried to put weight on the injured leg, he crashed back to the ground with a yelp of surprise and pain. Mariano had the presence of mind to pull him away from the fire. “Careful! There’s no way you’re walking on that. Just look at it. I cleaned it up, but I was afraid to wrap it in case your skin grew over the bandages.” It was true. Under the shredded trouser leg, the cut in Thanatos’s ankle was still a mess of gore, though Mariano had done his best to clear it of debris. Thanatos could feel that the major tendons were correcting themselves, but not quickly enough. He wouldn’t be running back to town anytime soon. Mariano set a hand on his shoulder. “What do you need, Than? Maybe I can—”

“I need blood, Mariano!” He rounded on his companion with force, nearly knocking him over in his fervour. “Warm, wet, delicious, salt and sweet, I’m starving! ” He must look mad. Eyes glowing scarlet again, shaking the mage by the shoulders, he must look like some slavering beast. He felt as if his psyche were shaking itself apart with the effort it took not to rip the mouthwatering mortal apart then and there. But Mariano’s eyes held only surprise, not fear.

“Okay, drink me then.”

What?

He must have said it out loud, because Mariano laughed nervously and repeated himself. “You did it a moment ago and everything was fine. Look, you can’t even see the mark. If you need more, why not take it from me?”

Thanatos couldn’t even really process how monumentally stupid of an idea that was. “There are a myriad of reasons, chief among which is that I am a monster who has slaughtered thousands of your kind! My only drive is to suck out your life-fluid for my sustenance. What makes you believe I won’t just drain you dry and leave you for dead?”

“Bastian, for one. He’d eat you in a heartbeat.” Mariano was joking, probably, but Bastian’s answering smile was distinctly less good-natured than usual, and fell away quickly. “And I don’t think you’d do that. You stopped on your own last time, remember?” Thanatos had barely managed that. He wasn’t sure he could do it again.

Bastian, abandoning the wood in favour of the much-more-important conversation, crossed the clearing and crouched down next to the two of them. “I don’t know, Mariano. This seems risky. You need your blood, you know. How much is he even going to take?”

As friendly as he and Bastian had become, Thanatos was under no illusions as to the dragon’s priorities. If he thought he needed to kill Thanatos to protect Mariano, he would, no hesitation. We were lucky the first time. Don’t think we could beat him in this state. Be careful, his Shadow warned. Thanatos would be astonished if he could survive more than a few minutes against Bastian on a good day.

He tried to check up on his internal state, gauge the cravings, the Thirst, to know exactly how much he needed. “Litre and a half, maybe two, it’s hard to tell. I’m… ngh… hungry…” He’s tall, he’ll make it. And if he didn’t? What then?

Bastian shook his head. “That’s too much, you’ve lost enough already.”

“I can handle a bit of blood loss, Bastian, I’ll be fine. Besides, we have potions. If things get bad, I trust you to handle it.”

No! Why were they even considering this? “I won’t do it, I don’t want to kill you—”

This didn’t make any sense. When he’d finally had enough to clear his head, he’d stopped immediately, sure. The addictive undercurrent to Mariano’s taste had been immediately soured by guilt as soon as his higher functioning was back online, but that didn’t mean the same thing would happen again if he took himself back to the edge! The very idea that he could have lost control like that, given into his Shadow and let the Thirst control him, and in front of mortals no less. The utter humiliation of his obfuscations being stripped away, being revealed for what he was, an abomination, a slave to his curse and his cravings, and after everything, Mariano could still look at him and trust him? Put his life in his hands? It was nonsensical, ludicrous, absurd!

The careening train of his thoughts came to a screeching halt when Mariano put his hands on either side of Thanatos’s face. His instinct was to flinch, and then to freeze, but of course Mariano wouldn’t strike him, he knew that. The warmth of the mortal’s hands against his clammy skin soothed him, and as he relaxed into the hold, he wanted nothing more than to stay there forever. No, he couldn’t. Wanting always got him into trouble. Comfort was something he couldn’t allow himself to have. It made him complacent, made him — “Shh…” whispered Mariano, and all of his anxious thoughts melted away.

When he’d pulled himself together, he found himself looking into those softly glowing eyes once again. “And what happens if you don’t do it? You lose control again? You’re not thinking, Thanatos. I’d rather you try it now, while you’re you and I know you can stop, than later, when who knows what will happen. Don’t give up. It’s not that bad yet. We can save you.”

Something about the gentle patience in Mariano’s touch broke something inside of Thanatos, a wall he’d built up over decades, a shell to protect himself from the pain and the heartbreak. He’d been alone. The only one looking out for his interests, the only one who would lift a finger to help him without expectation of return, was himself. Vampires saw each other as tools, each relationship a contract wherein each participant held obligations and incurred debts. Thanatos worked hard to repay his debts. He bled, sweat, and cried to ensure he wasn’t beholden to anyone. An unpaid favour might as well be a death sentence to someone like him, with his only skills in theatre, prose, and the bedroom. Telling stories and cooking meals a few times a week was far from enough to balance his ledger with Mariano. Yet still, far from collecting on what he was owed, the mage wanted to save Thanatos. No one had ever wanted to save him before. Was it some sort of trick? No. Mariano didn’t play tricks. Could he finally trust, then? Trust the kingslayer and his dragon and let himself be saved?

