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Olrox finds him again, after depositing him in the shadows to go fight Drolta again. Mizrak doesn’t know how long he has been gone. The minutes (hours?) seemed to bleed into each other in a haze of pain and rasped breaths. His shoulder throbs, his leg sends shooting pain up his body every time he moves it, and there is a stabbing pain in his side. The stone of the building is cool on his back, and he uses it to anchor himself. Cool stone. Cooler than his lover’s touch, but only just, who has gathered him up in his arms and is walking through a building. Mizrak knows he is a large man, but Olrox carries him as though he weighs nothing.
Mizrak thinks he should be praying. God would want to hear him, know he still loves him as he nears death. He can’t bring himself to. God has not listened to his prayers before, not when Emmanuel was dealing with the devil and vampires, not when he begged for insight and help when trying to figure out his relationship with Olrox, not when they were desperate for anything to fight against the so-called Vampire Messiah. Why would he listen now? All he could do was tuck his head into Olrox’s neck and try not to cry out when his leg jostled.
Olrox stops walking, and places Mizrak down. He lets out a hiss as his leg moves again when Olrox settles him into a chair. Everything hurts too much, it was too much. He could feel tears rolling down his cheeks. The knight can’t open his eyes. It is too overwhelming. If this was death, he wishes it would come faster.
“Mizrak, can you open your eyes for me?” Olrox’s tone is as even as usual, but has something behind it. If Mizrak wasn’t so overwhelmed by pain, he may have been able to figure it out. But for now, it is just something he can’t understand. He pries his eyes open.
“You’re in a lot of pain. I can help, but I want your permission before I do anything.”
“Please. Anything.” Mizrak rasped. Anything to stop the pain.
“Vampire bites have a… medicinal effect. It can act as a painkiller. Can I bite you, Mizrak? I won’t feed, just enough to dull the pain. I won’t turn you. I promise. You’ll stay you, stay human. I’m going to fix you. Let me start with this.”
Olrox lost his even keel as he continued to talk. Mizrak had never seen him this emotional. It was desperation, what was hidden in his voice earlier. Olrox was desperate. Had he been in a better state, Mizrak may have objected. He had sinned, this was his punishment for sinning. But if this was mortal punishment, what would the devil have in store for him. He nods, as much as he could through the pain.
“No Mizrak, I need you to say yes. Say it, please. I beg you”
“Bite me, Olrox. Please. Bite me.” He looks into the emerald green eyes peering at him, and thinks he sees tears gathering. In other circumstances, the knight’s words would have been erotic, but here, they are something else. Mizrak leans his head back, exposing his neck to the vampire. Olrox straddles him, careful of his leg and shoulder and all the other hidden hurts, and slowly bites into his neck. The pain was small, compared to everything else. A small gasp escapes his mouth as the pain bleeds away and bliss replaces it. Mizrak closes his eyes, and relaxes his body. Too quickly, Olrox takes his mouth off his neck. He places a chaste kiss on the knight’s lips, then steps away.
Mizrak lays back in the chair, head lolling back. When he opens his eyes, his vision is fuzzy but he sees what he thinks is a blurry Olrox kneeling down, probing at his aching midsection. His fingers are gentle, but he feels his claws slicing through his tabard. He reaches up to gently remove his cloak. If Mizrak had any additional energy he would have leaned his head into the vampire’s touch. Instead, he just groans quietly. It was taking everything he could to stay focused and awake. The haze of pain has stopped hurting acutely, and is more like unpleasant background noise as he tries to figure out what is going on around him. He decides to give up the effort for a little, and bask in the care for a moment. He feels safe, even if he is still in pain. When he comes back to himself, Olrox has removed his boots and the chainmail around his legs, slicing the trousers beneath them. Mizrak gasps loudly with the sharp pain that comes with the movement of his left leg. Olrox stops with his trousers, and moves to caress the knight’s face.
“I’m sorry my love. I’m sorry it hurts. But I need to see what’s hurting you.” My love. Olrox called him “my love”. Even through the haze of pain and exhaustion, he heard it.
