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Winter 1569, deep in the forest somewhere near the village of Ulla
The knife felt hot in John’s hand even as the frosty air cut across his exposed cheeks. The snow was falling in droves, landing on the blood soaked ground and spreading the color like a spilled bottle of paint. Around him he could hear the groans of the rest of the group, but they had gotten quieter with each passing minute. He took in a shaking breath and looked down at the man beneath him.
“Where is he?” he asked, spit flying from his chapped lips.
“I don't—”
“Shut it!” He pressed the knife down hard, red blood dripping down the man’s neck. “I know you know where he is. I have followed you for seventy miles now, through dozens of towns and villages. Every single place you went, you spoke of him. Spirits loosen the tongues of men, but they make a drooling mess of dogs like you. Now, unless you want this knife to remove your head, you will tell me what I want to know. Where is he?”
The man’s eyes widened in fear and he began to stutter. Between the pathetic begging for his life to be spared and the whispered prayers to their God, he could see something beneath it all. There was a will, not very strong, but a will all the same. The man wanted to live, but he had no idea of how to go about it. John would have laughed if he wasn't in such a hurry. All these men had forfeited any right they had to life long ago when they signed the Devil’s book and took up with his earthly beast.
He leaned closer until he thought he could hear the violent beating of the man’s heart. There was a whimper followed by a tiny voice. “Please, sir. I cannot tell you. He will kill me.”
“But I will kill you if you do not tell me. The only difference is that I will make it swift. Can you say the same of your master?”
There was a split second where he actually thought the man would tell him what he wanted to know, but then his eyes widened and the fear drained from them. John dropped him and turned just in time to block the blow of one of the other men. He backed up quickly until his back hit a tree and looked at his arm. There was a long gash running down his forearm. The sleeve of his heavy coat was now flapping in the wind. He cursed and raised his knife.
His assailant ran for him, but he was ready now. He dodged a blow then another, finally grabbing ahold of the man's arm and using it as an anchor while he thrust his knife into his ribcage. He barely had time to watch the light leave the man’s eyes before he heard the snow crunch behind him. This time he wasn't so lucky. A heavy blow on the back of his head sent him tumbling onto the ground. He felt the snow bite into his skin as he tried to regain his wits, stars swimming in his eyes. He struggled to turn over onto his back, but then something landed on him. It was a boot holding him down.
“I am sorry for you,” his victim from earlier said in a heavily accented voice. “He will not let me live if I do not finish you. I must return home. I must see my fa—”
The man never finished his speech. Instead, John heard a sound like a gust of wind followed by a strangled cry. The weight of the boot left his back and somewhere off to the side, he felt the vibrations as a body fell to the ground. The last thing he saw before his world faded to black was a pair of shining golden eyes, not unlike those of a wolf about to sink their teeth into a helpless deer.
***
When John came to, he was no longer in the woods. The air around him was pleasant and a sweet smell permeated the air. He ran a hand down his torso, feeling his thin undershirt and nothing else. His coat and chainmail had been removed. He had been relieved of his weapons as well, including the small wooden stake he kept concealed in his boot for emergencies.
“Apologies for undressing you like that,” a voice said across the room. “I swear upon my honor that I didn't touch you in any untoward manner.”
He hand stilled and so did his breathing. He barely cracked his eyes open and tried to look around, but his head was heavy and the lights of the room were blindingly bright.
There was a chuckle right against his ear. “Oh, John. I could hear your breathing change the second you woke up. There's no need to hide. If I wanted you dead, you wouldn't still be breathing, would you?”
That was true, much as he hated to admit it. He fully opened his eyes and blinked until the sensitivity went away. When his vision cleared he saw that he was in what looked to be a keep. The walls were built of a sturdy stone and rose high above him. They were decorated with faded tapestries and rusted metal coats of armor. He was laying on a well used but clean chaise longue. Across from him was another chaise, which was occupied.
He looked like a shadow from here, the light coming from the fireplace behind him outlining him sharply. He was propped up on one elbow, a goblet in his other hand. The metal of his rings twinkled as he swirled whatever liquid was in his cup. John could almost take him for a normal man, if his fingers weren't tipped with sharp black claws.
“Robert,” he said curtly.
