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Chapter Text

Martyn wasn’t a stupid man. He may be simple, and plain, and the youngest and least favored of his family, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew the streets were lit for reasons. That running around alone late at night was a death wish. He knew the forests beyond his quaint little village, far to the west, hid things even his imagination couldn’t conjure. Secrets lived there, stalking the shadows where the light of Woodherst didn’t reach. Just as stone turned to cobble to dirt, Martyn’s safety would end.

 

So he stayed in his town, as was expected of him. He wasn’t a noble by any means, but his family was well off. One of the better locals, who didn’t need to worry about where to find their meals. They had means of profit, even if it was unflattering as his. He bowed to people as directed, read off his script, and traded kind, heartless words. Woodhurst wasn’t the kind of place you went; it was the kind you were born into. If anyone were to leave, they’d be hapless. Those stupid enough to go to the capital were the first to return. Those who left the capital to be here were better off in the forest.

 

Martyn sat on his bed, which was not as clean as it once was. There was only so much he could do when the air itself smelled of burnt smoke and dirt. On better days, it was foggy; on worse, it was unbearable. Everything was dirty, and even fresh materials had stains. He’d stopped caring about cleanliness a long time ago.

 

It wasn’t too bad in Woodhurst. It housed some interesting people, but Martyn scarcely interacted with them. He was the most noble in blood if not name, and he carried that knowledge with a sense of pride. His hunger for power would lead him to great things, his father lied, so long as he kept on.

 

So keep on he did. Martyn held his head high even when no one saw. He buried away any insecurity until it was laughable. And he stayed inside Woodhurst’s walls.

 

He ignored the way the wind whispered, and how the fireflies glittered like stars on the forest floor. The path itself seemed to glow when the sun set, like an offering to those brave enough to take it. He’d heard stories about the people who went into the forest. The strange beasts that attacked things for fun, the beautiful fauna, a siran’s call. He’d spoken to one other person about the desire. The way nature itself seemed to want him. Sausage had only nodded and scribbled something down before coming back the next day for more details.

 

The morning after, Sausage’s paper detailed everything Martyn had said, but twisted it to make him sound insane. And he wasn’t. Which is why he stayed inside.

 

Even as avians soar above, blocking out the moon, looking suspiciously similar to avians that disappeared not long ago. Even as the moon turned blood red, a small whisper urged Martyn to follow as it rose, but Martyn sat still.

 

Unmoving.

 

Something downstairs shattered. Martyn didn’t stir.

 

“Mr. Oakhurst?”

 

The name was so similar, but so off. Woodhurst. Oakhurst. What happened between the two sects that made them separate? Why hadn’t Father ever said anything about it? Surely it would be something to bring up. Father was the type for revenge. He would’ve wanted any Woodhurst survivors to be brought to him and work as his servants.

 

“Sir?”

 

Nothing made sense. He’d searched every library available. Imported anything he thought could help him find what he needed, and he still had nothing. No amount of research had given him anything.

 

Maybe he’d find those answers out there.

 

“Martyn?”

 

He doubted any mythical creature knew his family, but they could help with his other questions. That's what the moon wanted. That’s what he-

 

“Martyn!”

Martyn blinked, pulled away from the moon’s pull, both physically and mentally. His vision blurred with the action, like a string after snapping. It took a moment to adjust before Martyn felt steady on his legs. The air in his lungs felt chalky and sour, unlike the clean breeze from before.

 

“Damn you, Sausage! I was relaxing!” Martyn hissed, wincing as his weight was pushed onto his bad ankle. “Can’t you do something other than bothering me during the night?”

 

Sausage tilted his head. “But this is productive! I need to know more about your attachment for the papers!”

 

Martyn sighed, looking back towards his window. It was open, though he couldn’t remember opening it. In fact, he had vivid memories of locking the window. The moon’s normal grey was covered by a dusty red. The clouds were as black as the sky, and the forest was covered in a blanket of red and black shadows. “Find something else to write about. I don’t need the town creating more rumors about me.”

 

“They’re not rumors, they’re just…” Sausage paused, “Plausible explanations!”

 

“Rumors.” Martyn scoffed. “Go write about Scott. He’s been out and about at night. Maybe he’s drawn to the moon.”

 

Sausage made a noise of agreement, high and excited. “I should interview him next! Do you have a connection with him? Friendship, anger, anything different that started when you got attached to the moon? Anything different during the night?”

 

“Bug off,” Martyn hissed. “I’m not in the mood.”

 

Sausage’s papers were either a hit or miss with the people, but it was no secret that the paranormal aspects tended to do better. Ever since talk of vampires started going around town, Sausage took it upon himself to go further the whispers and spread miscommunication. There was no evidence of anything, but the town of Oakhurst didn’t seem to care.

 

“But you’re never in the mood!” Sausage whined. “Just five minutes? Then I’ll leave you alone for a week.”

 

Martyn narrowed his eyes. “How ‘bout never?” He countered.

 

Sausage hummed in consideration. “Two weeks!”

 

“A month.”

 

“Done!” Sausage flopped onto Martyn’s bed. It creeked under the weight, but it hadn’t broken yet. The short man opened his notebook and pulled a pen from his pocket. He looked up at Martyn expectantly, like a dog watching his bowl being filled with food. “What first?”

 

Martyn sighed deeply. “Don’t you have a plan?”

 

“Yes!” Sausage straightened. “When did everything start?”

 

“About two weeks ago.” Martyn shrugged. “Well, my whole life, I guess, but Pappa never let any of us outside after the moon rose, so I guess it started after he left. It got bad two weeks ago.”

 

Sausage wrote something Martyn wasn’t sure would be eligible in the morning, then looked up again. “And does it get worse on the Bloodmoon?”

 

“Not necessarily,” Martyn sat on the windowsill. “It just intensifies it, I suppose.”

 

“Good,” Sausage muttered, “Well, not good, but good writing.”

 

“I’m sure,” Martyn deadpanned.

 

“Ok, next question,” Sausage pointed a pen at him. “Anything like this during the day?”

 

“Oh, sure! Ever since I got here, all I’ve wanted to do is go into the woods.” He glanced sideways again, at the forest that whispered to him. “I’m not sure why, though.”

 

“And do you have any stronger emotions toward people?” Sausage went on. “Anger, protectiveness, hate, love, fear, lust-”

 

“Stop, stop!” Martyn waved his hands. “No! No, there’s no- nothing like that! What are you on about?”

 

Sausage shrugged dumbly. “Oh, no reason. I’m just so curious.” He laughed– actually LAUGHED– before flipping a page. “Is there anyone in your-”

 

“No, we’re done.” Martyn stood from his seat, straightening the way Pappa had taught him. “Get out of my house.”

 

“Martyn! I have more-”

 

“No, get out!” Martyn’s voice rose, pushing down the wavering in his voice. “You went too far, now get out.”

 

“Ok!” Sausage scrambled off Martyn’s bed, bringing his comforter onto the floor with him. “Fine! Just be careful.”

 

Martyn paused again. “What?”

 

“Be careful,” Sausage repeated. “The night is full of dangerous things that-”

 

“I don’t want to hear this monster nonsense again!” Martyn hissed. “Get out!”

 

He watched the writer bolt out of the front door from his window, his face staying tense until his bed was remade and the moonlight filtered into his room. Sausage’s question littered his mind, stinging at things that were just there and so far away. People without faces flashed behind his eyes, their names on the tip of his tongue. His last question was too close and so far from the truth; Martyn didn’t want to understand. He glanced sideways again, frowning at this silhouette outside his window, half hidden behind a building. He couldn’t make out anything but the blue hair that the hood couldn’t hide.

 

“Do you have any stronger emotions toward people?”

 

The moon didn’t change anything about how he felt about his neighbors. Scott always made him slightly uneasy, regardless of the moon’s interference. He didn’t have answers; in fact, he had more questions. But it didn’t matter. Martyn didn’t need anything. It didn’t matter how Scott’s eyes would linger on him in a crowd, a mixture of something Martyn couldn’t make out on his face. It wasn’t purely positive or negative at any given moment, but a mix of both.

 

He sighed as he settled into bed, deciding to ignore Scott’s appearance for the ninth night in a row. The moon would look after him.

 

His dreams were filled with a snow-covered forest and a warmth in and beside him that he couldn’t figure out, but there was laughter and kindness between him and someone he couldn’t see. Martyn had a fur coat over his shoulders and a deer skin blanket over his lap. It was clearly homemade, and Martyn treasured it deeply. It was night in their forest, and the moon smiled down at them.

 

They smiled back.

Chapter Text

Martyn didn’t stay in the village during the day. He’d spent enough time there to learn everything they had to offer. There wasn’t any library or bookshelf he hadn’t read cover to cover, and they didn’t have any of his answers. So he went out. It was never very far, but there were a few settlements he’d found.

 

“Martyn, look at this!”

 

Martyn looked up at Cleo. The farmer had come from a lesser town, and came her to simply farm, living off the lands completely. Despite her simple desires, they were one of the few who didn’t look at Martyn like a spoiled prince, not that he didn’t act like it sometimes. They held a book in their hands, and her hands turned the pages slowly. “What did you find?”

 

Cleo didn’t answer immediately. They read through about a half page from the weathered book before nodding once, drawing Martyn closer. “‘The settlement of Oakhurst was short lived, but filled with memories of both pride and terror,” they read, “‘after the latest massicure- the fourth in eighthundred years- the town’s leaders decided it would be best to evacuate. The curse of the Blood Moon and its affect on nature seemed to dissipate, until Lord Woodhurst the fourth returned.’”

 

“The fourth?” Martyn pulled the book out of Cleo’s hands. “That would be-”

 

“Your Great Gran Pappi’s Pappi.” Cleo interjected. “Now will you let me read? We both know your tutors couldn’t help your reading.”

 

“Oi, don’t mock my reading!” Martyn scoffed, but he returned the book.

 

Cleo hummed. “‘His presence seemed to trigger an unscheduled Blood Moon, and the creatures of the night roamed closer to Oakhurst than ever before. There’s no official documents of his cause of death, but people in nearby towns speculate that the supernatural had a large part of it. Vampire attacks grew more frequent in Firnoa, a near neighboring town. It only stopped when Lord Woodhurst the Fifth came into power.’”

 

“That’s impossible,” Martyn scoffed. “Vampires aren’t real, and even if they are, why’d they stop when my Great Great Pappa gained the title?”

 

“I’m just reading what this says,” Cleo slapped the book’s pages.

 

“Who’s the author?” Martyn tried to grab the book again, but Cleo held it up. “Someone unreliable, I’d bet.”

 

“Doesn’t say,” Cleo frowned at the spine. “Not that I’ve seen, at least.”

 

“Unbelievable,” Martyn turned away. That book did confirm his idea that his ancestors had found the town– the settlement– but it was also compleat nonsense. Vampires were things of stories to scare children into behaving. The most dangerous things out there were wolves, everybody knew that.

 

Cleo tucked the traitorous book into their bag. “I’ll keep reading,” They said, “Maybe see if Sausage or Avid have anything to say about it.” Neither of them needed to point out how both would have a lot to say about just that short paragraph they read, who knew how long the book would keep them entertained.

 

“Just make sure he doesn’t start writing about me again. I’ve had a few good weeks of peace, and I’m not about to end it now.” Martyn picked up a book with discolored edges. A spider shot from under it, causing Martyn to jump back with shock. He reached out for something to hold on to, and his fingertips found a wooden shelf. The rotted wood gave way instantly, bringing him and everything on top of it crashing to the ground.

 

He hissed as a pot landed on the back of his hand. The ceramic shattered, slicing the skin with a sing. Martyn flung his hand away, cradling the wound against his chest.

 

Cleo, his best friend and fond companion, laughed hysterically. They had one hand over their mouth, and the other keeping her upright. Their laughter filled the stone room, echoing off the walls. “Oh, void, Martyn! That was the most pathetic thing!”