“Olrox, I–” The words come out as a whisper, and with new pain in his chest. Olrox interrupts him before he can say anything further.
“Hush darling. You can tell me later. Lets sit up and get this chainmail off, yes?”
Olrox gently, always so gently, lifts his back from the chair. Mizrak can barely hold his own head up, and Olrox settles with leaning him forward, one hand on his chest, and pulling the chainmail off with the other hand. It joins the pile of clothes on the floor Mizrak can see from this angle. Leaning him back in the chair, Olrox shreds his shirt with his claw and finishes off his trousers and smallclothes. Mizrak knows he should be cold, knows that he sits nude in a room with significant blood loss, but he has gone beyond his body now. All he knows is the cool touch of Olrox, his bright green eyes wandering all over his body not with lust but with worry and love, the hard wood of the chair against his back, and the haze of pain that radiates all over him. Olrox stands up in front of him, taking his head in his hands again.
“I’m going to examine you for what is wrong, alright? It’s going to hurt some more my love, but it will get better. I promise.”
Mizrak just lets his head fall back and closes his eyes. What was some more pain to this complete safety he feels? Olrox probes at his right shoulder, with the deep cut from some vampire’s blade, his chest and it’s broken ribs, the stab wound from a dagger in his side, and his left leg. A vampire had stomped hard down on it before hitting him in the shoulder. He knew it was broken before the blade had hit his shoulder.
“Right. Stay here, I’m getting things to clean you up. I won’t be gone long.” Mizrak doesn’t hear Olrox leave. He falls into something like sleep, listening to the crackle of candles. When had Olrox lit candles? Olrox’s return is only signaled by the sound of sloshing water.
“Let’s clean up these cuts before we deal with this leg.” His voice is distant now. Whatever his bite did clearly helped with something. It seems like he is speaking more to himself than Mizrak at this point. A damp cloth is brought to his shoulder. Like his lover, the cloth is cool but not unpleasantly cold. It stings as Olrox cleans his wound, but one more pain on top of all the others is nothing to Mizrak. Olrox hums as he works, and Mizrak’s world comes out of focus again. Music, cool touches, and gentle rubbing become his world. It’s nice to not have to think and just live in the moment. Olrox draws him out of his trance again with a whisper and a feather light touch to his cheek.
“My love, I have to set your leg now. Bite down on this?” He puts a piece of leather to Mizrak’s lips. In the time that has passed, Mizrak is now clean, Olrox has sewn his shoulder and side up, and has bound his ribs in bandages. The vampire bite worked wonders, he didn’t feel any of that. He opens his mouth and bites down. Mizrak had broken bones before, he knew the setting process. Knew how much it would hurt. He still screams when Olrox sets the bone. The vampire splints it quickly before reaching up to Mizrak’s face again. He is crying, streaming tears down his face from the pain. Olrox wipes them away with his fingers before taking the leather out of his mouth. The setting of the knight’s leg has banished the effect from the vampire bite. He feels raw, but better than before. The pain isn’t as sharp anymore. But exhaustion has set in.
Olrox takes another cloth and gently wipes the tears and sweat off the knight’s face before lifting Mizrak up and placing him on the bed. If he was less exhausted and raw, he would have laughed at the way his splinted leg was pointing at an angle in Olrox’s arms. The vampire lays down beside Mizrak on his side, his cool fingers dusting over the knight’s jawline. A shiver runs down Mizrak’s body with the movement, finally feeling the cold of the room. Olrox clicks his tongue and cover’s Mizrak’s body with a blanket.
“Rest now love. I’ll be back soon.” Olrox moves to stand up, but Mizrak gathers the last of his strength and grabs his lover’s hand. The grip is weak, if Olrox wanted he could break free with no effort, but he stills and lays back down.
“Stay, please.” The words are quiet, barely audible to Mizrak over the crackle of the candles in the room. But he knows Olrox heard them. The vampire sighs, then tucks himself into Mizrak’s side. Mizrak closes his eyes, and allows sleep to swallow him.