The silhouette shuddered and there came a sound of disgust from his lips. “Why do you insist on calling me that? Haven't I told you that Bob will suffice?”
“Sorry if I'm not chomping at the bit to accommodate you.”
“Oh, you would never do such a thing and that's what I admire about you.”
The figure stood and turned, revealing his captor’s full glory in the light. He had perfect smooth skin, a beautiful pale shade like creamy beige silk. His clothing was elegant and richly colored. Jewels and furs adorned him like he was born for such finery. His hair was light brown and fell into his face in boyish curls. His lips were stained red from the wine, at least that's what he hoped was in the cup. His eyes though… John had seen them so often yet he sometimes forgot what color they were supposed to be. Sometimes Bob looked at him with eyes bluer than the very sky and filled with more depths than the deepest trench in the ocean. Other days, and right now, he stared into John’s soul with sharp golden eyes that pierced through him as if he were made of parchment.
Said eyes brightened and he swore if he were closer that he'd be able to see the color swirl inside his irises like molten gold in a furnace. “I can hear you thinking, Johnathan,” he said. He smiled and John saw the tip of one of his fangs poking out from beneath his lip. “You have such a way of perceiving me. It's intoxicating. What are we even doing here?”
He walked closer and bent down to trace a claw down his jaw. John looked away and focused his eyes on the Anatolian rug covering the floor, hiding the way his body wanted to lean into the touch. It was still beautiful even if he could see the ends beginning to fray. A shadow fell across his view as Bob retreated back toward his own seat.
“What do you want with me?” he asked.
“To the point. I love it.” Bob held the goblet to his lips and titled his head back. John's eyes traced the elegant curve of his neck and the twitch of his Adam's apple as he swallowed. When the cup was emptied he set it on a table and began to pace. “You see, we have been at this a long time, you and I. Do not mistake me, I've had a lot of fun watching you in your quest for vengeance. Unfortunately, I have grown tired in these last few months and I find myself wanting a change.”
“A change?”
He nodded. “Yes. It is well within my means to keep packing up my life and moving to another country, but I don't love it. I want to settle down and try the domestic life for a while. I want to see how well I do among the living.”
John couldn't hold in his laugh. “You? Domestic living? Hah! You are a very funny vampire. Perhaps you can try being a court jester.”
“A jester, hmmm. I don't think I would suit. My humor is rather dry. I think you could do it though. After all, you've danced your way across mountains and rivers with your clumsy feet and your jingling armor. You would be perfect for it. I could even give you a letter of reference.”
“You bastard. You dare talk down to me?”
Bob gasped, a clawed hand coming to gently rest upon his unbeating heart. “Talk down to you? My dear John, I would never. You are my favorite person after all.” He walked closer, his cloak swishing with every step. “You sound upset at my proposition and I must make it clear that this isn't your fault. As much as I have enjoyed the hunt, it must simply come to an end now. Whether it was yours or mine, I'm sure we would disagree. You've followed me all the way from my beloved Venice to this… oh, I seem to forget where we are.”
“Ulla… Lithuania…”
“Yes! The Grand Duchy of Lithuania,” he said with an exaggerated flourish of his hands. “A very cute, if sparse, little place. And what a mouthful for a land with almost nothing going for it. Ah, well, that is neither here nor there. You chased me, but only because I left a trail for you to follow. I was never truly hunted, but I don't mean to imply that you are terrible at your job. On the contrary, I find you to be an extraordinary vampire hunter. It actually makes me sad to have to part with you.”
“You speak as if we are old friends at a crossroads.”
“Are we not?”
John fought to sit up, keeping his eyes locked on the creature standing before him. His head was still swimming and his limbs were sore, but he had been taught to always be on guard.
“You are a job, you always have been.” He brought his arm up and studied it. The cut had been bandaged and a foul smelling ointment oozed from its secure folds. The creature had actually taken the time to patch his wounds. He didn't know how to feel about that so he pushed down any gratitude he felt for him and replaced it with fury. “I have been tasked with exterminating you before you wipe out the human race. How could you ever consider us friends? You killed my patron! Murdered her in cold blood. The Contessa—”
“La Contessa Valentina Allegra de la Fontaine, as she liked to be called, was not murdered. In fact, I did her a service. It was mercy.”