 

“Thanks,” Martyn used the wall to stand. He looked around the mess, wondering if anything was worth keeping before deciding it was all useless. “Glad you got some enjoyment out of that.”

 

“Oh, I’ve got more than enough!” Cleo giggled. Actually giggled! Cleo! Of Zombiesia! Giggling? The audacity. She laughed, and her shoulders shook, letting light past her and on the wall.

 

Martyn tilted his head at the glittery wall. He moved without thinking, brushing past his friend to see the carving.

 

“Martyn? What?”

 

He didn’t hear her. Martyn ran his eyes over the stone, runes, by the looks of it. He couldn’t read them, but they called to him. He could almost see the energy under the stone. The blues and pinks ran under the grooves, begging him to touch them.

 

“Martyn?” Cleo sang.

 

Martyn touched the stone. He pulled away, wincing as the energy zapped him. He felt it sizzle down his bodes, then settle. He reached out again, pleased that the electricity didn’t shock him again.

 

“Earth to Martyn!” Cleo yanked him from the wall, their face pulled with concern. “Are you alright?”

 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” Martyn brushed the dirt off him. He hated being dirty. “You know what those mean?” He nodded to the runes.

 

“I bet Scott could,” Cleo shrugged. “Are you still not talking to him?”

 

“That guy gives me the creeps,” Martyn agreed. “Let’s keep him out of this.”

 

“Maybe Owen? Or Shubble?”

 

“Maybe,” Martyn took paper and a pencil and used the pencil to trace the runes. “Let’s take everything back. It’s bound to be getting late now.”

 

Cleo nodded. They led the way out of the basement of the abandoned building. It was about an our north from Oakhurst, but there should be enough time to get back. Martyn took a sip from his waterskin, humming with disatisfaction as he realized how light it had gotten. He was sure he’d just filled it up. His hands were growing wet as he handled it, and he cursed loudly as he found the leak. It didn’t clean the blood or dirt from his palm, instead muddying it.

 

“We have to stop by a stream,” Martyn looked up at Cleo. “I need to wash this cut before it gets infected.” For now, he used the rest of his water to clean off his hand, and begrudgingly took off his headband to wrap it. He knew he’d have to see Legundo once he got to Oakhurst. He didn’t trust the doctor, especially after he’d failed to heal Martyn’s ankle, but he figured a surgeon should be decent at stitches.

 

He tied his empy waterskin to his belt and brushed the hair out of his face. It had gotten long over the past few months without Pappa’s attention. He’s had bigger things to worry about than cutting his own hair.

 

“Think we could stop by Ren’s place?” Cleo asked. “Maybe he’d know what the runes mean, and we can get out of the night.”

 

“It won’t be a Blood Moon,” Martyn added. “I don’t think he’d deny us.”

 

“I don’t think he’d deny you,” Cleo corrected.

Martyn lifted his head, frowning at his friend. “I beg your pardon?”

 

Cleo glanced at him from the corner of their eye. “He wouldn’t deny you anything,” they went on, “Everyone in town sees it.”

 

“That the most nonsensical thing I’ve heard.” Martyn rolled his eyes. “I doubt he even remembers my name. He’s much more of a loner.”

 

“Loner plus one, maybe!”

 

Martyn scoffed. He couldn’t deny that Ren was drop dead gourgios, but he’d bearly had two hands of conversations with him. It would be ridiculous to think they were anything more but friends, if that. They were more like aquantences that had great times when they were together. A great time that ended in Ren’s laughter, and his glasses sliding down his nose, and– if Martyn was really lucky– their hands would brush as they reached for something, leaving Martyn’s hands feeling oddly cold without Ren’s shockingly warm hands.

 

Martyn laughed at Cleo’s ideas. “You’re just as bad as Sausage,” He teased. He took the lead as the stream came into view, sliding downhill until he could kneel on the bank. He untied the headband from his hand, frowning at the stains and dirt on it. He set it on a rock as he turned his attention his hand. He put his hand in the water, hissing at the cold. The bleeding stopped a good amount, but it was still far from healing. Once he was satisfied that it wasn’t going to get infected, he dried it and put pressure against the wound and he hastily washed the bandana before rewrapping it.

 

Cleo refilled their waterskin before tying it to their belt. “Ren’s place is closer than Oakhurst,” they pressed.

 

“We’d be crazy not to try,” Martyn agreed. “It’s not far, either. If we follow the stream south.”

 

It wasn’t a long walk. Maybe only half an hour or so instead of the hour back at Oakhurst. Ren’s house was a humble place, but he was sure it would expand. There was the beginning of a garden, and a pen of sheep in the far corner. It wasn’t large or luxurious like Martyn was used to, but it was beautiful in a way that he’d never seen before. It was quiet and clean, organized by a man who clearly loved what he did, not something he was paid to do.

 

His house was a simple wooden lodge with a warm glow coming from the windows, no doubt from a fire inside. The pair barely got to the door before the house’s owner appeared.

 

“Ah, friends!” Ren’s voice was deep, and sang with an accent Martyn couldn’t place. “It’s getting dark soon. Dangerous beasts lie out there, don’t ya know?”

 

“Yeah, we know,” Martyn laughed. The sun was low in the sky, stretching long shadows across Ren’s land. Martyn knew Oakhurst would be blanketed in shadows, and people would be heading to their houses. “Would you mind if we stayed here for the night?”

 

“Of course,” Ren moved to hold the door open for them. “Please do. I would never turn away travelers, don’t ya know.”

 

“Thanks, Specks.” Martyn walked inside the house, sighing with relief as he entered the house. There was a calm in the air that Martyn couldn’t name, like this house was built in a corner of the world where evil didn’t touch. He doubted this house had ever seen the chaos he couldn’t seem to escape. His body relaxed as he took off his robe, shedding off the layers to embrace the warmth. “Is there some kind of spell over the house?” He asked, looking over his shoulder at the man.

 

Ren shook his head. “I cleansed it, and the land, as I built it. I was never any good at spells, don’t ya know.”

 

“Yeah, I do.” Martyn sucked at spells, even though Pappa had tried to get the best tutors for him.

 

Cleo fell onto the couch with a loud sigh. “This place is cozy. I see why you don’t come to town anymore.”

 

“It is nice,” Ren shut the door. He sat on a chair beside the couch, settling with the two adventurers. “Have you two eaten?”

 

“We had our rations.” Martyn opted to sit on the ground, leaning against Cleo’s legs and the back of the couch. “We’ll eat more back in town tomorrow.”

 

“Speak for yourself, rich boy,” Cleo kicked him gently. “If you’re offering, I’ll gladly eat.”

 

“I have meat in the fridge, don’t ya know, I can cook it up and we can share.” Ren stood again, “You two rest. I’ll bring you dinner.”

 

—

 

Cleo passed out before the food was ready. Their body took up the whole couch, starfished over the cushions. They snored loudly, holding on tightly to the blanket Ren threw over them.

 

Martyn sat on the porch, watching the sun set over the horizon. There was a chill in the air, but Martyn was layered in a fur blanket over his shoulders, along with his layers. Ren sat beside him, their chairs angled in a way that their legs were touching. He tried not to react to the contact, but his entire leg burned with electricity. He never felt the urge to bounce a leg so much before. He wanted to lean into it, and pull away, or ignore it completely, or bring it up-

 

“Winter’s on its way,” Martyn said, looking up at the watercolor clouds. “I’ve never had one outside our courts.”

 

Ren shrugged. “It’s a difficult season, don’t ya know,” he murmmered. “Nothing grows. Animals are harder to keep, and the weather,” Ren shuddered, “Certainly my least favorite.”

 

Martyn hummed in agreement. “Do you think Oakhurst is ready for it?”

 

“I believe so,” Ren leaned back against his chair, looking over at Martyn casually. At least, Martyn assumed it was casual. “Lots of us are prepaired for what’s comming. I’m sure there will be preperations for the first snow soon, don’t ya know.”

 

“Say, do you think you could help with my house?” Martyn asked. “I haven’t the first clue on what to do.”

 

“You’re house is sturdy,” Ren assured him, “But I’ll help with whatever you need, Mr. Woodhurst. You’re a good man.”

 

Martyn’s leg burned as Ren moved, just a small brush, but compleatly intentional.

 

“With a good heart.” He contenued. “A brave, kind, genurous man.” Ren tilted his head. “There’s not many like you, Mr. Woodhutst.”

 

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Martyn scoffed. “There were plenty men like me back at the court. And even in Oakhurst!”

 

“Believe me, there’s no one like you.”

 

Martyn smiled softly, looking down at his cup. It was filled with a warm brown liquid he hadn’t had before tonight, but it was delicious. “Nor you, Specks,” Was all he could mumble out. His brain felt like a misty haze, he couldn’t figure out how to make words anymore.

 

They were close now, both leaning into the other’s space subconchously. Martyn laughed, simply for the sound, and Ren returned it. The moon rose above them, and for the first time in months, Martyn didn’t notice its presence.

Chapter Text

“Hey!” Martyn jerked his hand away from the table, hissing at the sudden burst of pain in his hand. “I said to look at it, not poke your grimy hands in my cut!”

 

Ren huffed, unamused. “You’ve got to stay still, or it’s gonna go bad, don’t ya know?” He grumbled. He reached for Martyn’s hand again, ignoring Martyn’s hiss as he dragged it under the water.

 

It burned under the water’s rough movement, sending waves of pain and shock up his arm and into his spine. He snarled, but Ren’s hold didn’t lessen. If anything, the jerk tightened his grip to keep him still. The water was cold, searing his skin with its icy pull. He swore it was trying to crawl up his arm and into his body. Its iridescent ripples drew him in like moonlight with only the discoloration of dirt, pus, and blood to keep him grounded.

 

Ren finally released him, and Martyn returned to his defensive state. “You can’t just do that with no warnings!”

 

“I gave you plenty of warning, Mr. Woodhurst,” Ren rolled his eyes. “We needed to clean it to get out all the infection.”

 

“Yeah, sure,” Martyn shook out the pain in his hand. It kind of worked, leaving his hand feeling more uncomfortable than pained. “As long as you aren’t a worse doctor than Legundo.” Even the name caused a dull ache in his ankle. It must’ve healed wrong, and Martyn was almost sure that the doctor was the main cause. His splint had been perfectly fine before.

 

“I’ve been cleaning wounds longer than he’s been holding a knife,” Ren assured him. “I’ve got all the supplies we need for a simple cut.”

 

“Good,” Martyn lifted his head. He knew the power he once had was now meaningless, especially with Ren. He had a few good years on Martyn, and he certainly had the muscle and wisdom Martyn didn’t.

 

The other applied a cold salve to the wound with a soft touch, and Martyn felt his spine relax. He almost worried about falling to the floor, but he rearranged his footing and stood proudly. Ren pulled a clean cloth from somewhere Martyn didn’t see. It was the color of Martyn’s blood, but felt like silk against his raw skin. It was just as cold as the salve, but a sort of comforting cold. Like drinking cold water on a hot day.

 

“Thanks, Specks,” Martyn smiled. “I’ll be good as new in no time.”

 

Ren nodded. “That’s a homemade recipe, don’t ya know. My Ma taught it to me as a boy. Best thing there is, better than anything a doctor can prescribe.”

 

“Sounds about right,” Martyn inspected his hand, flexing his fingers experimentally. “It feels good as new, Mr. Dogmourn. Your Ma must’ve been a clever woman.”

 

“That she was,” Ren sighed. “She would’ve loved what Oakhurst was becoming. Her heart always lay with the ruins.”

 

“My folks would’ve turned it into a holiday house,” Martyn scoffed. “Pappa never saw the point of history, and my Mamma would’ve easily hated the dirt.” He remembered her complaints about the trip Martyn had gotten lost on, her loud piercing yowling as the carriage traveled.

 

Ren copied the noise. “Ma always loved nature, don’t ya know. She taught me everything I know.”