-------
The fever sets in while he is sleeping. Mizrak sleeps fitfully, troubled with dreams of more fighting. Being stabbed in the stomach, a fatal wound, a smoky spirit calling out to him, fire licking at his feet, blood red eyes in the mirror and sharp fangs piercing his own lips. Cutting down vampires, night creatures, his own brothers. Abbot Emmanuel saying there is no salvation for men like them as blood leaks from his lips and burns creep up his body before he evaporates into ash and is spread on the wind. When he wakes, Olrox is there, wiping the sweat from his brow and feeding him bits of bread and broth, dripping water down his throat. The vampire whispers to him, tells him that he cannot leave him, that he loves him, that he has to stay alive. Emerald eyes meeting his own glassy brown ones, a look so pleading Mizrak thinks it must be a dream. He calls out in his sleep, to God, to the devil, to Olrox.
And just as quickly as the fever sets in, it breaks. Mizrak awakens to a darkened room. He cannot tell if it is nighttime or the curtains are simply drawn for his companion’s comfort. The room smells of unfamiliar herbs and Olrox, the scented oils he uses in his hair and the smell of his skin, nothing like the perfumes other vampires used to hide their scents. Tight bandages are wrapped around his ribcage, more on his shoulder. His leg remains splinted, but he is wearing smallclothes. A light blanket covers his legs. He has no idea how much time has passed. Mizrak feels empty. The pain has faded into a dull throb when he breathes in too deeply. He keeps his eyes closed, luxuriating in the feeling of being alive and awake and lucid.
A cool hand grips his own, and he opens his eyes for the first time. Emerald green eyes stare into his own. Olrox. Olrox is there, holding his hand, staring intently at his face and into his eyes. His lips are pursed, and he studies him intently. Probably looking to see if the fever has truly broken, Mizrak thinks. He doesn’t know much about vampires, but knows they can probably hear changes in breathing better than humans. After a moment, he turns and grabs a cup with the hand not holding Mizrak’s own. He brings it to the knight's lips, and Mizrak drinks the cool water in loud, hungry gulps. It tastes like the water of life, the finest thing he has ever had. He hadn’t realized how thirsty he was when he woke up. When the cup is empty, Olrox places it back on the bedside table and returns with a handkerchief. He gently wipes Mizrak’s mouth from where the water had dribbled out of it.
The vampire looks… tired isn’t the right word. Disheveled. Olrox is usually the picture of poise and calm waters, but not now. His overcoat is off, the shirt underneath unbuttoned, his dark hair almost stringy, draped un-elegantly around his face. He is perched on a chair next to the bed, arm drawn across the covers to rest his hand in Mizrak’s own. His grip is light, but hides strength. Like Olrox always is. Mizrak thinks he is the most beautiful creature in the world. He clears his throat, trying to prepare to speak after who knows how long of unuse.
“How long did I sleep?” Despite the water and attempts to clear his throat, the words still come out as a rasped whisper. Olrox chuckles, then replies.
“Ten days. I was worried you would never wake up again.” After giving him water to drink, caring for him through his fever, setting his wounds, now Olrox wouldn’t meet his eye. He drew his hand back, and busied himself with something on the bedside table. Mizrak feels as though the fever has given him new clarity. The old Mizrak would have let the silence stand, perhaps praised God for guiding him through the fever and bringing him out whole on the other side. Not anymore. God had not guided him through the fever, Olrox had.
“You said you loved me.” Mizrak lets the statement hang in the air as he pushes himself up into a sitting position, back against the headboard of the grand bed he lays in.
“I did. I do.” Olrox can’t look him in the eye, choosing to place pillows behind his back. Mizrak knows what Olrox isn’t asking him. He sighs, grimacing from the pain in his ribs, and begins speaking.
“I care for you, Olrox, so much. I didn’t think I would. I’m sorry for the hurtful things I said. You were trying to protect me, help me, and I pushed you away and called you a demon. Because I was so certain that God would protect me, that dying for Him and a righteous cause would redeem my soul.” The words come out as a flood. He cannot stop them from spilling out. They come out in gasps, and with new tears pouring down his cheeks. “I beg your forgiveness. I think I can come to love you. But I do not know what it is like to love another like you do. I knew only of the love of God before. But He has abandoned me. He did not help me off the battlefield, He did not care for my wounds or watch over me in my fever. You did, you saved me. I do not love you yet, but I think I will, if you let me.”