“It was murder!”
He remembered that night so well. The day he found her in a pool of her own blood with her body ripped open and flies circling her like carrion.
The Contessa had never been a friend or even an acquaintance, but she had taken care of him. After the plague stole his wife and son from him, he had lost his purpose. He and his best friend, Lemar, had traveled and taken odd jobs wherever they could. His life had been meaningless and he hadn't cared if he lived to see another day, but he did not feel the same about Lemar. When they were ambushed in an alleyway by two drunk thieves, Lemar had shoved him out of the way of a knife. The attackers fled when they saw blood, but John had stayed. He held Lemar to his chest until he was covered in red.
He rampaged through the town trying to find the men, but he never did. It was a few days later when a messenger arrived and directed him to the castle on the hill. He had knelt at her feet, tears on his face and blood dried on his hands, and had asked her for justice. What she gave him was much more. She clothed and armed him. She told him the names of those he sought. She gave him the order to make them disappear. And she promised him a spot in her court when he returned. He did all that she required and returned a changed man. He was her sword from that day forward. He did all of the things she asked of him and she rewarded him handsomely. She outwardly favored him and championed his name to all that would hear. It was as if she were the sun and her light shined upon him alone. With her, he had found true purpose, but it didn't last.
One day she dragged a man, if you could call him that, from the mud and propped him up even higher than she ever had John. She dressed him like a little doll and paraded him around like a monkey on a jeweled leash. The women and men around him spoke only of his beauty and his charms. He was soft spoken and bumbling, but they were addicted to it. Shy little Robert, the peasant that Valentina had turned into her perfectly manicured pet.
John hadn't thought much of him when he first came around, but he quickly learned to worry. The boy had her ear and he took and took from her. The clothing became more lavish, his meals were more decadent, and his person was hers to do with as she pleased. He remembered the first time he saw her drag him into her bedroom and lock the door behind them. He never looked at her in that way, hadn't done such a thing since he lost his Olivia, but there was a part of him that seethed at the sight. This beautiful creature in the arms of that… that woman— man. That man had stolen her from John. It prompted him to watch Bob more closely. He followed him around the keep and watched him religiously. He pulled him into conversations whenever he could, anything to keep him away from Valentina. At night he dreamed of him, of those strong hands on his— Valentina’s body. He awoke every morning feeling sick and lonely.
For her part, Valentina still kept up the facade that things had not changed, She still sent John on missions to do away with criminals that threatened the town or her interests and he always returned home to her praises and smiles. He should've known what Bob was capable of, seen what he truly was underneath that innocent veneer.
“I remember everything from that night,” John said. “I saw you hanging off her all through dinner. I saw the way you whispered into her ear and coaxed her away from the table. You were the only one she spent her nights with. Who else had access to her room, huh? Who else could get close enough to tear her apart without alerting a single guard? You murdered an innocent woman in cold blood.”
“Innocent!” The fire behind Bob blazed to life, the tips of its flames licking at the mantle. The room brightened until it felt like daytime before quicking fading. “That woman was anything but innocent. She made my life a living nightmare. You only saw what you wanted to see. You were jealous, that much I could tell. Whenever I tried to reach out to you, you turned away from me. You put up your walls and looked at me like I was a threat to you. You never saw the bruises. You never cowered in the corner of her room and begged for her to leave you alone. You never laid underneath her and prayed that it would end quickly.”
Bob scowled, his full set of teeth on display. He was angry now, the air hot with his rage. He dragged his claws down his face, tearing at the skin. John watched the blood seep from the wounds until they closed up and left only little red tracks in their wake. He continued in a low voice, “She made me into what I am. Before I was brought to her, I was living on the streets and fighting every day just to survive. She lured me in with pretty things and made me feel like I was worth something. She said she would help me become who I was always meant to be. Then she started to use me and when I protested, she called me ungrateful. She had cared enough to deem me worth saving and I repaid her with everything I had left for her to take.”
John sat there, his mouth parted in shock. These things Bob was saying, they couldn't possibly be true. Valentina would never be so cruel. She could be hard sometimes, but never purposely hurtful. She had saved him after all, but she had never done anything like Bob claimed to himself.