 

Martyn grinned, “I think I’m starting to,” He murmured, his gaze being stollen by movement outside. It was dark, but there seemed to be a point at the treeline that turned to pure darkness. It curled in on itself with a hiss Martyn barely heard. It was gone as soon as Martyn saw it. “What was that?” He gasped, rushing towards the window. Everything told him to keep the window shut, but he itched to open it. He wanted to run out there and explore it, but he stayed put.

 

“What? What is it?” Ren was at his side in a heartbeat, his brown eyes flickering behind his gold-framed glasses. Martyn found himself stepping closer, half to ground himself, half because there was a protection Ren’s presence offered. “What do you see?”

 

Martyn glared at the spot the darkness had once been. It seemed brighter than it should be, more lightning bugs and bright plants in a single spot. “It just looks… different.” He whispered. As soon as he said it, there was another flicker and the fireflies spread out across the yard. “Yeah, that’s not normal.”

 

Ren narrowed his eyes with a humm. He straightened quickly, placing a hand on Martyn’s shoulder and smiling. “Why don’t you settle beside Cleo? I’m sure it’s nothing!” Despite his cheery voice, there was a strain to it.

 

“What? I’m not remotely tired, and I’m not going to sleep after that!” He pointed out the window.”

 

“I fear your travels have left you exhausted, dear.” Ren nudged him gently, but pointedly. “It’s been an awful long day, don’t you know, and sleep is the best remedy!”

 

Martyn turned his attention out the window again. Whatever it was was certainly gone now, but he couldn’t help the feeling that he was still being watched. It was a horribly familier feeling. “Yeah, fine,” He complied, stepping back. “You got some extra blankets?”

 

Ren brightened. “Of course! They’re right over this way!” He placed his large hand on Martyn’s back, guiding him to a closet across from where Cleo slept, stretched out on the couch. Martyn giggled as Ren grabbed a ridiculous amount of blankets he carried in his arms. His head just barely poked over the bedding, and he waddled slowly as he walked around the pile. The other huffed as he released the bedding, his hair standing on end.

 

He fell onto the blankets dramatically, releasing a loud sigh as he lay down. “Oh, the pain!” He bemoaned, “The audacity!”

 

“Audacity?” Martyn wheezed. “For what? You look utterly ridiculous!”

 

“How you wound me, Mr. Woodhurst,” Ren went on, “Your words cut deep, don’t you know?”

 

Martyn flopped onto the pile beside Ren, relishing in the warmth that engulfed him. The feel of his muscles in his spine and limbs relaxing as he breathed in Ren’s unique musk was unlike any other feeling. His heart beat fast and hard in his chest, and his stomach felt like it was rumbling, but he wasn’t hungry after the meal Ren made. He wasn’t a fool. He knew what all these symptoms lead to, but he aslo knew that they hadn’t spent nearly enough time together to justify them.

 

After all, the pair only had a handful of conversations with just the two of them. Most times they were with other people, trying not to get caught looking at each other from across the group. Ren had invited him to his house several times before, but he’d also invited the others. Maybe it was a silly crush, but if Ren shared it, then surely there couldn’t be any harm.

 

“Oh, me,” Martyn lowered his voice playfully, “I had no intention of causing you such pain! You’ve been a wonderful host, Sir Dogmourne, surely there’s something I can do to relieve you of such a thing?”

 

Ren’s eyes glittered. “I’m unsure, my dear Mr. Woodhurst. These wounds cut deep, don’t ya know. I fear I may lose this battle.” He coughed weakly for effect.

 

“That simply can’t be!” Martyn objected. He moved closer. He could almost smell Ren’s shampoo. “There must be something!” He leaned in, giving Ren the opportunity to react. Several seconds past before Ren simply tilted his head. An agreement. “In fact, my Mamma told me something very important! Something that could save a life.”

 

“Then save me, don’t ya know,” Ren smirked. “Save me, Mr. Woodhurst.”

 

Mamma said no such thing, of course. She wasn’t a simple woman, who would coo at a bouquet of wildflowers. Mamma would snarl at anything that wasn’t a baker’s dosen batch of pure red roses. She would never indulge herself in the fantasy of romance novels, and would certainly never spread their lies, but it got it’s point across. He leaned close, until he was breathing the same air as Ren, then closer still, until their lips just barely touched. And Ren met him.

 

He had to fight the urge to pull away and giggle. He felt giddy, his chest bursting with energy. He felt jittery, like dancing around the room. He smiled into the kiss. It was hardly a kiss, just lips pressed together, but it was everything. A hand reached around Martyn’s neck, brushing through his hair. Martyn giggled, and was quickly followed by Ren. The pair separated with their own bouts of laughter.

 

Martyn coughed as he tried to catch his breath, smiling into the blankets like a maniac. He laughed at Ren’s laughter, then the memory, then everything. Maybe it was a sign that they were both in a bout of hysteria, but Martyn couldn’t care less.

 

He yelped as a pillow landed on his back. It wasn’t hard, but he blinked at it as if it had burned. Silence filled the room, until Cleo snored loudly. The decorative pillow next to her was gone, now laying on at his side. He looked up at Ren with shock and saw his own relaxation on his face.

 

Then they giggled again.

 

He wasn’t sure how long passed until they could breathe again, but eventually they lay beside each other, simply looking at the other. Ren’s face was flushed– his face was probably the same– and this ponytail had loosened, giving a more domestic look than he’d ever seen before. Even at home, his family and staff always looked sharp, but Ren was dressed in simple clothes, and his hair was a mess. Martyn could’ve sighed with how perfect the moment was.

 

“You’re Mamma was right, Mr. Woodhurst,” Ren purred. “You’ve saved me.”

 

“Call me Martyn, Specks,” Martyn winked.

 

Ren reached down to grab one of Martyn’s hands and pulled it to his lips. He kissed the back gently. “Of course, my dear Martyn. Whatever you want.”

 

—

 

Martyn spent the morning patrolling the treeline where he’d seen the darkness. There was nothing. Nothing that even hinted at something unnatural. No dead plants, no odd markings on the trees, nothing. All the plants were alive, the sunflowers stood tall and proud, there wasn’t any patches of ash or odd markings…

 

It was midmorning when he decided to give up. He pushed his way back into the clearing with a loud groan. Cleo and Ren sat on the porch with a paper between them, probably the runes they found yesterday. Cleo saw him first, gesturing to a chair beside them.

 

“Ren knows this language,” They said, “He’s working on trainslating.”

 

“It’s an old language, you see,” Ren said, tracing over the charcoal with his finger. “I haven’t seen it in a very long time, don’t ya know.”

 

“But you understand it,” Martyn pressed.

 

“That I do, Martyn.” Ren promised. “But it’s a story of folklore, don’t ya know. One of Vampires, Werewolves, and their familiars.”

 

“Familiars?” Cleo frowned. “Like Witches?”

 

“Not quite. They’re most commonly known for their unions with Witches, but any creature of the night can use Familiears. They give different things to different creatures, of course, but they’re beloved by all, don’t ya know.”

 

“Are they dangerous?” Martyn asked.

 

“Not on their own,” Ren assured him. “It all depends on who they pair with. Most creatures don’t have an urge to kill, but the rare few do. They are the ones who often steal Familiars. I believe this is a warning for those Familiars, don’t ya know.”

 

“That can’t be right,” Cleo leaned closer to the paper as if trying to read them. “Martyn got all hazy eyed when he saw it.”

 

“And we found a book about my family,” Martyn added. “This can’t be right.”

 

“Your family?” Ren looked up at Martyn. “What have they to do with Familiars?”

 

“Nothing that I know of,” Martyn shook his head. “This is… I don’t believe it. I don’t even know what this is trying to say.” Martyn’s family had been some of the first people to Oakhurst, and his something or other grate grand Pappa had returned, and disappeared. And with all the vampire rumors in the town… “It has to be a cult,” He decided. “Or, I don’t know, some kinda mercenaries who have it out for my family.”

 

“Or vampires are real,” Cleo murmured, “And your family are familiars.”

 

Martyn actually laughed. “Cleo! You can’t be serious! Vampires? You’re starting to sound like Avid!” He doubled over with laughter, but there was something tugging in the back of his mind. Would that explain his obsession witht the moon? It would, wouldn’t it? All the supernatural experiences he only had after arriving at Oakhurst, where talk of creatures of the night ran rampant. No, that was ridiculous. They didn’t exist.

 

Ren was oddly silent, looking down at the paper, then out at the forest. “It’s a shocking idea, Mr. Woodhurst, but there are many factors. Not all folktales spawn from the mind.”

 

“I’m not a Familiar,” Martyn objected. “Vampires aren’t real, and there’s no way my family is anything other than human. Rich humans, but human still!”

 

“There are ways to test it, if you’re willing, don’t you know.” Ren said. “I’ve never done these tests, but they do exist, my dear.”

 

Normally, he would deny the tests in a heartbeat. He didn’t need to prove anything to anyone, but thinks were different now. He wanted to get this over with, to stop the idea right here, with people he trusted before it got back to town and more gossip spread. And if he also wanted to know for himself, then no body would know. “Lets do these tests then,” Martyn shrugged. “If it’ll put this all behind us.”

 

Ren’s face brightened. “I’ll set up one of those tests,” He offered, “It’ll only be a few moments.” He practically bounced inside the house.

 

“He seems excited about this,” Martyn murmured, “Don’t you think?”

 

“Looks like it,” Cleo agreed, “But I’m excited too. I mean, don’t you think this is pretty cool? All the talk of folklore and familiars, I’ve heard of werewolves on my farm, but this is all new!”

 

Martyn shrugged. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” He looked over the yard again. “I’m just worried, I suppose. No matter what answers this test will bring, I think we’ll have more questions than answers.”

 

“I suppose,” Cleo leaned back in their chair. “But we’ll find those answers too.”

 

Martyn nodded slowly. “Perhaps I should write Pappa. Surely he’d know about our family better than any old ruins.”

 

“The same man who left you in the wilderness? Yeah, I’m sure he’d tell you the truth.” Cleo scoffed. “The best thing to do is look forward. Figure things out for yourself.”

 

Martyn hummed. It was neither agreement nor not, but they were both satisfied with their conversation. He leaned on the table, watching the calm breeze on the trees. “Did you see those sunflowers before?” He asked. “I can’t remember them.”

 

“I did,” Cleo tilted her head. “Are you feeling well, Martyn?”

 

“Suppose I’m just tired,” He said. “It’s been a long morning.”

 

“Long day yesterday, too,” Cleo agreed. “With all that walking and exploring. I heard you and Ren giggling last night. What was that about?”

 

Martyn’s face flushed. “You were talking in your sleep,” He lied smoothly. “Compleat nonsense.”

 

Cleo laughed loudly. “I did not!” They protested.

 

Martyn rolled his eyes. “Whatever you say,” He said. “Don’t worry, you didn’t say anything about Pearl.”

 

Cleo made another huff, but they didn’t bring up the conversation again. “Do you think there’s anything we’re missing in town?” They asked. “I bet they’re up to something.”

 

Martyn was almost sure the people in town were building a pyre for whatever new thing caught their attention. Oakhurst was a place of chaos and impulsivity at its core. Never a dull moment in their odd lives. “I bet, but I’m not too worried about getting back just yet. I’m quite enjoying the peace of being away from all those people.” He’d never been given the option of isolation before, and despite his extroverted nature, he enjoyed the tranquil morning at Ren’s home. He thought back to last night and that look of pure joy in Ren’s eyes. Maybe if things went on and grew, he could have mornings like these for the rest of his life.

 

At least until his Pappa found him, surely he’d be looking for him by now. The youngest of eight was never going to hold any real power in House Woodhurst, but he was still a Woodhurst by name, and that itself held power. In the capital, at least. The people here couldn’t care less what his name was, or where he’d come from. In their eyes, he was a neighbor, and he found he enjoyed that more than he realized. He liked being part of a community much more than he thought he would. He was almost starting to think he’d miss them when he went back to the court.

