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King Sausage’s blood is the sweetest, headiest liquor fWhip has ever tasted. It goes down like a smooth, butterscotch-y bourbon aged in a charred oak barrel, and warms him from the inside out like the first sip of freshly boiled maple syrup at the end of a long, hard winter. His hands clench around Sausage’s thick biceps, driven by the ancient instinct to capture his prey. He wants to sink his teeth in deeper, wants to drown in it, to drain him dry.
‘fWhip. Hey, fWhip? I really have to go.’
Sausage’s voice floats through his hazy mind, urgent and amused in equal measure, and like an anvil falling, fWhip remembers where he is. He jerks away and quickly schools his face into a neutral expression.
‘You, uh. Of course.’ He clears his throat. ‘Thanks for that.’
Sausage beams. ‘Anything for my bestest friend in the world.’
He lifts his arm, blatantly going for a hug, but fWhip’s eyes are glued to the bite marks on his neck mending themselves until there’s only a smudge of maroon left on his skin.
‘Um, will I see you tomorrow, Count fWhip?’
With tangible effort, fWhip forces his attention back to the conversation at hand. ‘Well, don’t let me stop you. See you soon.’
Sausage tilts his head, but the dip between his brows smooths out almost immediately. ‘Alright,’ he says and, quick as a flash, leans in to rub his bearded face against fWhip’s equally bearded chin. ‘Mwah!’
He turns around, elytra swishing behind him like a cape, and hops over the railing of the balcony.
fWhip closes his eyes at Sausage’s retreating form, relishing the fading notes of dark, earthy musk and sweaty skin. The school reform, he thinks idly. That’s a thing I haven’t told him about yet.
He pats his pocket, checking for flight rockets.
‘Damn, that was hard to watch.’
fWhip startles so hard he nearly falls off the balcony himself – except unlike Sausage, he’s not wearing his elytra, and instead of soaring off into the distance, he would have gotten smashed to pieces on the blackstone roof of the darling little tailor’s shop right below. ‘Gem! Since when are you here?’
Her expression pinches. fWhip’s stomach sinks. ‘Forgive me. I meant to say: Welcome to the Grimlands, dearest sister. I did not expect you back so soon. How much of that did you see?’
She steps through the ornate glass doors and the wind eagerly swoops under her skirt, billowing it like a cloud of steam. At a glance, fWhip would say it’s a light-weight muslin, which tells him she’s really not feeling the cold at all. ‘Enough. How long has this been going on?’
fWhip… probably shouldn’t be surprised she came to that conclusion. He shakes his head. ‘It’s not like that.’
‘What do you mean it’s not like that? You were all over him.’ She sniffs the air. ‘You drank a lot.’
fWhip frowns. Did he? He was trying to keep it short, even though he could happily have spent five more minutes – or ten – savouring Sausage. He discreetly tongues the inside of his lower lip, chasing the aftertaste while doing his utmost to appear nonchalant. ‘I guess I was hungry? It’s nothing, alright? He was here and he offered to help me out; friends do that. Don’t make a big deal out of it.’
Please don’t make a big deal out of it.
Gem crosses her arms in front of her chest. ‘And how often does he “help you out”?’
Irritation stabs fWhip’s guts. ‘I dunno, Gem. A few times a month?’
‘More like a few times per week. You smell of him constantly.’
‘Fine, maybe it’s happened more often lately.’ fWhip shrugs. ‘I’m working a lot, so it makes sense that I’m hungrier than normal. He’s been accommodating me.’
‘You should drink from somebody else next,’ Gem says flatly. ‘You have people for that.’
fWhip grits his teeth. This isn’t any of her business. He squares his shoulders, pulling himself to his full height. ‘Let me be very clear, sister: I’ll drink from whoever I want.’
‘And you want him.’
Her eyes twinkle. It takes only a split-second for the sour taste of defeat to hit his mouth. She played him – and in doing so, got him exactly where she wanted him. Now, her sharp gaze traps him against the railing. ‘You do, don’t you?’
She positioned herself right inside the doorway to his room, too, the witch. Robbed of his single non-lethal exit, fWhip clenches his fists and prays to whatever god might still be listening that she can’t see the way her words hit him like a stake through the heart. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘It doesn’t–’ Gem gasps. ‘Yes, it does! Does he know?’
fWhip turns away from her, folding his arms to push the pads of his thumbs into the curves of his elbows. Not quite defensive and not quite hugging himself. He shoulders lift as the wind tears at his collar. ‘No – and even if he did, and even if it were like that, he’s not into me, okay?’
