Chapter Text
01/01/150
It was already getting to be a long year, and it’d only been a day. The woods kicked him out. Physically pushed him off the land, as if he isn’t one of it’s protectors. As if he hasn’t lived there his entire life! He didn't have time to pack or grab anything, so all he had was what he was already carrying; his two swords, his cloak, and a satchel bag with other oddities in it. He could probably get back into the woods in a few months time, but until then he was on his own.
The godsforsaken woods.
Cursed blood years, always ruining everything. This was set to be the third one in his unnatural lifetime, and given how tense the air was already starting to feel, it was going to be a tough one. The surrounding area he’d been pushed into was empty, a blessing in and of itself. He stared at the trees for a moment longer, contemplating trying to get back in. The Thing In The Woods might physically grab him if he tried. The fact that he was considered an outsider for being dead, even with his dedication to his place, was a cruel one. So, with a sigh, he turned to go.
The nearest town, Nightmoor, was a few miles away. It was normally a bustling place, but that night the streets were quiet. Not empty, just quiet. The cloak he had with him didn’t have a hood, and the shirt he was wearing was too low cut to bring over his face without looking stupid, so the best he could do to hide his recognizable features was to keep to the shadows. A feat which was not so easily accomplished was when the place he needed to go was in the middle of the brightly lit town square. He was lucky that there was a door to Dandelion’s still open, otherwise he’d have to put up with the stares of strangers in a less friendly place.
Upon entry, Dandelion barely said “Hello!” to Cass before hastily making his way out of sight, clearly rushing around to try to make some last minute preparations. Still, he’d waited for Cass to get in before leaving the bar. The place was packed, which was completely the opposite of what he expected. The chatter was welcome, but still made him feel uneasy while he sat alone at the bar, trying to figure out what he was going to do. Through the haze of voices and his own thoughts, he could hear a conversation about a monstrous man lurking in a nearby river. At least he knew where else to avoid.
It seemed it was going to be a traveling year, which would be fine if he had any money at all to be able to do that. Work of any kind would be hard to come by now. Dandelion always seemed to have a room open for him, but that probably wouldn’t be the case for the first few months. And the man wasn’t running a charity, Cass still had to pay for the room.
Sometimes.
The tavern door swung open before he could think much more on it, a familiar figure stepping through, annoyed and tired looking as ever. She looked around to try to spot Dandelion, her yellow eyes expertly avoiding Cassian until they couldn’t anymore. The moment they found him he felt like was the only other soul in the room.
He waved to her before he could think to stop himself. Obviously, if she wanted to talk she wouldn’t have avoided looking at him. To his great surprise, the annoyance in her eyes melted away as she slowly made her way over to him. Since they’d been trying to patch things up between them, it sometimes took them both a few moments to remember that they were friends again. He could never blame her for it, especially on a night like that one. She looked healthier since the last time he saw her, she’d put on some weight and it suited her well. She still looked utterly exhausted, her hair was still cut to her chin, but her horns were shorter, sharper, like she’d shaved them down. He grimaced at that thought, knowing it had to hurt. Before she was anywhere near him he’d picked up on the faint scent of honeysuckle and the much stronger scent of blood.
“Rough night?” he finally asked when she was closer. Regrettably, there was a hint of mirth in his voice as she gingerly sat down on the bar stool to his left. Her cloak was torn in the front, like something had been clawing at her. Her own shimmering gold blood stained her simple brown tunic. He tried not to notice. He knew she wouldn’t want help, or to even acknowledge the fact that she was bleeding. Even so, his eyes stayed locked on the blood. He was starving.
She noticed him staring, pulling her cloak tighter around herself to disrupt his thoughts. “Just a few scratches, nothing I can’t handle.” Judging from the slight waiver of her voice, she wasn’t handling it as well as she wanted to believe. “Woods kicked you out again?”
“You would not believe the audacity that a chunk of land and a few trees could have.” He shook his head, trying to clear it of any thoughts of biting his friend. It wasn’t much use.
She cracked a small smile at that, her eyes still scanning around the room before turning to look behind the bar. “Where’s my uncle?”
“He said ‘hello’ and disappeared into the back.”
“He told me he’s converting some of the space into a medical center for the year. I’m sure we’ll both be seeing a lot of it.” Again, she smiled, looking back at him finally to gauge a reaction.