 

There were people he certainly wouldn’t miss. He might eventually find himself searching for novels Sausage wrote, or a soldier who worked with Avid once, but he couldn’t see a future where he would ever want to reach out to Pyro or Scott. The pair of them was quiet, watching from the shadows as the town gossiped. And those nights Scott stood outside his door, or looked up at his house from an alley. They both knew the other was there, but Martyn wasn’t going to go outside during the night– the only time he ever really saw the blue-haired stranger– and Scott never approached him.

 

But Cleo and Ren? Oh, how he’d miss them. He’d miss Cleo’s silly rants about her neighbor with the dark hair and red hoodie. He’d miss Ren’s odd accent and the way he looked at Martyn like he’d hung the moon. Maybe he could sneak letters past Pappa, like he used to as a young bow searching for friends, and he could pretend he still knew them. He could pretend he knew Cleo and nod along to the decisions they made, like he’d been there and talked them through it. Maybe he could read about Ren’s future and smile as he met another man in town.

 

He pushed those thoughts aside. They’d be explored more in a few months.

 

“Do you know how to prepare animals for winter?” Martyn asked. “Ren offered to help with my house and heating, but I haven’t the first idea about my cows.”

 

“I do,” Cleo straightened proudly. “I can help you when we get back.”

 

“Sounds good,” Martyn smiled.

 

The door opened again with a loud creak, and Ren poked his head out. “I’ve got the tests ready, don’t ya know,” he said. “Shall we start?”

Chapter Text

“So what does this do?” Cleo asked, leaning over the countertop. He wasn’t as uncivil as Cleo, who was sitting cross-legged on the marble, but he did rest his elbows on them. He watched as Ren stirred in some green liquid counterclockwise.

 

“Better question is, where did you source it?” Martyn corrected. “It doesn’t look organic at all.”

 

“It’s entirely organic, don’t ya know,” Ren tossed in a few dandelion leaves. “Has to be, or the spell doesn’t work.”

 

“Yeah, didn’t you know?” Cleo teased. They’d gotten a glass of water from somewhere and sipped it gingerly. “I guess it’s to help with the familiar’s bond with nature?”

 

“Yes, that’s exactly right,” Ren nodded. He turned the heat down on the stove just as it began to boil, then added another thing Martyn didn’t recognize. It looked like someone had gotten dust from the moon, but Martyn knew that couldn’t be right. “If Martyn is a familiar, then this will heighten his senses to the magic around him. The magic that makes the flowers bloom and the moon glow.”

 

“Oh,” Martyn straightened. “And when it doesn’t do that?” He said, “How sick is this going to make me?”

 

“Just some body aches, don’t ya know?” The bubbles stopped suddenly as Ren added something from the freezer– snow, if Martyn was right. There was a burst of cold wind in the house, and the odd mixture turned a deep green as it settled in the pot. “This is meant to extend your magic. If there isn’t enough in your body to extend, then you’ll just be a bit tired until it corrects itself.”

 

Cleo bounced eagerly. “This is so cool,” they said.

 

As much as Martyn would deny it, he couldn’t say he wasn’t just as excited. His family was normal, but the idea of being something special was appealing. “So when can we get this started?” He asked.

 

“Anytime you’re ready,” Ren took a ladle and poured some soup into a cup.

 

“Let’s do it,” Martyn took the cup. The liquid inside didn’t smell like anything, but it was smooth, like blended fruit. He followed Ren to the living room and settled down on the pile of blankets he and Ren slept last night. The memory of the kiss made Martyn’s chest tighten, and he had to fight the urge to giggle again. He didn’t, luckily, but it came close. Cleo and Ren sat on either side of him, and Martyn held the potion in his hands. It was cool in his hands, its color a light, minty green.

 

“Good luck,” Cleo winked playfully.”

 

Martyn returned the wink before lifting the drink in the air. “Cheers, anyone?” He asked, then took a sip. It was as smooth as it looked, and tasted like clean river water. He blinked at the liquid, then took another gulp. His mouth was covered in the cool coating, and he drank more. Martyn was an addict to its magic. He felt his body shake with the added energy, and his fingertips felt like a hive of bees lived inside them. He gasped with the need for air as the drink finished. He hadn’t realized he hadn’t been breathing, and still he mourned the drink’s end.

 

He felt the wind in the house. The leaves of Ren’s plants shivering as they photosynthesized. The gasping roots as they absorbed water, the leaves working to make sugar. The sun beamed down, seeming too bright and welcoming through the window. He lifted his head to meet its rays, and was met with the cool flow of water from a stream. It rolled over rocks and swayed over hills from here to Oakhurst. He felt the wheat in Cleo’s farm grow, stretching up towards the sun. It grew tall, and Martyn reached up, almost able to touch the sky. Trees loomed over his small town. Their shade cooled over the stone paths. He could feel people too. Avid, hiding in his library; his roommate, Drift, making something in the kitchen; Pearl was walking somewhere with Legusto, and someone– Martyn couldn’t tell who– leaned over the river, his energy calm as he lay.

 

Martyn opened his mouth to meet the river’s water. The fish there swam in schools, the sun warming the scales on their backs. A deer ate lazily next to a tree, and a squirrel wasn’t far away, digging a hole to hide its prize until winter.

 

He heard the wind’s whistle, a bird’s song that he couldn’t recognize, footsteps from seemingly everywhere. It was peaceful, despite all the movements. Martyn could switch between scenes when something became too much, but it rarely did. The energy welcomed Martyn like an old friend, and he could follow it. It guided him around the world, the lightness, the darkness, and the inbetween. It pulled him away from things that were too dark, and bellowed a cat-like purr when things were filled with golden light.

 

The beacons, he realized slowly. That’s what the magic is drawn to. It wasn’t just nature, it was pulled to other magic. Magic followed power. It felt different, but it the beacons Oakhurst claimed gave a warm glow, while the others felt cold and bitter.

 

Suddenly, there was another force. Two forces, actually. Both were cool, like they were blanketed in moonlight, though Martyn could feel their intentions. One, the one further away, their syllable silent and waiting, felt hungry. Starved. Martyn stepped away, but it stayed still. It was familiar, but not one Martyn could place.

 

The second was chill, but they had warmth surrounding him. Martyn could smell the forest instead of the soaked stone, and he knew, somehow, it was Ren. Ren’s energy reached out, and he took it. The world shifted slowly, but Martyn didn’t think he was walking. After a while, he recognized Ren’s house and himself through the window. Ren’s mouth moved at Cleo, but he couldn’t hear anything they said. The energy beside him nodded and sat on Ren, until it and the man were one. Martyn watched a while longer, then followed. His body called to him, his own magic combining with what was left in his body.

 

Everything felt wrong when Martyn opened his eyes, like putting his vision into a jar instead of seeing in every direction. The cup had fallen from his hands, and his body felt constricting. “What happened?” He asked. His voice felt raw, though he wasn’t sure why. “What was that?”

 

“That,” Ren smiled, “Was the potion working.”

 

He learned about the potion’s history. It was meant to extend one’s magic, and familiars would use it to restore nature after storms and other natural disasters. Younger familiars would use it to find their ‘Tie.’ Someone, Ren explained, who would use their magic as their own, growing them both. That’s why witches were the most well-known, because they were the ones who would use their magic for better or worse. Familiars could choose their Tie, but once they tied, a piece of their soul and their magic were bound to each other.

 

“So what I saw,” Martyn looked at the empty drink. His soul felt like bubbles in a fizzy drink. He had to fight to stay still, and everything in him wanted to strip and lay on the lawn in front of the house. That last part may be acceptable later, but the first made Martyn’s skin crawl in a thousand ways. “That’s what familiars see?”

 

“Well, I’m no familiar, but I believe that’s exactly what that means, don’t ya know,” Ren nodded. “I figured you were. You had that aura to you.”

 

“What does that mean?” Martyn stiffened.

 

“How could you tell?” Cleo tilted their head. “He seems normal to me. Maybe a little denser than normal, but nothing magical.”

 

“I think you mean prettier,” Martyn corrected. “But still, I’m nothing special, Specks. I think that potion must’ve had some of those special mushrooms, you know?”

 

“That potion was the most natural magic humans can achieve, don’t you know?” Ren raised an eyebrow. “It’s never failed.”

 

“And you know that as a fact?” Martyn frowned. “Because there’s nothing-”

 

“There are plenty of special things about you,” Ren argued. His voice left no room for arguments, and he waved a hand. “You’ve got the magic, Martyn. You’re a familiar.”

 

“Wait just a moment,” Martyn waved his hands, “Aren’t familiars animals? Have we all forgotten that?”

 

“It’s true that most familiars you know of are animals, but only because they chose that path, don’t ya know. They can turn into animals, but not every familiar chooses the practice.” Ren leaned back against the couch. “It’s a smart way to hide one’s identity, but not necessary.”

 

Martyn nodded slowly. “How do you know so much about familiars?” He couldn’t help but ask the questions that were pulling at him. There were a thousand things on his mind, and he had no idea where to start. Luckily, if anyone here knew, it would be Ren, and Cleo would help him learn.

 

“I knew one, don’t you know. Once.” Ren looked away, turning to a window. It was open, letting in the cool spring breeze filter in the room. “He found his warlock, and we left on good terms.” He shook his head with a sigh. “T’was a long time ago, don’t ya know. He left my pack in a hurry, but that’s what love does to a good man.”

 

Martyn hummed. It wasn’t hard to forget that a man as muscular as Ren was a traviler for years. He must’ve met people from places and pasts Martyn couldn’t even imagine on a daily basis. The odd thing to Martyn was that he chose to settle in Oakhurst rather than a capital, where everyone longed to be, or continue his journey. “Who’d he fall in love with?”

 

Ren laughed, and Martyn found it amusing that he found the silliest thing to ask after a story that was certainly deep. “Oh, two strong men. He was an avian, don’t ya know, and wanted men to protect him. Not surprising, really. They’re good men, I only wish they’d stayed in contact with the rest of us.”

 

“Good for him, though,” Cleo lay on the couch, spread out with one arm over their stomach.

 

“Aiy,” Ren agreed.

 

“So, I’m a familiar,” Martyn murmured to himself. “Man, Sausage would lose his mind with this story.”

 

Laughter answered.

 

— — —

 

Martyn sat on his bed, watching the moon rise. He refused to leave his bed, despite the moon’s siren effect on him. Cleo had gone home for the night, and he’d been alone for a few hours. Ever since he had the potion that morning, his ears buzzed with energy. His body felt like it was filled with static electricity, and he thought he’d get zapped with everything he touched. But nothing happened. The world outside was filled with senses that overwhelmed him, but the moon calmed it. It silenced the energy and blanketed Martyn in its calm glow, and he reached out to greet it. It was covered in a red hue, meaning whatever lurked outside was more likely to push boundaries.

 

Ren had spoken about creatures of the night so casually, Martyn was starting to question how real they were. Witches, familiars, Avians, Warlocks, what else could there be? Vampires? Werewolves? Could they be waiting outside the gates of Oakhurst, hissing at the silver that Avid had been frantically carving into the walls? It all felt less impossible now, though Ren had done nothing to imply it. In fact, the idea of a reality he didn’t know calmed him. He found that he liked the idea of things living in the forest, despite how dangerous they were. Martyn’s presence was supposed to strengthen magic, and Martyn had been raised to search out power. Was it wrong of him to want to find the strongest and most powerful being if that’s what would please Pappa? Or would it be wrong if he wanted it because of Pappa?

 

Martyn was no longer sitting on his bed. He stood in front of the open window he vividly remembered locking. The moon was full and bright on the horizon. He could feel its energy differ from normal moonlight, and he wanted ot. He wanted to cradle the odd power in his chest and snarl at those who wanted to steal it. Instead, he closed his eyes and breathed it in.

 

“You’ve been out all day,” A voice came from behind, snapping Martyn from his thoughts. There was a snap in energy, and Martyn yelped at the sudden pain in his chest. He turned and gawked at the white-haired woman standing in his room. Her hair was as shiny as opals, and her face was fuller now that she had a supply of food and didn’t need her glasses. She didn’t have the satchel she usually carried, instead multiple straps that had different pockets on them. “It’s been hard to find you.”