Olrox doesn’t speak as Mizrak bares his soul to him. But he pushes himself off the chair, and onto the bed, straddling Mizrak. He is so gentle, so caring, as he wipes the tears from the knight’s face. And when he is done speaking, the vampire presses a gentle kiss to the knight’s lips. It has none of the ferocious hunger of their previous encounters. This is chaste, filled with love and happiness. Mizrak leans his head against the headboard, savoring the taste of Olrox’s lips. But as he moves his arms to hold the vampire’s waist, to draw him in closer to him, something burns in his shoulder and he groans in pain. Olrox breaks the kiss and pulls away, sitting on his heels, his legs on either side of Mizrak’s own.
“I will gladly let you learn to love me. As long as you need, my love.”
“What of the others? Are they well?” Mizrak didn’t even know if they had won the battle, or if the two of them were in hiding and the rest of their companions dead.
“As well as you can be after killing a goddess, I assume.” So they had won. That was a relief. “The Belmont, the witch from my side of the world, and your mournful singing night creature are on their way back to Saint-Domingue. The others have chosen to stay in France. I believe Alucard and Juste are watching over little Maria, ensuring her safety as she continues the revolutionary cause!” His last words are joking and accompany a salute and a small, wry smile.
“So you cannot return to the New World now. The Belmont boy will kill you.” Mizrak thinks on it more, and is overcome by a wave of guilt, a familiar feeling. “You stayed behind to save me, and now you cannot return to your home.”
“My love, I can go anywhere I want to. The West is large, and Belmont and I have somewhat of an understanding now. He would not kill me on sight.” It seems Olrox can sense Mizrak’s guilt. Perhaps the vampire could hear the quickening of his pulse with the thoughts. “Besides. I won’t leave you like this, and it will be a good while until you can walk again. The break was not clean. I fear despite my efforts, you may have a limp for the rest of your days.”
“Where are we? And when did you learn medicine?” The two questions had been nagging in the back of Mizrak’s mind ever since he had bared his guilt and soul to Olrox.
“I believe we are in some poor aristocrat’s apartments in Paris. Whoever they are, they are long gone from here. I took advantage of their absence and made us at home.” Olrox lapses into silence. Mizrak does not push further. The vampire is old, and has many secrets. If he prefers not to tell him where he learned to heal, so be it. Mizrak finds that he accepts the secrets more now. But Olrox continues to speak after a few moments.
“Kariwase taught me. Said that I should know. I haven’t had to use these skills for a long time.” Mizrak doesn’t know the name, but still knows who it is anyways. Olrox’s lover. The one killed by Richter’s mother. The two sit in silence again, listening to the crackle of candles and distant shouts from outside. Mizrak takes the moment to look at Olrox again. He looks gaunt, more so than usual. The skin seems to hug his face, and dark circles are painted under his serpentine eyes. And with his unbuttoned shirt, Mizrak can see his ribs outlined on his tanned skin.
“Olrox, when did you last feed?”
“When I spoke to Drolta in the graveyard.” His honesty shocks Mizrak. If he counts the days back, including when he was laid up in bed with his fever, that was almost a month without eating. Mizrak did not know much of vampire anatomy, but he knew if a human went a month without eating, they would die. Vampires live longer lives, and probably need to eat less, but a month without eating is still a month. And if physical indicators meant anything, Olrox probably needed to eat. He makes a decision at that moment. He would probably regret it, but he makes it anyway.
“Feed on me.” Olrox opens his mouth to interrupt, but Mizrak places a hand on his chest and continues to speak. “I know that I’m weak. I can feel it. I won’t be able to give you much, but I should be able to restore some of your strength. It is the least I can do for you.”
Olrox looks into his eyes. Brown met green, and Mizrak tries to convey his feelings of absolute consent and willingness for this. If he was being honest, he has some curiosity and even desire for Olrox to feed from him. To care for Olrox, in a way that he had cared for Mizrak, in the only capability he has at this current moment.