He paused for a moment when her eyes turned to his, clearing his throat and turning to face the wall of liquor on the other side of the bar. What was wrong with him? “You should probably be there now.”
“I think I’ll be okay, just need a few stitches.”
“What got you? It doesn’t look like a person,” he glanced over again to try to get another look, but she caught him, shifting to face the wall as well.
“Werewolf, I’m pretty sure. Claws were sharp, it tore right through my corset in one go.”
He felt his heart sink at the casual mention of a werewolf. “It scratched you?”
“Don’t say it so loud,” she told him in a hushed tone.
“It scratched you, Wraith? You need to get to a healer. Now.” He matched her tone, lowering his voice to an urgent whisper. “What if you turn?”
“I’m not going to become a werewolf, Cass, it would have had to bite me.”
“You were still scratched. That’s damning enough in some cases.”
“I don’t even know if it was a werewolf for sure. It could have been a normal wolf.”
“That shouldn’t matter,” he whisper-yelled, nearly raising his voice to an actual speaking volume.
“I’m fine,” she insisted, clearly wanting an end to the conversation. He wouldn’t give her that right now.
“So you’re just going to sit here and bleed?”
“Once I see Dandelion I can get a room and patch myself up there.”
“I could—”
“No, thank you, Cass. I’m fine,” she repeated, giving him a pointed look.
“This is serious.”
“I’m aware,” she said simply, her interest in the conversation unraveling as she stared ahead at the bottles on the other side of the bar. He could only stare at her. He knew that she had a tendency to dismiss her own peril, but this was pushing it. Her expression was unreadable, eyes not sparing him a glance as the silence stretched between them in the noisy room.
“What is your plan for the year, anyway?” he asked with a defeated sigh, knowing it was best to drop the potential lycanthropy so he could salvage the conversation. He’d have to try to get through to her later.
“Traveling, like always,” she answered. “My life doesn’t change much at all during times like these, it only gets more dangerous. Though, tonight could be my last time with an actual bed for a while.”
“Why is that?”
“The heightened emotions and everything makes people a lot more wary of the horns, so I’m just going to stick to staying away from people for as long as I can.”
The Blood Year came with many fun events for the people of the realm to enjoy, such as heightened emotions, the two moons turning red, and every-day people banning together to hunt anyone born during the year for sport. That part would have been expected to dwindle down, but with the war feeling so recent, even 15 years later, Cassian had the feeling that was actually going to be much worse than before. Mostly they were hunting newborns, but there were the occasional survivors from the previous blood year or the random “blood nights” that could happen.
Cassian and the Wraith were both prime targets, easily recognizable and fitting every description from old children’s stories about the prey people should hunt during such a time. Cassian’s cherry red eyes were his dead give away, but she was much worse off with the horns and golden scars and bright yellow irises against void black sclera, like her eyes were the sun in the night sky. To anyone who knew what a sunsol was, she was either a living saint or the stuff of nightmares. To anyone who caught a glimpse of her wanted poster, she was more like a walking ticket to instant riches.
“The hunting parties don’t scare you at all?” he asked with a hint of suspicion. It would truly shock him if she said anything other than yes. What was more terrifying than being hunted high and low by relentless, angry men? As capable as she was, she’d be out of her mind not to be a little shaken by the thought of it.
“They scare the hell out of me,” she admitted, her voice dropping so no one else could hear her. “But I’m pretty good at running.”
He thought for a moment, his eyes scanning over the patrons and then her, working through his thoughts. There was a plan brewing behind his eyes, she could see it clear as day. “I have an idea,” he said after nearly a minute of silence. “It could be a good one.”
“You don’t have many of those,” she laughed. The sound was light and sweet, even as she winced in pain. He’d missed the sound of it.
“I could watch your back,” he began hesitantly, “We could travel together, keep each other safe, share resources. I could sneak you into inns so you don’t destroy your back sleeping in trees. It could be just like the war except—”
“No,” she responded quickly, the word short and clipped and quiet. She opened her mouth to say something more, but quickly closed it again as a distant look entered her eyes.
“Wraith.”
“No, if anything goes wrong—” She stopped to take a deep breath, letting the weight of her words fall on him. “I can’t see that again.” Her voice became smaller as she spoke, as if she were retreating. He knew where her head was at, but he also knew that if he pushed enough then she might still agree.