 

“Shelby,” Martyn coughed into his arm. “What are you doing here? I haven’t seen you in months!”

 

Shelby had been one of the people to first show up at Oakhurst. She’d been obsessed with finding creatures that lived in shadows, and disappeared on one of her trips. The townspeople had searched for her for weeks before the searches became less frequent. “I’ve found somewhere great!” She said excitedly. “You know the castle out west, right? There’s been a group of us who have rebuilt it and are living there. It’s been awesome, you’d love it!”

 

Martyn almost took up the offer. He’d seen the castle being built from a distance, but he hadn’t paid it much attention. He was quite proud of the little house he’d built, and he had no idea how sturdy the abandoned castle was. “I’d love to visit sometime,” He said. “As long as you come and visit sometimes. We’ve missed you.”

 

“Oh, I’ve missed you guys too!” Shelby laughed. “Come on, Martyn!” Shelby opened the door and ran down the hall without waiting for a response.

 

“Now?” Martyn followed down the hall, flinching as he realized how dark it was. How had Shelby gotten through everything without lights? Martyn’s house wasn’t messy, but it was certainly cluttered. He flicked the lights on.

 

“Why not?” Shelby answered from further down the hall. The front door was open, and she stood on his porch. “The night’s still young!”

 

“It’s a blood moon!” Martyn pressed. He flung a bag around his shoulders, but stayed just inside. The electricity in his bones intensified, and Martyn couldn’t help but step back. Darkness was out there. Darkness that clung to Shelby like her shadow, twisting and snarling around her bright exterior. It shrouded her in the strange magic, her smile becoming twisting and her teeth and nails grew. He blinked, taking another step back, and his friend was back. “What was that?”

 

“What was what?” Shelby tilted her head. She moved her hand quickly, then lifted it up into a long and dramatic stretch. “Oh, well, it was probably nothing. Come on, Martyn, you’re not scared, are you?”

 

“No!” Martyn scoffed. “Of course I’m not scared.” He took a breath and stepped outside.

 

Nothing happened.

 

“Come on!” Shelby said again. She was further away, but Martyn hadn’t seen her leave. She waved him over to the gates not far from Martyn’s house. “It’s not too far. We can get there before the sun rises! Then you can meet my new friends!”

 

Martyn didn’t say anything, but he started walking over to Shelby. He looked around the town, coated in a red moonlight. There was nothing overtly dangerous, but there was a shock of stress in the air. By the time he made it to the gate, Cleo’s light had turned on, but he couldn’t see them. Besides, they’d definitely put a stop to his adventure. “Lead the way!”

 

Shelby giggled as she guided him down the path. It broke away from the main path about two miles away, and Martyn had to be careful that he didn’t trip on any roots. The forest was thickening, and he couldn’t recognize where they were. Miles away from Oakhurst, and by the smell of it, getting closer to water.

 

“I’m sure there was an easier way,” He grumbled as a branch under him snapped. He yelped, falling into a bush that, thankfully, didn’t have any thorns, but did have some nasty rocks. “Can you help me out of here?”

 

Shelby ran back, her noise something not quite a yelp, but it sounded eerily similar. “Are you bleeding?”

 

“Nah, not this time,” Martyn took Shubble’s hand and lifted him up. A sprout of pain shot down Martyn’s injured wrist and leg, sharp and damning. He sat on the path and undid the wrapping on his wrist. It was red with irritation, but Ren’s remedies had kept out infection. He wished, not for the first time, that he had some kind of walking stick.

 

“Good. We wouldn’t want anyone getting distracted.”

 

Maytyn had just enough time to think, ‘That’s a weird thing to say,’ when four figures came from the shadows. Faceless people grabbed him, forcing him to the ground. They grabbed at his wrists and clothes until he couldn’t move. “Hey!” He shouted, “Shelby! Help!”

 

“Don’t worry, Martyn,” Shelby’s voice came from behind him. “These are my friends! They won’t hurt you.”

 

“Your friends?” He hissed, trying to twist away from his captors. “Then tell them to let me go!”

 

“Sorry, Martyn,” He was moved to his feet with a jerk, and he yelped at the movement. The path was clear, and the dark castle was in front of them. “Boys, let’s teleport from here. I don’t think he’d be willing to come along.”

 

“The hell are we going?” Martyn snarled. “Shelby, what are you doing?” Then everything changed. Martyn fell to the floor again, but it was cold stone instead of dirt. He stayed on the ground for a moment to take in his surroundings. It was definitely the castle, but it was darker and filled with magic that was even darker. “Is this the castle?” He asked, but it obviously was. Even without the stone and magic ebbing out of the walls, the banners made it clear. They were almost complete copies of Oakhurst’s banners– a glowing sun, except for the sun being erased by a full eclipse and red mist.

 

Someone grabbed his chin and directed him to the throne. It was on a lifted stage with a throne of white quartz and something resembling lapis. Above the throne was a large sphere of bloodstone, and sitting on the plush seat– was Scott.

Chapter Text

“Scott?”

 

“Hello, dear,” Scott smiled warmly, an expression he didn’t see often. On the rare occasions the man was in town, he was self-isolated and watching expressionlessly, unless he was commenting on something about Avid or the town’s activities. He was dressed in the same rich clothing he’d been in when he arrived, dark robes accented with red and gold, and highlighted by his bright blue hair, which had streaks of white in it, unlike the solid white everyone else in the room had. His eyes matched, though. They were deep, blood red with black scleras. “It’s lovely to see you.”

 

“Could’ve said the same a few minutes ago, but things have been a little tense over here.” Martyn tried to shrug off the man at his shoulder, only to be pushed down further.

 

“Pyro, that’s enough,” Scott said, and the man pushing him down eased back. “I’m sorry we had to do this, but you understand why we couldn’t let you through the main gates, right?”

 

“Not exactly,” Martyn frowned as he noticed the people around him. It wasn’t just Scott and the people from the woods as he first believed, but instead, people filled the room. At both sides of the aisle they were on, and sitting on a balcony thingy that overlooked almost the entire upper floor, other than where Scott was. “I think I was pretty willing before all these guys attacked me.”

 

“Well, I hope you can forgive us,” Scott said. “We vampires are very territorial, so I can’t fault them for protecting their own.”

 

Vampires. Just yesterday, he’d been questioning their existence. Yesterday, he’d been almost convinced they were a fable. But yesterday had changed everything, and now he was faced with the reality he had been trying to ignore. Vampires were real. They were real, and he was at their mercy. And if they were real, Ren was right about him.

 

Martyn had tens of mentors growing up. Pappa made sure that the best of the best was at his son’s side, and he himself looked over those lessons. He knew gossip well. He knew what integrated people. How to hold himself, make himself look like a god. He knew how to write. He knew how people like Sausage could make a living off his words. And nobody, not even Ren’s potion or Avid's rambling, had prepared him for this.

 

Still, he had to admit that a part of him knew. Subconsciously, maybe. The lack of a strong reaction should’ve tipped him off. He would’ve had more of a reaction if he’d been told that birds were spies, but Vampires?

 

“So Avid was right?” Martyn looked up at Scott again.

 

Scott scoffed. “Avid’s a fool.” He declared. “The only thing he’s right about is our existence, and even that’s a stretch.” His fingers traced the rim of his cup. Martyn wished he could believe it was wine. “Regardless, we’re not here to talk about Avid. We’re here,” Martyn stood, letting his long robe fall to his side. His fangs glowed in the red moonlight, and his eyes glowed with hunger. “To talk about you.”

 

“Me?” Martyn asked stupidly.

 

“Yes, you, little mouse.” Scot laughed. “I admit, your ‘friends’ pushed my plan forward, but it all works out.”

 

Friends? Ren and Cleo were his closest friends at Oakhurst, but they couldn’t have anything to do with vampires. He was about to ask when the doors opened again, and two men entered the large room.

 

The first man was shorter, but by no means small. He was easily a foot taller than Martyn, with more muscle than Martyn thought possible. He had a mane of messy brown hair on his head and fur around his shoulders. He had scars across his tanned face and body, and his hands were callused with work. The second was taller, but slimmer as well. His arm was made of metal, and his hair and mustache were neatly groomed. He has red eyes and pale skin like the vampires in the room, but he looked uneasy. Both men had a matching earring, with a large red feather hanging from a golden clasp.

 

“Well, hello there!” The taller one waved around the room, soaking in the attention he drew. A few people made sounds of acknowledgment, a little more made an endearing noise, but otherwise it was silent. The man bowed in front of Scott, and Martyn wondered if he was some kind of royalty. He didn’t have a crown, and someone would have told him, right?

 

“Scar,” Scott greeted casually. “Lord Jumbo. Thank you both for coming so quickly.”

 

“Oh, of course!” Scar, a name that was pretty on the nose, if you asked Martyn, chirped. “I mean, I think I speak for my entire Family when I say that we’re honored to help you with your pet! You came to the right duo for training!”

 

“I’d hope so,” Scott’s red eyes narrowed. “You’ve had yours for several years now, haven’t you?”

 

“We have,” The second agreed. He had a cape like Scott’s that the other vampires had. Scott had addressed him as ‘Lord,’ so maybe they did have some kind of hierarchy. “Grian’s been very well behaved for years.”

 

“He caused a bit of trouble, if I remember correctly,” Scott’s voice sounded like a threat.

 

“Oh, all pets do!” Scar waved a hand. “They’re simple and often frightened. Our Grain was absolutely petrified, but he learned. It’s completely natural for them, as we’ve discussed.”

 

“I can’t have my pet causing problems,” Scott sighed. “Do whatever you must.”

 

“Hey, what does that mean?” Martyn piped up. He glanced between the three men, then tried to kick a guard behind him. Unfortunately, the guard was too far back, and Martyn fell on the ground again. He cursed loudly. “I’m not anyone’s pet!”

 

“Of course you are!” Scar smiled brightly. Martyn wanted to punch him. “And you’re a very pretty pet, too! I’d almost be jealous if I didn’t have my birdie.”

 

Mumbo made a face.

 

Martyn shot a nasty one back.

 

“I’d hoped he’d have been told before you arrived,” Scott interrupted. “This had been expedited more than I’d like. He hasn’t been told anything.”

 

“Nothing?” Mumbo’s eyes widened, and his pupils grew. “I thought-”

 

“He knows he’s a familiar, and he knows about vampires,” Scott cut off the lower vampire. “That mutt pushed everything forward, and I had to act now or lose him. And I will not lose his power.”

 

Scar nodded frantically. “This is good!” He took his partner’s hands. “It’s more than G knew, and if he’d known more, it could’ve changed our tactics.”

 

“It’ll be harder,” Mumbo warned both Scar and Scott.

 

“But worth it!” Scar added.

 

Scott waved a hand dismissively. “Pyro will show the two of you to your rooms. Martyn will stay in the one beside mine, you saw earlier.”

 

“We’re staying here?” Mumbo stepped back.

 

“Of course. You can’t be traveling from your manor to the castle every day, and I won’t have you take my mouse somewhere unfamiliar.” Scott tilted his head. “You can send for your pet. I can arrange his arrival in the morning, if you’d like.”

 

The two shared a glance, then Scar smiled again. “There’s no need for you to spare your guards. They’re needed here, in case the humans act, or to watch your pet. Mumbo can travel back and retrieve him.”

 

Martyn saw the vampire lord sigh, his whole being relaxing at his partner’s suggestion. Martyn narrowed his eyes at them. It was clear Scar was the more vocal one of the two, while Mumbo was where he’d get answers. His sudden relaxation was suspicious, though no one else seemed to catch it. He wondered what was so special about this bird that made them so tense. It was probably something simple, though. They probably didn’t trust anyone to get the right food, or let it out of its cage, or something.

 

Scott seemed satisfied with the solution and waved his hand again. “Alright. Tonight’s meeting is dismissed. Let’s enjoy this bloodmoon before it’s over.”