“She would never do that, but your story sounds pretty convincing. You've mastered lying,” John said.
Bob pursed his lips, but said nothing about the accusation. “She was a vampire and she did nothing to hide it. You were just too caught up in her light to see it. That night, I was telling her I wanted out. The dirty things I supposed whispered in her ears were pleas for my misery to end. Do you want to know how she responded?”
He sounded so sincere and the look on his face was one of pure anguish, but John still didn't believe him. Why was he telling him this now when he'd had so many chances before? He clenched his hands into fists on his lap and shrugged. “What did she do?”
“She told me to go to her room and that we would talk after dinner. I did so. She tried to undress me and I told her I didn't want that so she pulled out a knife and sliced my neck open right there in her bed.” Bob’s eyes turned blue for a moment, and John saw an image of the frightened young man the day he appeared in his life. He tilted his head and John could've sworn he saw even more in those eyes, as if he could read thoughts just like him, but then Bob blinked and it was all over. His golden eyes narrowed as he continued. “She straddled me and said I could either bleed out and leave this new life I had just found or I could drink from her and stay forever. She gave me a choice.”
“Doesn't sound like much of a choice.”
“It doesn't, does it? I was terrified, plain and simple. I didn't want to die. I looked up at her and I saw my father. That man made my life hell before Valentina came along to make it worse. I always hated myself for still wanting his love even after he had beaten me and left me in the mud outside our home. I wasn’t thinking straight. I mean, who would when you're choking on your own blood. So I said yes. I drank from her and felt myself change. I specifically remember looking down and seeing the tips of my fingers turning black before I fainted. Sometime in that span, I ended her long suffering life and let her finally rest. The next time I woke, she was dead and you had issued a proclamation for my head.”
“Why didn't you tell me any of this before?”
“I never had the chance and honestly, I liked the chase. It gave me something to do while coming to terms with what I had become.”
They lapsed into a silence so cold it felt like John had been thrown into a frozen lake. He looked sincere. The pain in his voice felt real, but Valentina… She wouldn't. There was a time when he couldn't sleep and had taken to wandering the halls. It was right before a big mission of his and he could feel himself getting cold feet. He had run into her and they had talked for hours. She had touched him so deeply with her kindness and how much she cared. He had left for the mission without a second thought the next day and had returned to her compliments. He felt like a new person around her. He felt like he mattered. She had made him become what he was always meant to be…
He looked up to see Bob staring at him. There was a knowing look in his beautiful eyes. John bit down on his tongue until he drew blood and shook his head. He reached underneath his shirt and found that his necklace had not been removed. Bob wouldn't have been able to touch it. He pulled out the cross on its chain and let it hang over his shirt. Bob shifted slightly, but did nothing to prepare for an attack.
“Romans thirteen, verse four,” he said in a shaky voice. “For he is God’s servant for your good. But if you do wrong, be afraid, for he does not bear the sword in vain; he is the servant of God to execute his wrath on the wrongdoer.”
Bob shook his head and laughed sadly.
“So that's how it's going to be.” He sighed and glanced up at the ceiling. “Behold, what I have seen to be good and to be fitting is to eat and drink and find enjoyment in all the toil with which one toils under the sun the few days of his life which God has given him, for this is his lot.”
His eyes went wide. “Ecclesiastes…”
“Chapter five, verse eighteen. You look surprised. Why?” Bob started pacing again, his boots echoing on the floor of the rather sparse room. “I did my time just as much as the next man. I kneeled at the altar and prayed for my soul. Look what God gave me in return. Why was I given this unfortunate life if not to live it to the fullest?”
He racked his brain for an answer and found nothing in the way of sympathy or understanding. This monster didn't deserve any of it. He had made a choice, or he had been forced into it, but he had made a choice! Death was still an option and he shied away from it, from God’s light.
“O-only be sure that you do not eat the blood; for the blood is the life,—”
Bob cut him off with a snarl. “And you shall not eat the life with the flesh! Deuteronomy. What a book! I never quite liked it when I was alive and I certainly don't feel any different now. How important it is to stay faithful and obedient to our holy master. That he will guide us into blessing and shield us from curses.” He reached up and tapped one of his fangs with a claw before shrugging.