“It’d only be for a few months. We can part ways by Cill.” Asking her to spend the whole year together after only a handful of chance meetings and letters over 12 years was no easy task. And it probably wouldn’t end well for him, but he was more focused on upping her chances of survival than anything else. One conversation was all it took to get him to care more about her wellbeing than his own. It was some old habit from the war(as he liked to tell himself), but really he thought this way all the time. About pretty much everyone.
“Cass,” she urged, “This won’t be like the war, okay? I don’t need a bodyguard.” It was almost like she was agreeing, in her own wraith way.
“Think of it more as a mutually beneficial arrangement. You occasionally heal me, I make sure you have a bed when we can get one. It’ll be harder for them to kill us if we’re fighting together. No one could lay a finger on either of us.”
“It’ll be easier for us to get caught if we’re running together.” It was an easy counter. He couldn’t argue against it. “I’m one of the most recognizable people on the whole continent, Cass. Probably the world by now. Running with me would be a death sentence.”
“Not for me, it isn’t. Let me help you.”
“Why?”
“You’re my friend.”
“You’re not going to take no for an answer, are you?”
“No, I’m not.”
She bit her tongue for another few moments. Cass could tell from the way she was clenching her jaw and the way she wasn’t looking at him that she was about to agree.
“Fine,” she sighed.
“Really?” he asked, with much more disbelief than he meant to.
“Yes. As long as we split by Cill. It would be easier to get rooms at inns if you’re the one they talk to. And there’s more of a fighting chance against large groups if it comes down to it. I only have one condition.”
He nodded. “Name it.”
“Don’t die for me, Cass. Don’t risk yourself for my sake, period. It will only cause more problems for both of us.”
He could have taken such a moment to be serious. He could have looked her in the eyes and swore he wouldn’t. Though, he never did enjoy the idea of lying to her.
“But dying generally is okay?” he replied before he could stop himself, earning a glare from her. He took it more as a warning than anything else. “Sorry,” he said with a nervous laugh. He didn’t like being very serious in moments like this, moments where there was no battle but his mind was still racing like he was in the middle of one.
He turned to her fully and looked her in the eyes again, careful not to get burned by them. He could see the exhaustion in her face, the jagged golden lines that cut through her purple skin. The one that ran through her top lip was earned for him, the one that almost took her eye out had been from him. Was it wrong to only feel guilty about the one through her lip, now that they had matching scars for the rest of eternity?
“I swear not to sacrifice myself for you.” He tried to sound sincere, though she had to know that he was lying through his teeth. He hated it. As long as he pretended like he was going to keep that promise, it probably wouldn’t bite him in the ass.
She opened her mouth to say something else, but didn’t get the chance as Dandelion finally came out of the back and up to them from the other side of the bar. “My niece and my Cass. What can I do for you both?”
“Any rooms left?” she asked with a light voice, turning her full attention to her uncle. He probably couldn’t see how bad her clothes were torn up from over the bar. And he was moving around so much that Cass wasn’t sure he’d really taken a good look at her.
“Just the one, Ayla.” He said it almost like it was a secret that he kept one open for her. Cass glanced at her to try to see if she reacted to the use of her last name, if he should go find someone else to bother while they talk. Dandelion knew her first name too, but he wouldn’t say it with Cassian or anyone else around. Cassian knew about her curse, she’d shared some of the details one late night shortly after their feud had ended, when Cass asked her name and was confused about why she wouldn’t give it. Since then he never cared to figure it out. Not that it didn’t matter to him, but she was safer if he didn’t know.
“Oh,” she replied, considering her options. She’d find some way to give him the room, he was sure.
“How many beds?” Cassian interjected. She shot him a confused look at that, to which he responded with an expression that said Where else would you stay?
“Two,” Dandelion replied quickly, shutting down their mental conversation. He never understood how they did that, even after so much time apart from not talking, and he wasn’t shy about how it freaked him out.
“We’ll take it,” she said without another glance at Cassian.
The older man’s voice dropped down to a whisper, glancing around to make sure no one else was listening. “Two gold, then.”
“That’s lower than usual,” she whispered back, sliding him the two gold pieces from an almost empty coin purse.
His only response after that was a huff and swiping the coins off the bar top. He placed a key in her hand before anyone could say anything else, and then he was called over to the other end of the bar. The moment Dandelion’s back was turned, Cass moved as quickly as he could to snatch a healing potion from under the bar top before ushering the Wraith up the stairs, moving at speeds far too suspicious. When she tried to question him he just kept walking, forcing her to follow. After they made it outside the room he handed the bottle to her, looking back behind him to watch for Dandelion or his employees.
