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Just as the sun rose, like clockwork, the cat appeared.
A scrawny black thing with matted fur and long whiskers, its claws always protracted. There was no fear as it approached the small cottage, alone among valleys of long grass and ruins. The door, as usual, was slightly ajar--and, as usual, he was there to greet the animal in the safety of the shadows within.
The cat stopped right in front of the door, and laid down. It looked up at the pale, gangly figure, barely visible in the twilight. It watched him, met his gaze with its single eye. A somewhat recent injury--there was still dried blood and pus caked at the edges of the pinched, empty socket. Its tail swished, and he tilted his head abruptly in response.
Vaun heard many tall tales about these animals in his travels. They were connected to the dead, the underworld, and it was believed not only could they see ghosts and similar specters, but if a cat were to jump over the grave of a dead man, aforementioned corpse would be transformed into a vampire.
A cute little story, but like so many others, just another fairytale.
But the cat would stare at Vaun, in a curious way. Animals usually reacted to his kind with fear. Humans much, much more. But this cat--it never once attacked or hissed at him. As if it knew what he was, as if seeing the undead was simply... commonplace.
Vaun could hear its tiny heartbeat, pumping blood through its veins. He could hear that, too; the blood flowing, moving around and through organs. Warm, rich, red and black. It sounded like poetry, like music. Vaun growled, a low guttural noise deep in his chest; the once-taut skin along his neck expanded, pouches inflating as his tongue twitched in his mouth, its stingers erect.
Slowly, Vaun squatted, still a pale grayish shadow half-hidden behind the door. He reached out a hand through the crack. The sun was low, sluggishly making its climb; the light felt less like a burning sensation, more of a tingle on his skin. He stretched out his fingers, reaching for the cat's throat. It did not move; a small "mmr" and it looked away.
One squeeze, Vaun could easily crush the animal's neck. One swipe of his claw, he'd spill the cat's blood all over the dirt and grass. It would be too painfully easy. But Vaun instead settled his hand on the cat's back, and gently pet it. The cat purred, rising slightly on its haunches and into the hand. The low lulling noise coming from Vaun's throat sounded nearly identical to the creature's purring. He stroked down the cat's back, along its tail, up again to skritch behind its tattered ears.
Beams of orange and yellow sunlight poured down the vacant yard. Vaun withdrew his hand, and the cat perked its head. It waited, and a moment later, Vaun quickly pushed out a small saucer of goat's milk, and shut the door.
The cabin was pitch black, its few windows bolted up with wooden planks. A little sunlight seeped through tiny cracks in the walls and ceiling, but not enough to cause even minor irritation. Vaun could see perfectly in the darkness anyway, his eyes adjusting with a couple blinks of his secondary eyelids. He could hear the cat licking up the milk from the other side of the door.
"You should sleep."
Vaun clicked, turning his head; his pupils slitting at the burst of flame, shrinking into a small bead.
"You need to rest."
Vaun watched as Quinlan lit the candles lining the entire back wall. "As should you, don't you think?" Vaun replied finally, the sub-harmonics of his voice dry and cracked. He stretched, twisting his head until joints popped and muscles relaxed. "The teacher exerts just as much energy training with the pupil."
Quinlan had lit the eighteenth candle. "Maybe so," he said, "but it's time. The sun is up." He looked at Vaun, those electric blue eyes sending a jolt down the strigoi's spine. Every damn time; they were mesmerizing, in a way Vaun was sure moths saw flames.
Vaun's grumble rolled through his body. "Mm." He couldn't argue. He was still sore, aching in places he didn't think he could feel anymore. It'd been nearly two days since he last had any proper rest. Just an hour or two here and there in between training and sparring. And Quinlan, while patient, did not hold back. Not with his body, not with his words. He could be brutal, cold, even cruel. Frustrating at times, but that was long ago.
"And you?" Vaun asked a minute later, rubbing a pinched nerve between his neck and shoulder.
"Meditation," Quinlan answered.
Vaun chuffed. "You might as well just sleep then," he said.
Quinlan shook his head. "I'm not tired."
"I've known you long and well enough now to tell when you're lying," Vaun said. He tilted his head, pursing his lips. "Well. Most of the time, anyway."
Quinlan was enigmatic. Frustrating, but that was--no. No. Still frustrating even now, sometimes.
Quinlan lit one final candle, turning to Vaun. "Or you just want the company," he countered.
Vaun was quiet, rumbling nearly inaudibly. There was no need to try and hide his feelings--Quinlan knew. And he understood--maybe, possibly. Hard to tell. But there were some things that never changed; Vaun slept just fine on his own, and quite frequently, but there were times where the loneliness became almost unbearable. The link severed, now there was just... emptiness on the other end. No one to answer the call; no one to touch or feel, and not necessarily physically.