“Men eat blood all the time,” he continued. “You know many people I watched tear through half-raw flanks of beef and eat the flesh like starving animals? Have you ever seen a man with juices flowing down his chin and staining his beard? You must have, if you lived with Valentina as long as you did. Do you think God will strike every such pig down?”
John opened his mouth to reply, but Bob suddenly appeared right before him and grabbed his chin, making him look up at him.
“Go ahead and tell me I'm wrong simply because I am what I am,” he whispered.
“Genesis nine, verse six,” he paused, expecting Bob to cut him off again, but he seemed like he was going to let him finish this time. “Whoever sheds the blood of man, by man shall his blood be shed; for God made man in his own image.”
Bob sneered and let him go roughly, almost shoving him backwards on the seat. “Hypocrite,” he said. “You shed the blood of countless men, all in her name. You were her sword, remember? She didn't kill so openly like most of our kind. She got others to do it for her. Jonathan Walker. Knight in shining armor to the helpless Contessa. What a joke.”
“I…”
What could he say? He didn't want to know his new life had been as worthless as the one before it. That he had never been raised from the ground he wallowed in. That Valentina had merely wiped the mud from his face but neglected to scrape it off his boots. The chase had been good for him. It kept him from thinking past the exhaustion and need for revenge that tore at his insides daily.
Bob answered for him. “Aren't you tired of this?” he asked.
The flames were higher again, swirling around Bob’s outstretched fingers. He wiggled them and made the fire dance in the air like a graceful court performer. They lit up his face as if he were one of those stained glass windows from the church far away in John’s native village. His hair looked lighter, almost blonde, and his face glowed as if there was a fire burning from within him. John swallowed down his shame. He wanted to kneel before Bob and apologize. He wanted to feel those claws scratching over his scalp as Bob whispered his forgiveness. God, he was pathetic.
“You aren’t pathetic,” Bob said, eyes still on the flames. John hated when he did that, how easy it was for him to dig into his head. “You just have no purpose in your life and so you look to others to make one for you.”
“What do I do then?” he asked. “Since you seem to know everything.”
“I was going to ask you the same thing. You've been hunting me for so long that I’ve become an obsession to you. If I wasn't in the portrait, would you know what you truly want in life? Do you want me dead? Or do you simply want me? You've had your fair share of opportunities to kill me, but you've never taken that final step. Even when I knew I was completely safe from you, I let you think you were in control. Still, I am here and you have yet to complete your mission. Her little sentry continues to wander aimlessly.”
He looked around at the room again, scanning it for anything he could use. His knife was nowhere to be found, probably left in the woods, and his tattered coat and chains could do nothing for him now.
Bob let the flames fall and sucked at his teeth. His eyes darted everywhere before they settled on John and filled him with golden heat. “Those men were good to me,” he said as he started to slowly walk toward John. “They lured criminals into the woods for me to have my fill. Oh, don't look at me like that! Yes, I still have morals even if I eat the flesh of the living. I never went after those who didn't deserve it. Anyway, those men had served their purpose long ago and then they dared to attack you. I couldn't let that happen and so I made a choice for them. I decided that they no longer needed to breathe and they certainly don't breathe anymore. You, on the other hand, still deserve a choice. So I'm offering you one. Let me turn you and give you the chance to go out into that big open world and find yourself a purpose.”
John stayed perfectly still, but his mind and heart were racing. He was going to turn him into a mindless freak. All in the name of, what, helping John? He couldn't believe it. He eyed the goblet Bob had left on the table and wondered if he could run fast enough to reach it and maybe crack the vampire’s skull with it.
Bob looked back at the goblet and chuckled. He waved a hand and the thing floated backward until it came to rest on the mantle of the fireplace. “I would suggest that you don't do that,” he said. “You can't hurt me, nor do I plan on hurting you. This truly is a choice, one that I wasn't fortunate enough to have. That wound on your arm was superficial and should be healed in a day anyway. You are still healthy and if you walked out of here right now, you would still have something to return to. If you want to leave, I will allow it, but I will also disappear from your life and make it so that you will never be able to track me down again. I meant what I said earlier. I want something more out of this life and I can't get that if I continue to let you chase me. You may be willing to waste away, but I'm not.”