“I’ll pay him back for it,” Cassian told her, not looking her in the eyes as she stared down at him with an amused annoyance.
“That was incredibly stupid, what you just did,” she replied, tilting her head to the side. She looked between her hands, one with the healing potion in it and the other with the key to the room.
“I’m sure you think that,” he mused, taking the key from her hand and to unlock the door.
“He needs these, you know.”
“You two can take turns lecturing me later.”
“I don’t need this.”
“Can you say that when you’re not getting that golden blood of yours all over the carpet?” She didn’t argue anymore, but he could feel her glare burning into the back of his skull when she finally drank the potion. He practically threw himself onto the nearest bed once the door was open.
“It’s a little late to sleep at this point, Cass,” she muttered as she closed the door behind her with a soft click.
“It’s been a long night. And I’m still not immune to daylight, Wraith, we’ll have to move at night.”
Her only reaction is a skeptical hum, and then a soft “I don’t know how I never remember that,” which she said more to herself than him as she sat down on the other bed and started to take off her boots. He turned over to give her some privacy when her hands reached for the clasp of her cloak and she gave him a pointed look.
“I can walk around during the day just fine in the Corpsewood,” he reminded her, “but anywhere outside of that is like asking to be burned alive.”
“I remember you had to wear that heavy cloak during the war.”
“At least it looked good.”
“That’s what we let you think.”
“Did the scratches heal okay?” he asked suddenly, trying to catch her off guard so she’d be honest.
There was a beat of silence as he waited for her to answer. He could hear the rustling of her clothes as she took them off to inspect the injuries. “Not healed completely. One is still open, but I’ll just need to bandage it.”
“Drink more.” His words were clipped, as he was trying to keep himself calm. Without any barriers. The smell of her blood hit him like a ton of bricks. His fangs were aching.
“No,” she said simply. After another beat she added, “I’ll save the rest for more dire circumstances.”
“Is potentially becoming a werewolf not a dire circumstance?” he muttered, finally circling back to his main concern.
“Speaking of which,” she began slowly, “can you taste the difference between normal blood and… potentially different blood?”
“You were bitten?” He nearly turned around to check, but he was suddenly worried about what he might see.
“Can you?”
“Your blood is unique already. The sunlight might have burnt out any disease the wolf was carrying.”
“You’re avoiding the question.”
“Don’t tempt fate, Wraith,” he warned. “I’m not going to bite you so that I can tell you whether or not you’ve got lycanthropy.”
“I’m not asking you to bite me.”
He rolled his eyes, as if she could see from where he was turned. “Good.”
“I was going to ask if you wanted a vial from the bitten area before I clean it up,” she said, completely serious. “I can tell you’re hungry.”
“I’m not going to use you as a buffet.”
“I’m not suggesting that.”
“No?”
“Dandelion is out of blood bottles,” she told him, “I’m all you've got.”
“I could go find some criminal in the street. Shouldn’t be hard.”
“You’re not going to hurt me,” she murmured softly. “If that’s what you’re worried about.”
“That’s not what I’m worried about.” It was exactly what he was worried about. Her blood was different from any other’s, rich with the sunlight that would normally set him ablaze. Golden, shimmering, and beautifully bright. Something that would be terribly dangerous to him in any other way, was perfectly divine and safe on his tongue when it came from her. He knew himself well enough to know that he would take too much, especially under the influence of a blood year. And he knew she was strong, that she’d beaten him more times then he could count, but how would she fare after already losing blood? As bleeding sunlight in close quarters with an undead man that lost all sense of self when starved?
“Let’s just drop it,” he said, rolling over to stare at the ceiling. It was painted recently, a pale tan over an older pale tan. He could see that there was a small spot missing, but no one would notice unless they were looking for it. Personally, he would have gone for a nice dark blue. Something about the rooms at Blossom’s always felt like they should be dark blue.
“I’ll just have to find another vampire then,” she remarked, keeping him from distracting himself.
“You wouldn’t,” he said quickly, turning his head to give her a pointed look. She was sitting on her bed in her bra and a pair of spare shorts she must have found, gently tending to the wolf’s bite at her thigh. She’d already bandaged the scratch at her stomach.
