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It takes William a moment to realize what’s happening. To be so close to Victor, to be held, is enough to cloud his mind to the searing pain across his back and the stench of burning flesh. Instinct is what saves him, prompting him to rear his head, just in time to watch the pale light of dawn streaking across the floor.
It seems that their fraternal bond is made of the same stuff as Cain and Abel’s.
Even as he tears himself free, fleeing for the safety of the shadows, William berates himself. He should have known. He should have known! From the time they were children, there was one truth: as much as William might wish otherwise, relying on Victor is a fool’s errand. His brother is a monster, and trusting a monster to act in any way except that which benefits it is insanity itself.
He finds himself huddled in the darkest corner of the room. Flattening his hands against the wall in an attempt to steady himself, he rasps, “Why?”
There’s no answer.
Suddenly furious, William whirls on his brother. Victor stands, still in the sunlight, wavering back and forth on his crutches. His brother never used to sway like that, as if he could not hold himself up. It should inspire pity.
William finds his well of compassion has drained dry. His hands curl into claws, scraping across the wood paneling. Distantly, part of him thinks, Father would be furious, for they were always told to mind the decor. He ignores it. Snarls, instead, “Answer me! Why would you-–”
Horribly, his voice breaks.
William swallows it down, chokes on Victor’s scent, swallows once more. Finds himself at the edge of the shadows, suddenly, as Victor stumbles away from him. Quickly, almost desperately, as if he’s the one afraid of William. The irony is enough to make him laugh.
“Begone!” Victor orders, though his voice is as treacherous as William’s–-it wavers in the middle like a willow in the storm.
“You invited me in,” William hisses back, recrimination and threat all in one. “And still you deny me.”
“I won’t entertain-–” Victor steps wrong, falling to the floor in a way that would be humorous if William wasn’t so incredibly angry. From the carpet, Victor continues, “I won’t entertain any more of your trickery!”
“My trickery!” William paces along the edge of the shadows, unable to stay still. Maddeningly, Victor’s scent still fills his nose. It’s hard to think. Still, “You’re the one who tried to kill me! Your own brother–-do you truly hate me so much?”
“You’re not him!” Victor yells back. “You’re just a–-a-–a thing, wearing his face!”
William stops, stares at him. “Is that really what you think?”
“Of course it’s what I think.” Victor glares furiously from under his hair, gropes for the nearest crutch. “My brother wouldn’t–-rub my nose in my failures like you, wouldn’t suggest such obscene things-–”
William barely recognizes his own voice, the way it comes hissing out of him, filled with venom. “Obscene? I already coddle you as much as Mother would. Who tried to protect you from Father? Who cleans up your messes, smooths over every faux pas? Who provided the tower in which your creation came to life? You would be lost without me!”
“Lies,” Victor chokes out. “All lies.”
“And in return, you scorn me.” He flexes his fingers, licks over too-sharp teeth. “No wonder your creation tried to kill you! Except for her, you’ve turned away everyone who’s ever tried to give you their love!"
Victor stares at him, eyes glistening in the sun’s weak rays. “How do you know?” he croaks. “You list my sins with such confidence-–how do you know?”
For someone so brilliant, Victor can be mind-numbingly stupid sometimes. “I know because I. Am. William.”
“No, no-–” The thought appears to horrify Victor, if the way he tries to scramble away from it is any indication. “It can’t be, it can’t-–you are lying again!”
“You-–” William finds himself grabbing at his already disheveled curls, tugging until sparks of pain dance on his scalp. “Is there nothing I can say to make you listen?” he says. He means to command it, but the words come out pleading.
Victor only shakes his head in denial and resumes his efforts to stand.
The hunger is pulling at William again, winding its fingers in his throat and tugging on his heart. It hasn’t felt this sharp, this urgent, since their father died and Victor abandoned him to boarding school. It makes him feel unsteady. It makes him feel cold, even now in this room with its roaring fire.
William knows there will be no respite. There never is.
Not unless he takes it.
He wavers, watching his brother struggle on the floor. Even now, with blisters on his back, William loves Victor, would wish no harm upon him, could be content with just one genuine smile. Despite what his brother thinks, it’s no lie that William would gladly fill the hole their mother left.
He could forgive the wasted years: Victor was no more than a child. But to turn William away now, when they have the possibility of eternity between them, when they could have mended and grown into something new–-
“Curse you,” William spits. “Do you even know what you’re throwing away?”
“Stop talking,” and Victor waves his crutch at William like that will somehow render him mute.
Once, Adam had said to Elizabeth, when he thought William could not hear, Victor only listens if you hurt him.
The hunger snaps, snarls, writhes in William’s chest. He has tried reason, tried pleading, tried offering himself up. His teeth ache.
“Leave me!” Victor snarls, as if it’s not his brother standing there, as if he hasn’t heard one iota of William’s words.
Fine. William grits his throbbing teeth together. Swallows the saliva pooling in his mouth. He will be the man their father wanted him to be, and take.
The sun still burns, but this time William is ready for it, knows exactly how the pain will pool and gather across his skin. He can feel how much he can stand before he immolates, and it is less than the time it takes to leap for Victor and pull him, screaming like a skinned cat, back into the shadows.