“I'm not wasting away.”
“Yeah? So if I left right now, what would you do?”
“I would…”
He shut his eyes and sighed, trying not to scream. There was a purpose for him. There was! He could go into a trade or be a guard for the local lord. There were things he was good at, even if he found no joy in them.
A gentle hand cupped his face and he saw Bob kneeling before him, his face one of perfect acceptance and calm. “Let me do this favor for you. I don't even know why I want to do it. You never were a friend to me before her death, but I've watched you and seen how she molded you into the dejected creature you are today. You don't deserve it and I want to set you free but you get to choose how I do so.”
“Why are you helping me now?”
“I’ve helped you since the beginning. Where you showed malice, I only ever returned it with kindness, it's one of the rare human traits I still possess. I have killed so many for you, but you've never noticed. Those men in the woods weren't the first, but they will be the last. When I leave, you’ll be defenseless unless you take the small protection I can still offer.”
Up close, John could smell him. It was a sweet scent like flowers. He had always believed that Bob smelled like decay. He inhaled deeply and almost whimpered at the smell. Bob was leaving him and this was the first and last time he would ever do something so intimate with him. He found himself leaning closer, so close that their foreheads almost touched.
“Will it hurt?” he asked.
He shook his head. “I won't let it.”
John thought of his lost family, of Lemar. He had done this for them at one point, but somewhere along the road he had lost his way. He wanted to be someone they could be proud of, but what would they say if he were to die tomorrow?
“Turn me,” he said quickly.
“Are you sure?”
He nodded.
“I need a verbal answer, John.”
“Please turn me, Bobby. I want this...”
After a look from Bob, he grabbed the cross around his neck and ripped it off, letting it fall to the floor. Bob leaned back and rolled up one of his sleeves. John watched with a morbid curiosity as he bared the perfect flesh of his wrists to the air before biting down hard with his fangs. Blood spurted forth and started to gush as he tore through veins. John’s mouth was already open in shock when Bob pressed his wrist to his mouth and ordered him to drink. His free hand was a steady weight on the back of his neck.
“Don't think about the taste,” he heard Bob say distantly. “Just drink and clear your mind.”
He did as he was told, sucking on skin he had dreamed of and swallowing what tasted like warm honey straight from a beehive. It was divine, as if he were drinking ichor from God himself. His hands came up without him thinking and he latched onto Bob’s arm, tightening his grip and pulling him even closer to his lips.
There was a forehead pressed against his and breathy moans coming from somewhere, but he was only thinking of the blood. He could feel it filling him and making him whole. It was as if the void inside of him had never existed at all.
“God, you are a greedy thing. You've had enough.”
The arm in his grip was pulled away from him and he growled as he pulled it back, sinking his fangs into the skin. There was a chuckle before the warmth was wrenched from him. He whined like a child taken from its mother's breast, but it was quickly satiated by something more delectable. Lips were pressed against his, igniting him completely. His hands found their way into soft brown curls and pulled as hard as he could. Bob sighed into his mouth, giving him an opening to dart his tongue out. It was messy and raw. He could feel the blood smearing across their faces, but he didn't care. He wanted all of him, not just his blood. He was barely aware of his back hitting the cushions of the chaise and a comfortable weight being settled upon him.
“I’ve wanted you for so long,” Bob said between kisses and bites. “But you aren't ready for that. You need time.”
He wanted to argue that Bob was wrong, that he was ready, but he couldn't find the words. All he could think about was Bob. All he wanted was Bob. His mission was finally complete, he mused, he had gotten him at last, but he didn't know how to keep him. It was the last thought that crossed his mind before he was ripped away from the world.
***
456 years later, New York City
“Are you sure you can handle things here?” John asked as he hung up his hat.
Yelena turned to him with a grin. “Do you think we aren't capable of running things here for one night? You know us better!” she said.
Ava pushed by him with a box of fresh herbs. The scent from them was heavenly, even if it was tinged with the stench of garlic.
“Take a day off, Boss,” she said cheerfully. “You've earned it ten times over. Bucky will be here as an extra hand for the dinner rush and Yelena and I have already prepared the early reservation tables. Everything is set.”
“You’d have nothing to do here, if you stayed,” Yelena added. “We know you like to wax poetic about purpose and all that.”