“Only a little. And you’ll tell me if it’s too much?” Olrox sounds shockingly vulnerable, if up to the knight’s idea.
“I will. I promise.” Olrox nods, then gently tips Mizrak’s head back so his neck is exposed and his head is back against the headboard. He kisses him one last time, gently on the lips. Then his lips move south, dancing along Mizrak’s jawline and neck. His fangs gently scrape the olive skin, paler than usual, then Olrox bites in. The twin punctures hurt at first, before a newly familiar wave of bliss washes over him. Mizrak relaxes his muscles and listens to the gentle slurps coming from his neck. Olrox’s hands dance all over his body, fingertips gently brushing his abs, his arms, his chest, hands in his hair, on his face. Mizrak stares at the ceiling and feels absolute contentment. Even the gentle ache from his ribs fades away, and all he feels is Olrox. After too short of a time, Olrox pulls off his neck and presses kisses north again, ending back on his partial open lips. Another gentle kiss there, then to his forehead. He slips his legs over Mizrak’s, then climbs off the bed.
“You tasted divine. I’ll be back my love. Stay put.” Another wry smile from Olrox, though Mizrak doesn’t understand what he is smiling at. Why would he move when he is so content and peaceful? Mizrak reaches his hand out, using it to chase after Olrox as he walks towards the door. Even in his haze he can see that Olrox looks healthier.
“You’re so beautiful.” Mizrak slurs out. Olrox smiles at him again, then walks out of the room. Mizrak shuts his eyes, and lets sleep wash over him again.
-------
For the first time in ten nights, Mizrak does not dream of dying. Instead, he dreams of his childhood. The salty beaches of Malta, sand beneath his toes as he escaped from the orphanage for a few hours to feel at peace with the ocean. He can smell the salt in the air, hear the waves crashing onto the shoreline, feel the sunlight on his skin. When he wakes up, he is at peace again. Olrox had tucked him back in at some point in the night, and he allows himself to lay peacefully beneath the blankets for a moment.
But Mizrak cannot stand inactivity for too long, movement and productivity beaten into him through years of knight training and seminary. He opens his eyes, and sees a bowl of something and some bread on the bedside table. Once he sees the food, the hunger hits him like a wave on a stormy ocean. He is starving, and pushes himself into a sitting position again. Olrox is in the corner of the room, cleaning something. When he hears Mizrak move to sit up, he turns around and smiles at him.
“Eat my love. You must be starving. I tried to feed you as much as you could handle when you were feverish, but it was not enough. And I had my own meal.” Olrox looks slightly guilty at that, but Mizrak just shakes his head and grabs at the bowl. It is a stew of some sort, but the hunger clawing at his stomach doesn’t care about the details. All he knows is there is food in the bowl, and it tastes good. He finishes it far too fast, and reaches for the bread to scrape the remainders out of the bowl. Olrox chuckles to himself and walks to sit on the side of the bed. He strokes Mizrak’s hair while he eats. Only when the bread is gone and the cup of water next to it is gone does he talk.
“How would you feel about a bath my love?” The ease that Olrox throws that phrase, my love, around is unfamiliar, but comforting to Mizrak. He takes stock of his body. The bandages around his shoulder and ribs are fresh and clean, but the feeling of dried sweat on his body rears its ugly head. He begins to feel itchy, and thinks a bath would work. He nods, and Olrox scoops him in his arms as though he weighs nothing. His splinted leg points at an absurd angle, but he relaxes into Olrox’s arms, tucking his head into the crook of the vampire’s neck as they walk to a beautiful bathroom.
“It seems our aristocratic friend was more influential than we thought.” Olrox was perhaps understating it. The bathroom is all white tile and gold filigree, with a massive clawfoot tub standing at the center. Unlike other privies and bathrooms Mizrak had used in the past, there is nowhere to warm water for a bath. Instead, two taps adorn the clawfoot. “I have only seen these in Dracula’s castle before. It seems our kind host has been there before, or copied the work from there.”