 

Martyn pressed himself into the ground as the course of vampires around him turned into bats, solidifying whatever lie he’d been holding onto was just that. He took in a slow, shaky breath as a thousand wingbeats thundered across the courtroom, until they eventually faded out. Someone was kneeling beside him, probably Shelby, based on the way they were rubbing his back. He pressed his forehead against the cold stone ground, trying to steady himself. He could vaguely hear the sound of Scar’s ramblings, but it was drowned out by the sound of his own heartbeat. Viney tendrils of black shadows reached towards him, crawling on the ground, trying to grab and gnaw on his buzzing magic. His mind felt foggy, but he was snapped out of it painfully as he was pulled away from his sanctuary on the ground.

 

He snapped at the guards around him, kicking out again and striking someone. A man– Martyn realized with a gasp that it was Pyro, another man he knew once at Oakhurst– fell to the ground, holding his knee. His red eyes were narrowed on Martyn, who snarled back.

 

“That’ll be the first thing to go,” Scar frowned at the scene in front of him. “Definitely.”

 

— — —

 

Martyn didn’t sleep that night, and he was left alone for the entire day. He’d been placed in a cage in the corner of a large yet bare room, and a thick blanket was thrown over the metal bars. Martyn had quickly stuck his fingers through the cracks and pulled it off. There were no windows, but he knew it had to be nighttime when his door opened. It was someone he hadn’t seen before, an avian with large wings that were clearly well cared for. He had short sandy hair, tri colored feathers, and dark yet playful eyes. He was dressed casually, unlike everyone else he’d seen at the castle. He had an oversized red jumper with dark pants. The only thing that made him look remotely in place was the layers of jewelry he wore. Golden chains around his glasses, wings, and bracelets, and he had a golden collar laced with gems. The tri colored feathers ventured onto his cheeks and under his eyes, and reached to the wings on his face where his ears should be. He didn’t say anything as he stood by the door. He tilted his head as if to study him.

 

“Sure, come on in, why don’t you?” Martyn huffed.

 

“I will, thank you.” Said the avian. “You’re weird.”

 

“Good to know,” Martyn shifted so that he was lying on his back and threw a hand over his face. The cage was large enough for him to sit upright and stretch out, but he couldn’t stand.

 

“You’re like me.”

 

Martyn moved his head to look at the avian. If he ignored the riches that covered him, he could almost see it. A stranger in the world around him, and a collar locked around his throat. He sounded so wonderstruck…

 

“How’d you figure?” He asked, pressing for information.

 

The avian smiled. It was a warm smile one would share with a friend, not two caged animals getting ready for slaughter. He walked closer, his taloned feet clicking against the tile. He perched on the foot of the bed, closer to Martyn, but still not close enough to let him out. “My name’s Grian.”

 

“Martyn Woodhurst. I would shake your hand, but-” He nodded to the cage between them.

 

Grian laughed. “Oh, no, I get it.” He said. “That cage was some of the worst moments of my life.” He sighed, his entire body slumping with memory. “But it gets better from here.”

 

“Yeah, sure.” Martyn rolled his eyes. “How long until I get out of this damn castle and go home?” Then things will be better for sure!”

 

Grian shook his head slowly. “You’re a pet now. This is your new life, but it’s not all bad. You get good food, a place to stay. People who’ll love you.” His smile brightened a little. “Things were awful before my mates found me,” He said, “But they helped me out, and I help them. It’s not a bad life.”

 

“Being a blood bank for vampires isn’t bad?” Martyn scoffed. “Living every day, wondering if you’ll tick them off enough that this’ll be the day they take too much? Leaving everyone you know behind? I have friends out there, Grian! I’m sure you do too!”

 

Grian’s wings drooped, and he lowered his head. “It’s best to forget about them,” He said in a low, bitter tone. “They’ll live their lives, and you’ll live yours.”

 

“I’m going to live my life with them,” Martyn decided stubbornly. Cleo and Ren had been the only people he could actually call friends, and he would do whatever he had to do to get back to them. Cleo was the furthest thing from the stuffy people in the capital with their wit and sass, and Ren… Ren knew everything about everything. He’d been everywhere, met everyone, and he had stories never heard before, and Martyn wanted to know everything. He wanted to experience everything Ren had for himself, with Ren as his guide. Ren was a man with a mission, but he took the time to care for others. He’d drop everything for a friend in need and wouldn’t hesitate to do the ‘hard’ tasks.

 

He had to get back to them and the future he was trying to craft for them.

 

“My brother’s mated to a Flame Born,” Grian said suddenly. “I missed their wedding, but I still write them. Mumbo works with Tango, his mate. Maybe you’ll have something like that.”

 

“Bull shit.” Martyn turned away.

 

The other perked up at something Martyn couldn’t hear. His head lifted, and there was a birdlike chirp coming from his throat. The door opened again, and Scar and Mumbo walked in. Grian’s wings puffed out proudly, reflecting the candlelight onto the walls with a vibrating purr.

 

“Aww, Birdie,” Scar rushed forward, cupping Grian’s cheeks and making soft cooing noises. Grain’s purrs grew louder. “Such a pretty bird. I haven’t seen you all night, my light.”

 

“Scar!” Grian’s voice was alight with laughter. He leaned into his mate’s touch, and his deep brown eyes were filled with emotion. “You’re ridiculous! You saw me the day before yesterday.”

 

“And that was a whole two days and nights ago!” Scar whined. He made loud kissy noises, which Grian scoffed at, but Martyn could tell that the avian was amused.

 

Martyn rolled his eyes and sat against the back of the cage. “Whoo, I’ve never felt so intrusive in my own room before,” He waved a hand to fan his face. “Things are gonna get hot in here.”

 

Grian frowned at Martyn for a long minute. “We’ve got a job, Scar.” Grian tapped Scar’s side with one of his wings, never looking away from Martyn. “We can do all this later.”

 

Scar sighed dramatically, but he turned away from his mate and squatted to look at Martyn. Another long silence filled the room, and Martyn felt the tension crawl over his skin. He might’ve well stuck his hand in a beehive.

 

“Ok, look, I can tell we’re all a little hostile right now,” Martyn said, lifting his hands. “Why don’t you two let me go? I’ll go back to Oakhurst, and we can all forget about this vampire thing. Hmm?”

 

The tall man sat on the ground, with his avian shifting to perch on his shoulders. “I think it would be easier to find out what you already know,” Scar said. “There’s a lot of miscommunication on Vampire culture. My husband’s a vampire, and we have Gri, so I’m pretty much an expert on this type of thing.”

 

Martyn hummed. “Train a lot of ‘pets’, have you?”

 

“My husband and I, yes,” Scar preened. “We have the best rates in the whole of Vampire kind! Though we’ve never worked for anyone as important as the Emperor. This is going to be exciting!”

 

“Focus, love,” Grian redirected Scar, then nuzzled into his mate’s neck.

 

“Gross.” Martyn deadpanned.

 

“Jealous?” Grain cooed.

 

“Nah. I’m fine here. In my cage. Away from all the people I love.” Martyn leaned back. “I bet my friends are looking for me.” His mind wandered back to Ren. He hoped he wasn’t too worried about Martyn, but they both knew that Martyn was no explorer. He was more than happy to settle down in one place rather than constantly wander until there was a place to make camp. “But hey, I’m not worried. I’ve got no food, no change of clothes, no company, but hey, things aren’t all bad. I’m going to be a slave.”

 

“A pet,” Grian corrected harshly. “Not a slave.” His wings fluffed, narrowing his eyes. “You’re being dramatic. It’s a good life.”

 

Martyn scoffed. “I’m dramatic? Gee, it’s almost like I don’t want to be here.”

 

“You will,” Scar smiled. “Once you see how much we have to offer you!” He pulled a bag off his back and pulled out a fruit. It was red and shiny, but oddly shaped for an apple. “This is a blood fruit,” He said. “I named it that because it’s some of the best food for our pets. Gives them some of the most nutrients.”

 

“Ah, cool,” Martyn tilted his head. “It’s a shame I’m not gonna eat it.”

 

Grian winced. “You should,” His eyes went glassy with memory. “It won’t be easy if you keep fighting.”

 

“I’m not fighting,” Martyn argued, “I’m just waiting for someone to start making sense!”

 

The door opened, and the room was filled with a cold breeze. Scott wore a white shirt, but that was the only light color in his outfit. His pants, shoes, and cape were a deep onyx black. It swayed in the wind that surrounded him, and his red eyes glistened in the darkness. His white hair had strands of blue, but there was an aura of darkness around him. “I’ll take care of things, Mr. Goodtimes,” Scott said, raising an eyebrow. “Has Shelby shown you the gardens?”

 

“That she has!” Scar rose from where he knelt on the ground. Either he’d missed the aggression in Scott’s tone, or he was stupidly ignoring it. “I wouldn’t recommend doing anything too drastic with him yet, my Emperor.”

 

“I don’t plan to,” Scott stepped into the room, gesturing to the door. He didn’t look away from Scar, and impatience filled his eyes.

 

Scar bowed deeply before he rose and dusted off his jacket. He took Grian’s arm with a smile while his mate rested his head on Scar’s shoulder. Martyn wondered how the avian could ever bind himself to his captors. Even humans knew how deeply mateship ran between a couple; a bond filled with love, honesty, joy, and promise. It was given after years, and a lengthy trial of courting.

 

“Leave your pet.”

 

Scar blinked, as if the world had stopped turning. “Sorry?”

 

“Your pet. Leave him.” Scott repeated. “I’ll send him back to your room once I’ve finished. Unless there’s anything I need to know about his feedings?”

 

Martyn made an audible ‘ooh’ noise. Grian turned to shoot a glare at him, but he quickly turned back to Scott. The ‘Emperor.’ There was a long moment of silence between the warlock and the man Scott thought he knew, neither willing to back down, Grian waiting, and Martyn watching intently.

 

Finally, Scar released his mate and bowed again. “Grian’s perfectly behaved. May I wait for him, beloved emperor? He gets quite tired after feedings.”

 

Scott waved a hand lazily. “Yes, that’s fine. Wait around the corner, I’ll send Pyro to find you.”

 

“Thank you, dear Emperor.” Scar turned to his mate with a gentle kiss on the cheek. Grian straightened as his owner bowed a final bow and released him. “I’ll be right outside if you need anything, Emperor Scott.”

 

“I won’t.” Scott smiled bitterly as the warlock left. The door shut loudly behind him, and Scott sighed. He threw off his cape and stretched. He walked past Grian without looking at him, instead crossing the room to the empty mirror. “Don’t worry, Martyn, we’ve taken the most care to make sure you’ll be comefortable here.”

 

“Thanks.” Martyn deadpanned.

 

Scott laughed. “Oh, Martyn,” Scott turned to the cage, smiling softly at the man. He kneeled down, his red eyes blazing into Martyn’s soul. “You’re a fighter, but that won’t do any good here. I would’ve loved to have you as my husband, but that’s not how our politics work.” He stood again. “So we’ll have to settle for this.”

 

“Husband?” Martyn blinked, turning to Grian as if he’d have the answers. The avian was still looking at the door, his wings drooping on the ground. “We’ve spoken, like, twice.”

 

“And each time it’s a gift,” Scott’s voice was breathy. “The night truly blessed us. And I plan on welcoming it gratefully.”

 

“Well, you could’ve asked!” Martyn scoffed. “I still would’ve said ‘oh, maybe? I don’t know you that well, but we can go out for dinner,’ but at least things would be less weird.” He rolled his eyes and leaned back on the cage. “And what’s up with that guy? He looks like he’s about to cry.”

 

“I’m not!” Grian crossed his arms.

 

“Bull, but ok.”

 

Scott hummed in acknowledgment. “Unfortunately, this is how things must be. Owen got lucky with his mate, for a few hours, all be it, and that was over two hundred years ago. Now it’s this or lose you.” He finished messing with his outfit and turned back to Martyn. “My little fishy, you belong to me. Isn’t that wonderful? To be the beloved pet of the most powerful emperor?”