"I miss it," Vaun confessed, and sighed, "I shouldn't, but I do."
Quinlan stared at him, quiet. But in that silence, Vaun detected what might have been empathy. Maybe some sort of understanding.
One candle was nearly a puddle now, its flame weak. Quinlan reached over and pinched the wick, snuffing it. "Come then," he said, moving into the next room.
Vaun smirked, showing a little teeth. "Right."
The room was cluttered, piled with supplies, tools, and weapons, with a small area in the very center left bare, save an old flimsy blanket. The two settled in this small circle; Vaun stripped off his pants, Quinlan simply removing his shirt. There was more color in Quinlan's skin, more life and vibrancy. Vaun sunk down beside him, the two sitting and facing one another.
Quinlan reached out a hand, cupping Vaun's cheek. He dragged his thumb along old scars, stripes of discolored flesh that stood out against his pallor complexion. Vaun hummed in response, dipping down and pushing into the hand, much like the cat outside. Quinlan chuffed lowly, rapping his thick nails on the back of Vaun's bald head before sinking closer, their foreheads pressed together.
Eyes closed, they purred and rumbled at one another, Vaun moving to drag his cheek down Quinlan's face. His thin lips ghosted along the dhampir's throat, pausing to smell--to consume--the human scent running through Quinlan's veins. He buried his face into his shoulder, mouth open and panting, sucking in humid air fragrant with Quinlan's unique musk. It was a low, growling noise, almost like a sputtering engine; Quinlan dropped his hand down Vaun's back, over protruding vertebrae. He sunk his nails into the small of his back, and Vaun quieted.
Vaun was always cold, it seemed, and Quinlan sometimes forgot the sound ringing in his ears was not blood pumping through Vaun's body. No, it sounded very familiar; but the more closely he listened, he knew it was just the incessant wriggling of millions of little worms, all aroused and excited by this quasi-human's presence. But Vaun never attacked him, though there'd been a few instances where he'd almost wanted to. Ignore his training, his senses, give into desires and more raw impulses.
He'd never tasted a dhampir before.
Vaun raised his head, finally, snuffling. He rubbed neck to neck with Quinlan, drawing out more of that heat and exotic, alien aroma. The skin on his throat puffed before going taut a moment, mandible muscles loosening. Ready to open, unlock, appendages of his tongue unfurling and rubbing against the insides of his very dry mouth. He opened his lips, just a little, releasing a low whistling wheeze. It wasn't so much hunger as primal instincts.
But Quinlan wasn't afraid; he trusted his pupil.
Vaun's throat relaxed. He picked up the necking in an aggressive pace, rubbing and grinding against Quinlan as if to mark him. As if to claim him. Or maybe it was just to get closer--somehow, maybe, to become one with the dhampir. Love had nothing to do with it (though he could not deny what he felt for Quinlan was more than just admiration and respect), he just wanted more. Vaun wrapped his arms tightly around Quinlan, his purring loud enough to vibrate between their bodies.
Quinlan pressed back, snarling. To comfort and humor Vaun, or because he wanted just the same, it didn't matter. He understood, somewhat. Vampires were a social creature, even when they were alone. Hivemind or otherwise. It only seemed fitting, however; alongside blood, Ozryel desired flesh. To consume and take and possess.
Vaun pulled Quinlan down on the blanketed floor with him. Hands wandered, fingers and claws running down each others bodies, sliding into dips and across the bumpy ridges of scar tissue. Vaun curled up against his chest, pointed ears twitching. Legs pushed between legs, tangling, flesh on wrinkled cotton. They were both warm now, both adjusted to each others temperatures. Quinlan bowed his head, kissing the top of Vaun's chastely.
It was... so human an act, Vaun momentarily stiffened. He raised his head, meeting Quinlan's ethereal blue eyes. Snorting, Vaun dipped forward, their noses brushing. Their mouths inches apart, but not quite touching. They moved no further. Vaun opened his mouth, sucking in the air the dhampir exhaled, setting his stingers on edge. Quinlan cupped the back of his head, guiding it back down to his chest.
Vaun made a soft trilling noise and settled there, keeping his arms around the dhampir.
Quinlan rest his chin on top of the bald head. He listened to the strigoi's body relax, easing into sleep. He touched the cool face, very gently tracing the dark stripes from one temple, across closed eyes and nose, to his jawline. Vaun exhaled a puff of air against his palm, grunting.
Quinlan smirked. He wiggled, getting comfortable, poured around Vaun like a protective blanket. A second skin. He closed his eyes and sighed.
Just a few minutes, then he'd get back to work. Just a few minutes, then he'd go hunting.