Work Text:
One day, six hours, and thirty-one minutes was how long it had been since Mike Wheeler had spoken to Will Byers. Since anyone had spoken to Will Byers. He had vanished without a trace somewhere between twilight and dawn, in the wee hours of the night when Mike had been sleeping. Like a fool.
Will and Mike were friends. Best friends, Mike would often insist, though it had always felt deeper than that. More intense than a brotherhood. Since they were five years of age, Mike had been caring for and protecting Will. Will needed Mike, which was a prerequisite to Mike’s affection, he knew. But it was more than that—Will was a stellar companion. Mike missed his presence like an organ.
Under the cover of darkness, Mike stalked through the woods, sword drawn and shield raised. The light of the waning moon shone through the canopy of leaves, bouncing and flickering off of the forest floor. Few creatures were active at night, but it would be foolish not to fear the ones that were.
In the dark, vampires stalked and sneaked. The forest was prime hunting ground for vampires and dhampyrs, but Mike Wheeler’s reputation preceded him. His skill was unmatched—no vampire he had met had lived to tell the tale. When Mike and Will were twelve years old, Will had been taken by a vampire and narrowly escaped with his life. The vampire hadn’t escaped with his. Not once Mike got there.
Even Paladin Michael the Brave, Holy Slayer, knew that fear was his sharpest weapon. When he’d taken his Oath of Vengeance to the god Kelemvor twelve years prior, he had learned that to be brave meant more than being fearless. Fear could never paralyze the knight who knew how to wield it. Mike had found a great motivator in fear. Paralysis was a stranger.
Unfortunately, anxiety was not in Mike’s arsenal the way fear was. Anxiety was a weakness, not a weapon. When Will was involved, Mike’s anxiety often took over. Protecting Will from harm was an instinct; an action so intrinsic to him that it required little to no thought. And Will—he was as careful as he was sweet, but Mike found him in harm’s way too many times to count. But now, Will was not there to protect. Mike’s instinct could not activate. His fear could not guide him. His anxiety was there to weaken him.
At first, he’d considered that he might have been put under a curse or a hex, something that distracted him long enough to let Will slip away, long enough to thwart his spellcasting ability. As time passed, his anxiety rose, and his communication with Kelemvor suffered.
Tonight, Mike braved the forest again. He let his feet guide him to the moss-covered rock by which he prayed. The gap in the canopy above allowed the moonlight to peek through, illuminating the moss on the forest floor. He knelt on the soft surface, raised his shield, and closed his eyes.
“Kelemvor,” he murmured. “Hear me now, my god, Judge of the Damned.”
He held his shield up to the moonlight, positioning the holy symbol on its front directly in the path of illumination. He focused, breathing deeply and slowly. He pictured it in his mind’s eye, watching it, rotating it and examining it from every angle: a humble silver charm hanging from a leather cord.
Will’s necklace.
If he could use his powers to locate the necklace Will never removed, then surely he could find Will. He used every bit of concentration he was capable of, focusing solely on the ornament itself, denying the image of its wearer that threatened to interrupt his focus.
Suddenly, the image shifted. The charm began to bleed. Red liquid oozed from its pores, dampening the leather string, dripping into the vast black void. It began to hemorrhage, the stream of blood coming impossibly quickly, bringing the flow to a climax. The stream ebbed, slowing to a steady drip, then stopped, leaving a sour taste of hot iron in its wake.
Mike opened his eyes. His heart rate quickened. Will was near. Will was in danger.
He rose to his feet at once, and let his legs carry him automatically. The world blurred. Mike kept his shield up and his sword at the ready, slashing recklessly through any bush or branch in his way. The necklace was pulsating, beating like a heart. He didn’t know how long he walked, or how far, didn’t take note of his path—there was no use sparing any concentration for the way home, not when losing Will would render that journey useless.
When his vision cleared, his eyes fell upon a new image so intimately familiar to him, and yet so unbelievably foreign. His instincts could spot an undead creature before his mind could be conscious of it, his blade of silver drawn before he even registered the sight. And he knew Will better than he knew himself. His cleric, his companion, his friend—he could feel his presence in the pitch dark, could pick him out by scent alone.
Mike did not need a working brain to recognize his best friend, nor did he need it to recognize a vampire when he saw one.
He watched in horror as the figure before him, dark purple robes drenched a deep red, cowered under Mike’s dagger. White fur stained pink. A small, limp body. Bared fangs. The image pieced itself together in his mind.
He’d found Will, at least.
✠ ✠ ✠ ✠ ✠ ✠
Two nights ago
The lunar shadow hid the moonlight like a secret. A dense layer of cloud cover denied the realm of starlight, and Will could feel a charge building. Rain was coming— he didn’t have much time.
Ghostroot, mandrake root, mugwort, and most importantly; shadowleaf. Will’s supplies were running dangerously low. His responsibility as the village cleric required him to maintain a robust and fully-stocked inventory of a diverse range of herbs and roots. A scholar and a skilled healer such as Will knew that some herbs could only be harvested in the dark of the night.