He smiled, but something in him twinged. He didn't think he talked about it so much. It was crazy to think he had made even a small impact on any of them like that.
“You guys are right. I deserve a day off,” he said.
They were all smiles as well as the rest of the staff as he cleaned up, shed his chef’s coat, and walked to the front of the restaurant. Alexei was there to hold the door open for him, the veteran host looking his usual friendly self.
“Going out early, Boss?” he asked.
John gave him a nod.
Alexei laughed. “Sounds awesome. Don't have too much fun. Happy birthday, by the way! Maybe you go out to celebrate and you finally bring home a date, huh?”
He thanked him and merely laughed at the remark about him being single before he walked outside into the warm spring day. He glanced up at the sign of his restaurant and the three Michelin stars proudly displayed beside it. As he walked down the street, he had no idea where he was going. The staff knew this day as his birthday, but truth be told, he hadn't remembered his actual birthday in decades. Today was something he could never hope for them to understand, the day he was turned. The day everything had changed for him and had led him to being a highly decorated chef with a world renowned restaurant in the city that he had grown to love above all else.
He made his way to Central Park and found a bench to sit on. As the world turned around him, he closed his eyes and let himself relax. A laugh bubbled up in his chest and he let it out softly. He was happy, well and truly happy. It was remarkable, though he couldn't shake the idea that something was missing in his life even after all he had done.
The sun shone down on him and he looked at his hand. There was a new vampire movie that had come out last month. Yelena and Ava had dragged him to see it and he had to hold in his laughter the entire time. Watching the vampire burn up in the sun was hilarious to him, but it made Yelena sob bitterly so he had to play along. Sometimes he wanted to reveal himself to the world just to see how they would take it, but he never did. He liked his life the way it was and was happy with where he was.
“This seat taken?” someone asked.
The ‘no’ was on the tip of his tongue before he paused. He knew that voice. He looked up and it was as if he was directly facing the sun. It was Bob, looking just as he had the last time he had seen him. Just the sight of him made John swear his heart had started to beat again.
“U-uh, yeah, er no, this seat isn't taken. You can sit here,” he said, mentally scolding himself for his stuttering.
Bob smiled and sat beside him. The smell of flowers invaded his senses and he was briefly transported back to the 16th century.
“It's been a while, Francis,” Bob teased.
John smirked. He had been going by his middle name for a while now. Three whole fake lives were spent as Francis J. Walker. It was what the entire world knew him as except for one person.
“You can call me John, you know. Where have you been all this time?”
The look on Bob’s face was thoughtful. “I wanted to give you space to think about what I said before we parted ways. You do remember it, yes?”
He did, vividly. He had never felt the way he did ever since their encounter. He’d had a score of lovers, all of varying degrees of seriousness, but he had never been able to replicate that one winter night in an abandoned castle in Europe. He didn't respond, but he knew his silence was enough for Bob.
“I think a few centuries was enough.”
He snorted. “You think?”
Bob smiled and bumped his knee into John’s. “I never stopped thinking about you, but I was true to my word and I never went looking.”
He was shocked. He had been so sure Bob had at least kept tabs on him. The man had always been resourceful during their tête-à-tête. “Why now? Has something changed?”
He was silent for a while, his eyes taking in the sights. John took the time to study him closely. He really hadn't changed a bit. He was still perfect and he still wanted him madly. His flowery scent alone was enough to drive a weaker man crazy.
“Something has changed, yes. I… find myself looking for purpose, I guess. I figured I would come to the expert and see if you have any wisdom for me.”
“Me?” John laughed. “I'm the expert now?”
Bob’s eyes were serious as he stared back at him. He was sure it was the first time he had looked into his blue irises and not seen a bit of gold simmering underneath the surface. It was just gone. John found that he still yearned to kneel before this god of his and be the only one who had the honor of worshiping him.
“How would you like to start over with me?” Bob asked. “Or, if I'm being too forward, perhaps I can take you out to dinner?”
John knew he had a goofy look on his face as he saw Bob start to twist his hands together in his lap. A god was asking him out to dinner. In all his years, and there had been many, he had never seen something quite so unbelievable.
“I might know a good spot or two,” he replied.