“You’re… sure?” the vampire asked, and his voice sounded strange to his ears, high and thin. This felt like a threshold, and he could almost feel the phantom pressure of his curse demanding he be invited in.

“Fucking idiots,” Bastian muttered under his breath, but went to dig the potions out of the supplies rather than protest further.

Mariano smiled. “Yes, Than. I’m sure. Drink from me.” He tilted his head and pulled his hair aside, offering his neck to be punctured. The glow of the firelight lent him a mysterious air, especially with the way the embers reflected in his eyes and off of his spectacles, making them seem to burn with their own internal flame. Combined with the vermilion outline from his night vision and his own lubricious delusions, Thanatos’s eyes beheld the image of a dark archangel reaching out to soothe his tortured soul. He wanted this so badly. But was this truly what he wanted? Or was it truly him that wanted it? It didn’t matter. Thanatos couldn’t hold back any longer.

A vampire’s fangs are long and hollow, designed to nestle firmly into the carotid artery where blood would be drawn upwards as a cocktail of chemicals — anticoagulants, analgesics, and euphoriants, colloquially referred to as venom — was pushed downwards. Usually, this is done from behind, where the angle is more natural, especially for a victim shorter than the vampire, but overzealous haste had resulted in a much more salacious positioning. Thanatos had knocked Mariano over, and with his lips pressed to the other man’s pulse point, appeared to be engaging in an activity of quite a different stripe. The mage didn’t protest, though, he let out a surprised grunt, but otherwise just repositioned the vampire’s body to rest over his own more comfortably.

Liquid burst over Thanatos’s tongue, propelled by Mariano’s strong heartbeat. As soon as it hit the back of his throat, the vampire let out a guttural moan of pleasure, one that seemed to reverberate between Mariano’s body and his own. So good… Thanatos’s breath came heavily through his nose and his throat bobbed rhythmically, funnelling the sanguine river down into the depths of his stomach. The blood-haze permeated his senses and allowed him to think of nothing else. Just warm pulses of red and crackling white, an added tang that was vaguely familiar and yet utterly unique. He wanted more. He wanted to drink this down forever. He wanted this holy fire to cleanse him, to gut him, to purge from him every vestige of the choking shadow until he was empty save for divine light, free from his curse, pure at last. He felt like a starving man tasting meat for the first time in years. He felt high. He wasn’t even close to satisfied.

He felt Mariano shift under him and let out a dreamy sigh, probably caught in his own euphoric daze as vampire venom filled his bloodstream. The mage’s movements became slower, weaker, and less frequent the more the vampire’s belly distended and pressed up against him, stealing his life and warmth. I’m sorry, Mariano, Thanatos thought fuzzily. I warned you. It’s such a pity for you to die here. Your life was worth living. But thank you. He couldn’t stop. Each desperate swallow hastened his descent and drove him further from any semblance of control. Eventually he would hit the bottom and shatter against the guilt and the grief, but the plunge was everything for now. There was no one to catch him.

Except a voice. Scattered fragments sharp enough to cut through the blood-haze filtered through to his perception: “Than—enough—he’s falling asleep—Thanatos!” The last was accompanied by a vigorous shake to the shoulders that dislodged Thanatos’s fangs from Mariano’s neck. Instinctively, he pulled back and hissed, not wanting to give up his prey, but Bastian wasn’t impressed. “Come on, Than. You know you don’t want to play that game with me.” He really didn’t, actually.

Clarity returned to him, and with it the crushing wave of remorse. “Mariano?” The mage didn’t respond, long eyelashes fluttering against grey-tinged skin and his breath coming in shallow gasps. Panic clutched at Thanatos’s chest and made his own breathing erratic. “Oh, shit. Oh… fuck—Mariano?” He’s dying. He’s dying, and it’s my fault…

“Need to stop the bleeding,” Bastian grunted impatiently, and shoved a stack of bandages into Thanatos’s hands so that he could yank the stopper out of the potion bottle. Thanatos didn’t need bandages, though. He was a vampire. He traced the trickle of blood still sluggishly pumping from the holes in Mariano’s neck with his eyes for just a moment before diving back in with his tongue, ignoring Bastian’s surprised “Hey!” The final component of vampire venom was more magical than it was chemical: accelerated healing that would prevent a victim bleeding out, if it still mattered by then. Thanatos thrust his tongue as deeply into the wounds as he could, praying that the healing would work and that Mariano could come back from this. Could Apollo even hear him out here, so far from home?