“You are so loud,” William complains, and throws his squalling brother onto the bed. Bullying his way between Victor’s spread thighs, he pins him down like one of Elizabeth’s butterflies.
“Unhand me!”
“No,” William says, and oh, what a feeling, to finally stare Victor down and object. “No,” he continues, something wild in his empty, straining veins, “This time it is my will we bend to.”
Victor tries to say something, eyes desperate, but William is hunger, only ravenous, starving hunger, and his brother is here and warm and blood-rushing-close in a way he can barely remember even in childhood. Surging forwards, he plunges into Victor, pushing his fangs in to the hilt.
In the candlelit evenings, after all the ladies have gone to bed, gentlemen sometimes amuse themselves gossiping about the pleasures of marriage. William always found this talk a bit scandalous, a bit disrespectful to the women themselves. Despite this, he guiltily tucked away each little morsel of information–-perhaps it would come in useful one day.
Victor snatched away William’s wedding night, and any pleasures that would have come with it. The sensation of Victor’s blood running over his tongue is enough to make William forgive his brother this transgression. Whatever Elizabeth had to offer, it can’t be as wonderful as this. The feeling is as vital as mother’s milk, and like a babe William seals his mouth to the wound and sucks.
One of Victor’s hands weaves into his curls-–whether to push him away or pull him closer, William doesn’t know, only that it is touch and warmth. He groans, and tries to press further into Victor’s skin. His brother’s legs are warm around his waist, and their chests thrum with each heartbeat. It is the happiest William has been in years.
“Are you crying?” Victor mutters, incredulous, and oh, yes, that is where the wetness on William’s cheeks is coming from. His brother continues, almost wondering, “I didn’t know monsters could cry.”
William could raise his head to dispute this, but that would mean unlatching from Victor’s neck. He just grumbles, and laves his tongue over the bite.
“Brothers don’t do this, you know,” Victor adds.
Rolling his eyes, William pulls back just enough to scoff, “Brothers don’t try to kill each other, either.”
For some reason, this is what seems to get through-–Victor jerks back as if struck, looking away. Mumbles, “I did not-–I had to-–”
It’s only six words, and already William is tired of it. “If your damn pride won’t let you apologize,” he huffs, and noses at Victor’s throat, “just shut up and let me eat.”
“You were never this impertinent when you were alive,” Victor huffs. “Not that I believe you, mind–-”
William ignores him, and reseats himself, fangs sliding in like they’d never left. Victor’s body parts so easily for him, it’s almost as if they were made for each other. His brother groans softly, hands tangling in William’s hair.
Pleasure ebbs back in. For a while, all is silent. William allows himself to drift, to drink, to feel drunk. The world has become a soft fog, blanketing all his thoughts.
Then, quietly, almost a breath, Victor says, “You used to hum like this when you were a baby.”
William hadn’t been aware he was making a noise, but now he feels it, thrumming up his spine. He pitches it up in question, and Victor answers:
“When you nursed.” Slowly, so slowly, his hands stroke over William’s head, cup the nape of his neck. “You made this noise.” He laughs, a puff of air. “Damned thing,” Victor murmurs, and his throat vibrates as he talks. “I could almost believe you.”
That’s almost as dizzying as the blood coating William’s mouth. He shudders, tries to crawl closer. Wants to make a home inside of Victor’s ribcage, warm and wet and safe, meld them together so they’d never fight again. It’s just a dream, of course, but even in reality his brother’s hands are in his hair and stroking up his back and William is delirious with it.
He is vaguely aware of Victor peering down at him. “Your eyes are different now.”
“Mhm,” William agrees, looking up at him with an immense effort of will.
“You don’t have his eyes anymore,” Victor says, and he pronounces it like a victory.
So very like his brother, to take something not at all related to him and call it his own success. William rolls his eyes, and finally finds it within himself to pull back. His hunger is sated, and he’s not a man of excess. They both groan as he shakes himself free.
Sighing, Victor rolls onto his side, pressing a hand to the bite. It’s already started to clot, scabbing over the two neat puncture wounds. William has always been a tidy eater. “It seems I won’t be bleeding out.”
With a snort, William says, “I don’t want you to die.” He pulls back, stands, and almost staggers as a new layer of clarity lays itself over his eyes. Within the span of a second, energy rushes through his limbs, bursting through him like spring across the countryside, and he realizes: this is what Elizabeth must feel, every night, when she feeds on her Adam.
Knowing the alternative, it’s something he finds himself loath to give up.
“You should sleep,” he tells Victor, because one of the few medical facts that their father managed to impress was the importance of rest after injury.
“Bah, it’s morning. Am I to waste the day?”
“You were up all night and just lost blood. Sleep,” William presses, and to his surprise Victor simply grumbles a half-hearted protest, wiggling until he’s comfortable on the pillows.
“Yes, mother,” his brother grouses, and-–it’s just a joke, just a little joke, but the lingering remains of the hunger melt away regardless.
William knows it will be back, but maybe–-maybe he won’t have to bear it alone. After all, he reminds himself, as he slips out of the room and makes his way to the library–-a perfect place to wait out the day-–Victor did invite him in.
Perhaps they can be two monsters together.