So Olrox had been to Dracula’s castle before. Mizrak chose not to ask about it. Olrox would tell him his past, in time. No need to press about it now. He places Mizrak down on a stool, and starts working to prepare the tub. Steaming water pours into it in a quiet rush, and Olrox turns back to him.
“Your bandages can come off, I think the wounds are healed enough to give them some air. But the splint stays on. The break hasn’t had enough time to start knitting itself back together.”
Olrox starts unwinding the bandages around Mizrak’s midsection. He looks down, and his ribcage is covered in mottled green and yellow bruises. He probes one of them experimentally, then winces in the pain. The stab in his side is neatly stitched together, and the bandages covering that had some sort of a poultice on it. The incision was pink, but not infected. Olrox had treated him well. The larger cut on his shoulder was similar. He avoids looking down at his leg. Mizrak knows the break is bad, knows that he’s lucky to avoid an amputation entirely. Olrox helps him stand, the tiles cool on his bare feet, leaning his weight heavily to keep weight off the splinted leg.
He realizes Olrox has been doing all the talking since he has woken up. Mizrak doesn’t mind it. He grew up in the silence of the Church, waiting to hear God, to work through him. The prayers, never answered. And Olrox is answering his questions without him having to speak a word. Mizrak contemplates on this as he allows Olrox to carry his weight and pull his smallclothes off. When he stands naked in the eyes of God and his serpentine lover, he finally looks at himself in the large mirror adorning one entire wall of the bathroom, edged in gold filigree that curves around it suggestively. He looks gaunt. His muscles have not atrophied, but they are less prominent. The bruises on his ribs seem to stand out against his olive skin, more pale than usual. On each side of his neck are two sets of matching pink pinpricks, nearly healed already. Selfishly, Mizrak hopes they scar. His leg is still splinted, covered in yellow and green bruises. But it seems whole. He laughs. It looks as though he is leaning his entire weight onto nothing. Olrox follows his eyes and laughs with him, before scooping him in his arms and depositing him in the now full bathtub.
Mizrak leans back in the water, allowing himself to be encased by the warmth. He shuts his eyes, and speaks. He can’t tell if he is telling Olrox about his life out of a desire for the vampire to understand him better or because it has been so long since he talked about it and it is all bubbling up now.
“This reminds me of home. I grew up in Malta, an orphan taken in by the Knights Hospitaller. It was safe, if not nice. The moments of true joy I remember are escaping to the sea, the first time I stepped inside the Knisja Konventwali ta' San Ġwann, and the bathhouses. Hammams. From the East. Odd that the Hospitallers were so dedicated to returning to the Holy Land and driving out the Seljuks, but they took back some of their infrastructure.”
Olrox makes a noise of agreement but otherwise continues to busy himself with whatever he was doing behind Mizrak. Only when cool hands touch his hair does Mizrak realize Olrox is washing it for him. He leans into the touch and continues to speak.
“The Hammams were the one spot where no one cared I was an orphan, then a knight. I was just their fellow man, getting clean with the rest of them. I think I felt God the most there. The Knisja Konventwali ta’ San Ġwann was His house of worship, but He worked in the Hammams. I think I feel Him now, in here with us.”
Olrox’s hands work through his short locks, claws scratching his scalp just right. In a different time, Mizrak would have said God was working through Olrox. But God does not work through Olrox, Olrox works through himself. A short chuckle escapes from his mouth when Mizrak is finished speaking.
“I think you like baths my love.” Olrox finishes working the soap through his hair and starts to trickle water over his head. Mizrak smiles at the comment and lets Olrox finish his work. He has never been cared for like this. It feels nice, to let himself relax and know someone else is watching over him. He leans into the vampire’s cool touch. Sure, it would be a long road back to full health. He had been hurt in the past, knows what healing wounds like these are like. But in the past, he had just grit his teeth and set at it with grim determination, hoping that God would see him through the dark stretch and stay with him to full health. Now, he thinks he might learn to enjoy the healing process. Perhaps even love it, and the vampire that comes with it. He sighs contentedly, and embraces the moment.