“Jealous?” she teased, quirking an eyebrow when he finally met her eyes.
“Concerned,” he clarified, though he could feel some color rushing to his face.
“Relax, Cass, I’m not serious.” She turned her attention back to her leg. “But it’d be nice to know for sure.”
“Well,” he stopped to clear his throat and sit up, “symptoms take a bit to develop. We might not know until morning. Or even for a week.”
“Wonderful.”
“I might know someone who knows a suppressor spell, so at least you won’t have to turn. But I know it doesn’t quite work on the side effects.”
“You might know someone?” She reached for the roll of bandages she’d been using off of the end table between their beds.
“We’re not on great terms.”
She huffed, like that was the expected answer. “And why is that?”
“He tried to carve out my fangs while I was sleeping,” he told her, leaning forward on his knees.
He watched her eyebrows crease almost imperceptibly, and could see her holding back all the follow up questions rattling in her brains. Instead, she simply nodded. “I see.”
“Oswald is his name. He’s a ‘collector of oddities’. Runs a pawn shop on the east side of town.
“This sounds like an awful idea.” She shook her head, trying to wrap her thigh up.
“Do you want to turn?”
She gave him a long, skeptical look, but didn’t argue. The bandage on her thigh wasn’t sticking the way she wanted, so she pressed her palm to it and let out a slow breath. “If we’re desperate, I’ll consider it. That’s the best I can promise.”
Cassian nodded, feeling the tension bleed out of his shoulders. A heavy silence fell between them again, punctuated only by the muffled sounds from below. Cassian stood and crossed the room to the window, pushing aside the thin curtain to look down at Nightmoor’s square. The moonlight was harsh, painting everything in sharp red.
“Do you think they’ll come here tonight?” she asked suddenly, her voice soothing as the wind rushed by and rattled the old window.
He didn’t look back. “Not yet. They at least wait until the second night, usually. Gives everyone time to get drunk and pretend they’re not about to turn into monsters.”
She stood and joined him at the window, careful not to let the light catch her face. “I hate Blood Years.”
“Me too.”
They stood like that for a while, shoulder to shoulder. Cassian found himself watching the way the moonlight shone through the window, casting red streaks across the floorboards. The Blood Year moons had risen already, angry and bright, and something inside him itched at the sight. He glanced up at her, at the way the gold in her skin caught even the faintest light. She was scared. He was too.
Eventually, she spoke again. “Do you think the Corpsewood will let you back in?”
He shrugged, staring at his hands. “Maybe after the worst of the year has passed. It’s not the first time it’s thrown me out, but… it’s never felt so final before. Like I was some kind of threat.” He tried to laugh, but the sound got caught in his throat.
She managed a ghost of a smile. “You’re only a threat to anyone outside those woods, nothing in them.”
“Tell that to the trees.”
He had to get back. His entire life was that place. The house he grew up in and lived in now, the massive garden that served as a small graveyard for his family. He knew he could trust its care to Wyndi, she might have loved those flowers even more than he did. He needed to get back to her, most importantly. His niece was strong but she had a knack for getting lost. He didn’t want to think about what could happen without him patrolling everyday.
“I don’t want to lose anyone else,” he admitted quietly.
“Neither do I,” she replied, just as quiet. She knew where his thoughts had gone. Hers went to the same place. “That’s why you need to promise me no heroics. Not this time.”
He opened his mouth, but she cut him off with a glance. “Don’t lie to me, Cass. I know you.”
He looked away, lips pressed tight. “I’ll try,” he settled on, knowing it was the best he could give her.
The night stretched on. Cassian stayed awake for a long while after she retreated to her bed, any tiredness leaving him with every ache of his fangs. He heard her breathing even out, keeping watch by the window. The town outside was still quiet, but he caught sight of shadows moving across the square. The air was heavy with the promise of violence, and every so often, a scream echoed from somewhere far off.
He gripped the hilt of one sword, just to feel the solid weight of it in his hand. It was familiar, grounding. The set of them had been a gift from his birth father to his adoptive one. And then to him, when he was old enough. The purple stones at the ends of each hilt had meant something to them. To Cassian, it stood to remind him of the woman sleeping nearby. He knew she hadn’t quite forgiven him. She’d probably hate him completely before the year’s end.
“Just have to make it to Cill,” he muttered to himself, “We can handle that.”
He watched the moons, and waited for morning.