‘How can you be sure?’ Gem’s footsteps whisper on the metal behind him. ‘Have you asked him?’
fWhip rolls his eyes. ‘He’s been my best friend for years. Obviously, I’m making a blind guess here.’
‘So, wait.’ Her voice is very close now. If he concentrates, he can feel her presence slightly to his left. It makes him want to turn tail, having her so near. At the same time he wants to lean in and let her familiar scent soothe him like it did when they were both small children.
‘He’s just letting you drink his blood and he has no idea how you feel?’
fWhip bites his lip, briefly surprised at how smooth and not-chapped it is. The cold usually does him no favours in that regard. It must be because he fed recently.
‘You have to tell him.’
He whirls around. ‘No, I do not.’
‘You cannot keep pretending he doesn’t mean anything to you,’ Gem exclaims. ‘He doesn’t deserve that. You don’t deserve that. Your people– You’re operating under false pretences!’
fWhip growls. ‘Don’t you think I would have told him ages ago if it had any chance of going anywhere?’
She bares her teeth, not the least bit intimidated. ‘I don’t know; boys tend to make things needlessly complicated. Plus, it’s you we’re talking about.’
‘You mean as needlessly complicated as your hat is large?’
Gem looks like she wants to murder him. Her hair flickers like a redstone flame today. Did his own appear that vibrant earlier, when Sausage briefly touched his temples to nudge his head into a more comfortable position? He was so careful, too, trying not to interrupt fWhip’s meal.
‘He’s gonna find out.’
fWhip re-focuses on his sister. ‘He’s not gonna find out.’
‘I’m surprised he hasn’t already, considering you’re sharing blood every few days.’
Heat shoots into fWhip’s cheeks.
Gem’s on it like a sleuth-hound. ‘What.’
‘We’re, um. Not sharing exactly. He doesn’t drink from me.’
fWhip gets a short, triumphant second to relish the utter shock on his twin’s face. Then her expression morphs into anger, but not the furious kind. This is something cold, and rigid. ‘Do you really love him?’
If he doesn’t reply, she will never know.
‘Wow, you do.’
fWhip yelps. ‘I didn’t even say anything!’
Gem holds up her hand. She’s wearing purple leather gloves today, with a delicate pattern stitched into the side which fWhip identifies, upon another glance, as a dragon. ‘What are you going to do if he goes away? On a business trip, or a diplomatic mission?’
‘Um, what? How is that relevant? He goes on trips all the time.’
‘For longer than a week, I mean. Not every empire is basically right next door. What are you going to do if that happens? Are you planning to starve?’
Oh, that’s where this is going. ‘I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.’
‘It’ll be too late by the time you’re on the bridge!’ Had she not been raised as royalty, they probably would have heard her indignation all the way down in the town square. ‘This isn’t funny, fWhip.’
‘Do I look like I’m goofing off?’ He sighs. ‘I have it under control. Trust me.’
When she grabs his arm, he actually jumps.
‘What are your people going to do if you suddenly devolve into a blood frenzy because he’s not here? You know hunger like that can drive you mad. You have a responsibility!’
Unease curls through fWhip’s guts. He twists himself out of her grip – gently, of course; for all her magic, he remains physically stronger than her.
‘I’m already mad, Gem. I’m the Count of the Grimlands, bound by darkness and my own bloody oath.’
Her face falls. ‘fWhip–’
‘If he ever finds out, I’ll confess to him, alright? Lay all my pathetic feelings right out on the table. It’s not like the situation’s going to change anytime soon, so…’
He runs a hand through his hair.
Gem scrutinizes him for a moment, then slowly shakes her head. ‘I hate to say this, but that’s not enough. If you’re not willing to do it, I’m going to.’
fWhip’s eyes widen. ‘You wouldn’t dare.’
‘I promise I will.’
fWhip’s claws twitch at his sides. But the two of them are contained up here, penned in on the balcony, so his burgeoning agitation has nowhere to go. ‘I’ll never speak to you again,’ he says, heart thrumming. ‘You might wanna think carefully about that, considering I’m the only living family you have left.’
If there is one thing Gem has always excelled at, it’s mercilessness. ‘Then I shall deal with that. If it helps the people, my needs take second place.’
‘How fucking utilitarian of you.’
‘Two weeks, fWhip,’ she says coldly. ‘I’m giving you two weeks to tell him how you feel, or I’ll do it myself.’
She turns and leaves, deserting him in his own home. Shuddering, he heads inside. When he moves his tongue around his mouth, he finds nothing at all; the comforting flavour of Sausage long since cleaned from even the spaces between his teeth.
He can’t help but feel like he’s getting a first taste of his impending insanity.