Bastian had propped Mariano up on his arm, gradually feeding him the red liquid in the bottle. Would it replace all the red liquid Thanatos had stolen? That was now churning unsteadily in his gut? Thief, murderer, usurper. That should be you lying there. He stifled a belch of nauseous shame and backed off slightly to where he could only see glimpses of Mariano through Bastian’s hair, vitreous strands falling in a curtain over his shoulder as he cradled his mage close.

Mariano looked so much smaller like this. He was taller than Thanatos, but always looked small next to Bastian, who was over seven feet — about the size the Archfey usually chose. That wasn’t the problem. He just seemed… empty. The solid personality Thanatos had grown accustomed to had vanished and left behind a hollow shell. His spectacles now sat haphazardly on his face, and Thanatos, almost without realising, reached out to set them right. His hand lingered on the mage’s cheek, and it felt so wrong for that cheek to be cool against his hand, now warm with Mariano’s heat. “Please…” he whispered, almost inaudibly, “I don’t want you to die. I need—” He choked. Could he say it? He tenderly lifted his mage’s left hand from where it had fallen to the side and pressed it to his lips, his own body shaking. “I need you to live. I need you. ”

“He’s not dying,” Bastian said quietly. “I can feel him. He’s okay. Stupid, but okay.”

And like magic, Mariano’s eyes fluttered open, the white bands around his pupils shining as brightly as ever. “Bast—Than? What h-happened…”

Despite his earlier reassurance, Bastian sighed with frustrated relief. “You fuckin’ idiot. I told you this would happen.”

“N’ I told you I’d be fine. Saved me, didn’t you?”

Thanatos didn’t hear the rest. A tidal wave of relief washed over him, so potent his head spun. Gingerly, because of his bad ankle and the vertigo, he withdrew to the other side of the clearing. It was good that they were together again. They probably wouldn’t want to even speak to him again, not after what he’d done, but he was grateful all the same. He’d make his excuses, say his goodbyes, and go on his way as soon as his ankle had healed enough. He was still so wound up, he needed something to do with his hands. Mariano liked the camp a certain way before bed each night. He’d been too busy caring for Thanatos and hadn’t finished earlier. If he wasn’t well enough to do it himself, Thanatos would do it.

Mariano had shown him how to do things a few times, when the two of them had found themselves sleepless simultaneously. Thanatos because he’d become accustomed to a vampire’s schedule once again during the war, and Mariano for his own reasons, his own demons that tormented him. The mage had used the casting dagger again after he’d already cleaned and honed it for the night: that was something Thanatos could do.

The oil and the stone were comforting, repetitive, and Thanatos was meticulous about cleaning Mariano’s casting focus and making sure the blade was as even as it could be. It was unbalanced and rather poorly made, but Mariano preferred it that way, saying it was the way he’d learned to fight. Mariano had fought today. Used this blade today. He’d killed today, and Thanatos hadn’t. Mariano wielded the blazing sun to protect what he loved. Thanatos had only Shadow to protect him and only cared about himself. He’d wanted to believe that things could be different, that at last he could be safe, but no. He’d ruined that.

“Hey, idiot! Get your ass over here!” Thanatos looked up in confusion, hands coming to a slow stop. Bastian rolled his eyes. “Leave that shit for tomorrow. Just come to bed, will you? It’s late and he won’t sleep without you.” Thanatos heard a quiet “where is he?” from the bundle of blankets that was presumably Mariano, and Bastian’s answering “over there pouting, just a second.”

Thanatos blinked slowly. “Y-you want me near him? After what I did?”

The dragon scoffed impatiently. “Told you, if I thought you were a real threat, I’d eat you. You know you get cold sitting over there. I don’t know what the fuck you think you’re doing. Come to bed.” He wasted no more time in scooting himself into the bedroll next to his mage.

Thanatos shuffled the materials back into the packs and hesitantly moved toward the bedroll. It didn’t seem real that they still wanted him after everything that happened, but Mariano (angelic, beautiful Mariano, who’d faced death for him twice today) looked up at him with a smile and said, “There you are. Aren’t you tired?” And by the gods, he was.

He was exhausted. It seemed like years ago when he’d been sitting on the fence at the market. He’d been tossed around, passed out twice, lost probably a litre of blood and taken two and a half from Mariano. He was physically, mentally, and emotionally at his absolute limit, and it all caught up to him at once. He let himself crash to the ground, ignoring the pain in his knees and only slightly breaking his fall with an arm, and pressed himself up against Mariano’s side as if he were afraid he’d fall apart.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, as if it could fix anything.

“Don’t be,” Mariano answered, and it fixed everything.

The moon shone gently down upon the clearing as the fire slowly guttered out. The glittering stars above held a million worlds and a million petty conflicts, but here, on this one world set apart from the others, all they became was a backdrop for the quiet night. If pale fingers wound themselves into dark hair and dark hands fisted into ruined silk, not even the birds would know. The mage, his dragon, and their vampire slept soundly, long after the ruddy face of dawn peeked up over the horizon.