 

“I’d like it more if I were a free man,” Martyn shrugged. “So maybe there’s a compromise here.”

 

“A compromise?” Scott laughed. “Aw, love dove, this is your life now.”

Chapter Text

Martyn wished he’d kept the blanket over his cage, but it definitely would’ve been removed by now, and the noise still would’ve come through, but anything would be better than this.

 

Grian’s shirt had been removed, his wings pinned to one of the pillars that held the canopy over the bed. His head was low, revealing the twin scars on his neck. They were both slightly different from the other, but he sat still as Scott moved his head. Limp and submissive– it was terrifying. His eyes were misty and cloudy, but he didn’t fight back. If he wanted to, there were no signs of it. He let Scott manipulate him, only sparing longing glances at the door, where Scar surely waited outside. That was the only thing that showed on his face, the desperate need for his mate and how he’d force himself to calm down. Martyn almost thought he could feel the avian’s frantic heartbeat through the ground.

 

It felt like hours before Scott felt ready to bite. His movements were slow and calculated, pushing Grian’s muscles as far as they could before the avian finally whimpered. Only then would he release Grian and lean back. He muttered things Martyn couldn’t hear, but it obviously upset the other.

 

“Most vampires don’t eat from another’s pet,” Scott said, too loud for the silent room. “But I have my choice of them,” He pulled a feather from Grian’s wing and suckled on the quill. The avian yelped, his eyes shutting tightly and muscles tensing. Tears pooled at the corner of his eyes, and when they opened again, he and Martyn locked eyes. His dark, earth-toned eyes filled with discomfort, fear, and sadness. Martyn might not’ve understood the bond Grian had with his mates, but he didn’t need to. Whatever they had was special to them, and Martyn wanted him to get back to them.

 

Martyn was startled back to the present when Scott latched onto Grian’s neck, right over the scar. Grian screamed, but Scott covered his mouth with his hand. The tears streamed down the avian’s cheeks, but Scott drank from puncture wounds that didn’t belong to him. Martyn counted the seconds until Scott released the avian, and Grian scurried to the ground. Martyn watched, silently encouraging him as he curled into a ball by the door, pulling his wings over him.

 

Scott whipped his mouth clean before tossing the bloody cloth over to where Grian lay. “It’s normally easier,” he muttered, mostly to himself. “Though I don’t often eat from mated pets.” He spat the word ‘mated’ like garlic. He crossed the room and opened the door. He spoke quietly with someone Martyn couldn’t see, but Pyro quickly walked in and dragged Grian away. He turned to Martyn again, kneeling beside him.

 

“Why did you do that?” Martyn hissed. “Couldn’t you see that he was hurt?”

 

“I did,” Scott nodded, “But I needed to teach him and his mates.” There was that venom again. “They like overstepping, and I don’t want any of their rebellion lingering on you. You’re going to be my prized pet, after all.”

 

Martyn narrowed his eyes. “I’m no one’s pet.” He snapped. “I’m a human!”

 

“Human, pet, vampire, werewolf, they’re all the same to me.” Scott smiled menacingly. “I am a god to them. And if you won’t be a pet, you’ll be a slave. Not all feedings are like what you saw, but if you push me, they can be.”

 

Martyn shivered, pulling himself as far away as he could. “Oh, I’ll fight,” He snarled, “I’ll fight until you can’t put up with it anymore. I’ll fight, and I’ll go home.”

 

Scott laughed. He stood again, adjusting his robe before tossing a look over his shoulder to him. “If you fight, you’ll learn not to. I promise you, I’m much stricter than those ‘trainers.’ He scoffed. “I’ll be back tomorrow night, little mouse. I hope you’ll be in a better mood.”

 

Martyn stuck his tongue out as Scott left, leaving him alone in the darkness. He sat in the cage, looking around the bare room. He reached his hand through the bar to see how far he could reach, but he could only make it to his elbow. The only thing he could reach was the blanket he’d thrown off the day before. He sighed, stretching out as far as he could and sighing.

 

He counted the minutes until the doors opened again. It was another vampire with white hair, but the thing that caught Martyn’s eye was the sigil of Oakhurst on his locket. It was the old one he saw carved onto the town’s center, and the town collectively fixed. Much to Owen’s dismay.

 

“Owen?” Martyn blinked. One of the last people he’d expected was the town’s lumberjack in the old castle, but he supposed, after Shelby, he shouldn’t be. “You’re a vampire?”

 

“One of the originals, yes,” Owen purred. He toyed with the locket around his neck, where another scar sat on his shoulder. Martyn wondered if he had a mate, too. “Oakhurst has never been my favorite town, but I’ve grown to love it for what it is. And once we have control over its people are ours, then I’ll have my revenge.”

 

“Revenge?” Martyn frowned. “Revenge for what? What have we ever done to you?”

 

“You, specifically? Nothing.” Owen smiled like a shark. “But the human race?” He stepped closer, his smile turning to a snarl, his canines glistening with spit. “Once I’m done with them, there won’t be a single human within hundreds of miles of Oakhurst. I’m not of the sport of taking pets, or trophies, or meals. I just want them all dead.”

 

“What about your friends?” Martyn pressed. “Well, I suppose they might be vampires as well, then,” He mused to himself. “Pearl, Apo, the doctor-”

 

“You will not-” Owen cut his yelp off with a heavy sigh. When he looked at Martyn again, his face was contorted in hatred. “Oakhurst and its people will be coated in their blood, or they’ll join us. I don’t care which side they take. You’re lucky Scott’s infatuated with you, or you and all your silly friends would be the first to go.”

 

“Scary,” Martyn yawned. “Does the Emperor know you're here?”

 

Owen laughed dryly. “I hope it takes you years to learn your place.” He smiled. “I hope every time he feeds from you, it’s the worst agony you've ever felt. I hope you die slowly.”

 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Martyn rolled his eyes. “Do you have anything else to say?”

 

“No.” Owen stood. “Goodbye, Mr. Woodhurst.”

 

Martyn winced as the door shut. Owen’s farewell rang in his ears like a siren. Mr. Woodhurst. Oh, how he missed Ren. Maybe they hadn’t had the longest time together, but they had started something real. Something… nice. He wished he were in that small cabin outside town, curled into those blankets and laughing as Cleo snored. He wanted to go on a real date and decide what they were officially. He had a thousand ideas about what he’d do for Ren if they were in the capital. A million stores, he knew Ren would simply adore. He wondered how it would correlate in Oakhurst. They had no bakery, or antique, or clothes, or jewels, but Ren was a traveler. He wasn’t driven by material objects like the people in the capital.

 

So what would he like? If not materials, what else could Martyn offer? He was akin to a prince. The heir to the house of Woodhurst. He was nothing without his title and materials.

 

— — —

 

He wasn’t used to waking up at night. Martyn was still surprised when he looked up at the large window and saw the moonlight filtering in. He sighed, pulling the blanket around him. He’d gotten a pillow from Grian’s nest after the first week, and a second blanket they weren’t using for bedding. In return, he’d given the avian his wristband. It wasn’t a watch, which he wished he’d grabbed before leaving, but it was a symbol of his status in the capital.

 

Martyn waited patiently until the door opened, and he smiled under the blankets. The metal door of his cage was opened, and Martyn raced out of the small container.

 

“Gah, I feel like I’m leftovers in there!” Martyn barked a laugh, stretching his achy muscles.

 

Grian laughed with him. “I know, right? All these vampires think they’re so superior, and still keep their ‘beloved pets’ in a cage.”

 

“Like animals,” Martyn scoffed. “Speaking of, where’s your vampire?”

 

“Mumbo’s in the room,” Grian stretching his wings out. The halls were too narrow for the avian, and Martyn doubted that he’d taken the time to stretch before getting him out. “And Scar’s in a meeting about blood or something. He lost me after ‘Owen complains’.”

 

“Yeah, you’d think he’d be off the council by now.” Martyn raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know how Scott can stand him, much less be friends with him.”

 

“I couldn’t,” Grian chirped. He turned to Martyn with a mischievous grin, holding a long stripe of leather in his hands. “Now, who’s ready for the leash?”

 

Martyn groaned loudly. “Come on! Just one trip without it?”

 

“Sure, go over to the bathroom.” Grian shrugged. “You’re back? Good. Leash.”

 

“You don’t need a leash!”

 

Grian smirked evilly. “I’m a trusted and perfect poster pet for all vampire kind!” He batted his lashes. “I don’t need a leash.”

 

“I hate you.”

 

Grian laughed loudly, but the conversation ended there. They had an image to keep up, after all. Grian attached the leash to Martyn’s metal collar easily, through he wasn’t thrilled by how eager Grian looked. The avian looked around the room a final time before banging on the door and opening it.

 

“I still don’t know why you do that,” Martyn whispered. The hall was empty, but he was ready to run at any chance.

 

“I don’t either,” Grian admitted. “I guess it was my way of rebellion when I was in training. Made Mumbo upset, but I think that was because of the noise.”

 

“Yeah, sounds like him,” Martyn rolled his eyes. “Not very good at confrontation, is he?”

 

“The absolute worst,” Grian sighed affectionately. “I love that man.”

 

“Dork.” Images of Ren flashed behind Martyn’s eyes. His smile, his brown eyes, his warmth, Martyn would give anything for that instead of this chill loneliness. At least he had Grian and his odd mates. They were training him to be a ‘pet,’ but at least they weren’t Scott or Owen.

 

They made it to Grian’s room in record time, and Martyn perked up at seeing the worried mate sitting in the middle of the bed. The vampire jumped up, his eyes glistening with worry as he reached for Grian.

 

“I need you.” His voice was frantically loud, and he didn’t seem at all worried about Martyn, which was new. “It’s the e-”

 

“We have company,” Grian said quickly, cutting him off.

 

“This can’t wait.”

 

“Shit!” Grian turned to Martyn for a fraction of a second before dropping the leash and racing into the back room. Martyn glanced at Mumbo, but he was looking at where Grian had disappeared to.

 

“What are you hiding back there?” Martyn asked playfully, but frowned as Mumbo’s face paled.

 

“What? Hiding? Us? No…” The vampire laughed too loudly. “There’s nothing! It’s just… a thing! An avian thing, so we shouldn’t, yeah, let’s stay out here, shall we?”

 

Martyn hummed, glancing at the door again, but decided to give them their space. It wasn’t his place to dig out their secrets, especially since they weren’t being awful to him. Worse things could be happening. Grian had horror stories of his own training before his mates stepped in, and he was almost surprised that these three were the highlight of his day.

 

“So, what’s on today’s agenda?” He asked, moving to the center of the room and sitting on a plush pillow.

 

“Scar has something,” Mumbo said, waving a hand absently. It was probably the most direct he’d been in the few weeks of ‘training’ they’ve had. “I’m gonna go,” He trailed off, following Grian into the back.

 

“Well, if you’re gonna leave me unattended.” Martyn stood again, crossing the room quickly. He pressed his ear to the door they’d disappeared to.

 

“It’s fine, Mumbo,” Grian’s voice came. “They’re just cranky, but I don’t think there’s anything wrong.”

 

“It’s not time yet, right?”

 

“No, there’s still plenty of time to get home. Once we get Martyn to a place where he won’t be hurt, we can go home, and we won’t have to worry about Scott and his spies.”

 

Spies? What would Scott want that he couldn’t get for himself?

 

“What if Martyn’s a spy?”

 

“Then he’s a bad one,” Grian laughed. “You’re such a worrywart, Mumbo! Martyn’s in a bad situation, just like us. But we’re gonna figure it out.” A shift of movement, probably on blankets. “We’re going to be fine, my love. You, me, Scar, and our flower.”

 

Martyn stepped back as things turned quieter. What could they be talking about? Something dangerous if Scott found, but also deeply personal. He felt awful for spying, but he wanted answers. He sat, twiddling his thumbs as he waited for someone to come into the room.

 

It was Grian. He brushed his feathers into place and sat with a sigh. “Ok, everything’s figured out.”

 

“What was the problem?” Martyn asked.

 

Grian shrugged. “Nothing too major. Don’t worry.” He clapped his hands together happily. “So, what’s on the agenda today?”

 

“Apperently nothing, until Scar gets back,” Martyn shrugged. He’d dropped the kneeling position they’d tried to push him in weeks ago. Grian only watched with a faint expression of amusement, while the two ‘trainers’ laughed or complained about his unwillingness. Instead, they settled on a compromise. AKA, Martyn sat on a cushion. “What’s back there?”

 

“Nothing!” Mumbo nearly yelped the word.

 

“Nothing,” Grian repeated, much calmer. “Don’t worry. It’s just something between us.”

 

“A pillow missing from your nest?”

 

Grian sighed. “You’re oddly close, but I wouldn’t keep guessing,” There was a hiss in his voice, one Martyn could’ve missed if he didn’t know Grian as well. He perched on the bedframe with a fluff of his wings. “Scar should be back soon. Let’s see if there’s something we can work on until then!”

 

“I’m not kneeling.” Martyn shook his head.

 

Grian sighed. “Alright, how about feedings! We can show you the positions for that, then you can copy them.” He straightened, looking at his mate expectantly. “Ok, everyone has their own dental pattern, and Vampires are the same. Their fangs and bites are different too.” He shifted his collar, revealing two prominent bite marks on either side of his neck. One side had two puncture wounds, evenly spaced and percicedly placed, while the other scar had nearly every tooth shown.

 

“Damn, G, who tried to eat you?”

 

The avian scoffed. “Scar’s a Vex, so it’s different for their marks, but it’s similar enough,” He explained. “It could just be the fangs, like Mumbo’s, or more teeth.”

 

“Do you know what Scott has?” Martyn asked, not that he was planning to getting bitten anytime soon. Martyn was going to prolong it for as long as possible, preferably forever.

 

“You’ll have to ask Scar,” Grain hummed. “I haven’t seen Shelby or Avid’s marks.”

 

“Avid’s here too?” Martyn gawked. “Who in that bloody town isn’t a Vampire?”

 

“The Werewolf. I don’t remember his name.” Mumbo offered with a quick nod. “And that other guy. The writer.”

 

“Oh, Lord.” If Martyn’s rescue depended on Sausage, he was doomed. Luckily, he still had Cleo and Ren to bet on. And himself. “That’s not very promising.”

 

Grian scoffed. “You don’t need to worry about Oakhurst. We’ve got more important things. Now, feeding typically works best when you’re sitting or lying down. It’ll help your body relax, so your blood is easier to coax to the wound.”

 

“Your Vampire’s saliva will also help,” Mumbo jumped in, though he was playing with his thumbs. It almost sounded like he was reading from a book. “There are potions that’ll thin your blood, but Vampire saliva is the best if you’re going to be fed from often.”

 

“Ew.”

 

“It’s not as bad as you think,” Grian promised. “I had the same reaction.”

 

“But you’re ok with this now?” Martyn blinked. “I can’t imagine a worse fate.”

 

Grian glanced at Mumbo before answering. “I have a reason to enjoy it. I’ve got my mates, and you’ll have Scott. It’ll be nice.”

 

“Sure, once I’m over all the cages and rules and the blummen Vampires trying to drink my blood for eternity.” Martyn rolled his eyes. “No thanks.”

 

“Familiars are built to help their Ties,” Mumbo said. “Grian helps with my Vampiric needs, and Scar’s Vex side. We’re literally built to help one another.”

 

Martyn scoffed again. “That’s cute for you three, but we’re ignoring a solid fact. I. Don’t. Want. To. Be. Here.”

 

“Well, you’ll have to!” Grian snapped, his wings lashing open. He made himself three times the sides, his voice a tight hiss. “Because I don’t want to be here!” He shrank, whipping his pooling tears away with the back of his hand. “I’m going back to the nest. Call for me when Scar gets here.”

 

“Wait, you can’t be a hypocrite and walk away like that!” Martyn stood, grabbing at Grian’s shoulder. He snarled back, bearing his human teeth at both avian and Vampire. “How dare you? I’ve been here for weeks, and I’m not going to stay any longer than I have to.”

 

“Yes, you will,” Grian snipped. “You’ll stay here for the rest of eternity if that’s what Scott wants, and I’ll be damned if my family is here when my hat-”

 

“Grian!” Mumbo jumped in with a yelp, pushing Martyn back with the supernatural strength. “Maybe you should go to the nest. The moon’s rising.”

 

“Shit-”

 

“Oh, lookey, he’s not so shy now that you’re stepping out of line, huh?” Martyn purred, “What’s next? He’s gonna feed until you’re unconscious? Or something more lewd?”

 

Grian thrashed in Mumbo’s arms, and even the Vampire seemed to be getting more agitated. “How dare you?” Grian repeated. “I swear if you weren’t in Scott’s protection. I’d-”

 

“You’d what?” Martyn jumped at the sound of Scott’s voice. He hadn’t heard the door open, but both he and Scar stood inside the room, while several others stood in the hall. Scar took a step towards his mates, but Scott held up a hand. “Tell us, Grian, what would you do to my pet?”

 

Grian lowered his head submissively. “I apologize, Sire.”

 

Scott hummed. “I’m sure you do. I think it’s best if you leave, Avian. I’ll speak with your behavior with your owners later.” He shot a pointed glance at Mumbo.

 

Martyn watched as Grian’s wings drooped with a surprising amount of sadness. Despite their sudden fight, Grian was the only one he felt safe with, especially when Scott was involved. He was the only one who understood how scared he was, and even outwardly shared that fear. He didn’t want Grian to leave, but he didn’t want to ever see him again.

 

Scott turned to the open door, narrowing his eyes at the crowd. “The rest of you can leave. This is a privet matter.” The crowd was gone instantly, though Avid and Pyro lingered a few seconds longer. It was still strange to see Scott with white hair, though his rich fashion sense was the same. He looked like someone from the Capital that Pappa would complain about behind his back but suck up to in front of him. “Mumbo, do you care to tell me what happened?”

 

“Oh, yes,” Mumbo shifted uneasily. “It was just a training session. I’m not exactly sure what happened. It had actually gone sort of well before…”

 

“Before?” Scott yawned. “I suppose it was my pet’s attitude again, but that certainly doesn’t excuse yours.”

 

Luckily for Mumbo, Scar jumped in. “I can assure you that Grian is normally much better behaved than that. What happened was totally unacceptable, and we’ll deal with him appropriately.”

 

“I want him in the dungeon,” Scott said, lifting his head. “I can’t have anything attacking my pet, and I can no longer trust your… mate.” There he was with the hiss again. Seriously, what did this guy have against Grain?

 

“My Lord,” Mumbo stepped forward.

 

“You.” Scott rounded on the other vampire, his red eyes glistening with rage. “You’re lucky I even allowed you to have a mate, much less that Avian! After what you’ve done to our people?” His fangs grew, a thundering hiss echoing in the room. He stalked forward until he was practically nose to nose with the taller man. “I shouldn’t have listened to Avid. He had so much empathy for you, but all you’ve done is show us that you’re utterly useless.” Scott stood tall, brushing out his sleeves with disdain. When he turned back to the group, he was the epitome of calm, and he even smiled. Scar had taken Scott’s turning away as a sign to rush to his mate, who looked absolutely pitiful, but he didn’t dare speak. “The night’s still young. I’ll send Shelby to collect Grian, and I’m sure my darling Martyn will behave better. I’ve asked Pyro to convince the Docter back in Oakhurst that there’s some potion to control Vampires,” He laughed dryly, “Obviously, that’s not true, but it should be enough to control these animals.”

 

“Is this potion tested?” Scar asked. Martyn could’ve gawked at the things this man could pick up. A whole story of horrifying facts, and he picked out the most senseless question. “Obviously not now, but will it be?”

 

“Who cares?” Scott smiled. “As long as we get our blood, does it really matter? It may put you out of business, but I’m sure you’ll find something else.”

 

“Right,” Scar looked at the floor.

 

“Martyn,” He jumped at his name, and tried to fight his instinct to snarl at the vampire. “I expect you to be kneeling, next time. No more compromises.”

 

“We’ll see.” Martyn huffed.

 

Scott’s smile dropped as he shut the door. His healed shoes clicked on the stone ground, quickly followed by two more pairs, and disappeared moments later. Martyn heard a faint squeak as someone turned into a bat, but he lost track of them after that.

 

“Mumbs?” Scar’s voice was soft, almost inaudible. “My love?”

 

“We need to go.” It was the most sure he’d ever heard Mumbo.

 

“We’ll be home soon enough, darling,” Scar promised.

 

“No, no, we need to run.” Mumbo raced. His eyes were wide, red irises shrinking. “They’re going to kill someone. Grian’s going to the dungeon, we need to go. Now.”

 

“Won’t that put you in more danger?” Martyn interrupted.

 

“Not if we go to the South,” Mumbo said. “Grian has family there. We’ll be safer.”

 

“Mumbo, we need to think this through,” Scar argued, but Mumbo was already moving. He pulled a large bag from below the bed, seemingly already packed. He turned to the doors Grian disappeared through twice now, and threw them open. Scar made a yelp of horror, but whatever secret they were trying to keep was in the open now.

 

Grian lay in the center of a pile of pillows and blankets, his wings trembling as they curled over himself. He hissed before realizing it was his mate, but he never fully settled.

 

Mumbo quickly relayed his plan to Grian, who nodded vigorously. “You’re right. He’s right. We have to go.”

 

“What about the… thing?” Scar’s voice squeaked on the last word.

 

Grian looked at Martyn, startling the other man. They were silent for what seemed like ages before Martyn nodded and Grian smiled faintly. “We can tell him,” He said, moving his wing to reveal the oval tucked against his stomach. It was mostly cream, but there were splotches of vibrant color. Reds and golds and greens painted together in such a way it almost looked painted on by a true artist. They were so shocking that it took Martyn far too long to realize what it was.

 

An egg.

 

“Why-” Martyn paused. ‘Why was this a secret?’ he’d wanted to ask, but he knew. Because of Scott. He hated Mumbo for some reason. Hated Grian. Probably Scar by proxy. Of course, he’d hate an egg. “Oh.”

 

“We’re not taking him,” Scar said firmly, pointing at Martyn. “He’s not only a flight risk, but Scott’ll search for him. It’s not safe.”

 

“We have to,” Mumbo shook his head. “We’ll leave him at the falls while we go further south. Or we pass through the Capital. He knows about our plans and our egg. If this gets back to Scott-”

 

“It won’t,” Martyn jumped in. he stood, practically clinging to Mumbo’s thrown bag. “Take me with you. If I get caught again once I’m out, I’ll die with this secret. If not, I’ll march straight to Scott and tell him everything.”

 

All three of them stiffened. Grian made soft, melodic noises to the egg, rubbing its shell throughout the silence.

 

“Fine,” Scar relented. “We’ll leave in the morning. Shelby won’t be here until tomorrow night.”

 

Martyn fell with relief. A quick stop by Ren’s cabin, or a letter sent there, and everything would be fine. They could find each other. Martyn could bring him to the capital while reunited with his Pappa, or hide together in the ‘falls’. He didn’t allow himself to think about how he’d explain his absence, or whether or not Ren would want to put himself in this danger for Martyn.

 

No, all he could think about was the next time he’d be in Ren’s arms.

 

A loud bang echoed through the room.

 

The four jumped. The main door was still shaking with how hard it ahd been slammed shut, and Martyn’s heart raced.

 

“No,” Grian whispered, curling further into his egg. Scar was there, helping the avian stand. His wings shook as Mumbo tried to open a window. Scar stripped off his jacket, revealing two vex wings.

 

Martyn ran to the door and opened it at the same time, unaware of the three behind him. All he caught was a cape before the person wearing it disappeared, which was utterly useless. Everyone Martyn knew wore capes. Avid was only identifiable by his voice, yelling for guards cheerfully, no doubt on his way to tell Scott everything he’d overheard.