On the full moon before last, Will had given away his cloak of elvenkind. It was less of an act of charity than it was an act of love, or at least, that had been the intent. His longtime best friend, Mike, returned from nighttime hunts with fresh scrapes and bites far too often for Will to justify keeping the cloak for himself. He’d heal him as long as Mike asked him to, but it pained him to give away that much of himself. Mike was braver than anyone Will had ever met. He worried for his friend. He feared for his safety. Will feared, selfishly, for his own happiness should anything happen to Mike.
If Will was honest, he loved him.
The month of Flamerule had come and gone, and weavegrass no longer bloomed. Springtide was far behind them, and Will’s failure to plan for wintertide required him to venture into the Forest of the Dead to replenish his supply of shadowleaf— a rare plant of crimson leaves that could only be gathered in total darkness. A cloudy night on the new moon.
It was a dangerous task to take on, especially in Will’s weakened state, but he was not afraid— not of the forest, at least. He did not fear the creatures that wandered the woods the way he feared himself. The dark was not safe, but it provided a shield that daylight did not.
Will did not need daylight, however. Half-elves like himself could make out dim shapes and colors on a moonless night.
The blood red of the shadowleaf caught his eye, and Will wasted no time before hurrying over to the patch of leaves just beyond the mouth of a cave. He knelt upon the bed of grass before it, and began to carefully dig the roots out of the soil. He needed to work quickly, but it was imperative that he handle the plant delicately. Each plant was placed with care inside of his handwoven basket.
A shadow crossed his vision from above, and the static buzzing in the air increased. Will looked to the sky just in time to see a flash of lightning in the distance, illuminating the treetops. Thunder cracked, and Will pulled up his hood just in time for the rain to start. It was a gentle pour, the drops drumming softly on his back— a comfortable feeling, one evocative of the restless way Mike often tapped absentmindedly on Will’s shoulder blades in a moment of stagnancy.
Will smiled at the memory.
Thunder rumbled in the distance. Seven seconds, Will counted. The storm was a little over a mile away. He picked up his speed a little, the hair on the back of his neck rising with the increased rainfall despite the protection provided by his hood.
The shadow passed overhead again, and the frantic fluttering of a bat’s wings seemed to surround him from all angles. Will flinched, ducking away from the flapping, but the bat wasn’t deterred. Lightning struck again, and the flash illuminated a tall figure mere inches away from Will.
Before he could run, the figure disappeared from his view. The skin on the back of his neck tingled with alarm, and all at once, Will’s hood fell down, and a sharp pain pricked the crook of his neck. With the last bit of his lucidity, Will realized what was happening to him. He was being bitten by a vampire.
Will wanted to cry out, to scream, but he was paralyzed. His body burned, a painful heat radiating from his neck to his extremities. He could feel himself growing weaker with every disgusting wet gulp from the leech on his skin, could feel himself growing limp in its arms.
Then, suddenly, the monster unhanded him. But it did not flee—it stared at Will with glowing eyes. He was free, but he knew he didn’t have the energy to escape. He barely had the energy to stand. Pain shot through his neck, and his head became weightless. He crumpled to the ground.
Still glaring, the vampire dug its nail into its own wrist. A line of crimson followed the path of the nail, and in one swift motion, the vampire yanked Will to his feet and lowered its wrist to Will’s lips.
“Drink,” it commanded. It looked remarkably human, Will realized—handsome. Like a man. Not at all how he remembered vampires.
Will found himself obeying, puckering his mouth over the wound. The first drops of blood slid through his lips, coating his tongue. The taste surprised him; a metallic tinge to an unexpected sourness that was nothing less than completely electric. Invigorating, even—if that was a strong enough word.
Will gripped the monster’s arm in his hands, pressing the flesh close and hungrily devouring every last drop. He felt the prick of fangs in his neck again, but this time, it didn’t hurt. Pleasure filled his body, and Will moaned. The vampire’s hot blood ran down Will’s throat, the taste occupying all of his senses.
Suddenly, the wrist was yanked away, and the pleasure stopped. A gasp escaped Will’s lips, and he reached forward.
The vampire was gone, nothing but a bat flying into the night. Will slipped out of consciousness.
When Will awoke, he was in an unfamiliar place. Thirst burned his throat, and his head throbbed. With every effort, he lifted his head. It was dark, and even his half-elven eyes of night struggled to make out any concrete shapes. He took a deep breath.
A powerful scent filled his nostrils, filling his senses with a feeling—no, an urge—so overwhelming that all Will could do was freeze. He kept impossibly still, blood pumping in his ears, as he waited for his brain to catch up with his body.
And there it was. A rustle of leaves, the snapping of a twig. The world became clearer; brighter, almost, his vision sharpening and honing in on the culprit of the noise. Thick, brown-spotted fur covered a thin, quaking body. A fawn. Will couldn’t stop himself— he pounced.
Sinking his teeth into its fur was smoother than a hot knife through a pat of butter. He adhered to the body (or rather, it adhered to him) and the fawn’s tangy blood filled his mouth. In a matter of seconds, it seemed, he had drained the deer, and it fell from his lips, limp and shriveled. Will laid his eyes on the sight, his vision clearer than he could ever remember it being.
Horror filled his body. He had killed an innocent creature in cold blood, had murdered it without a second thought.
Will’s stomach lurched. He doubled over. The blood sloshed inside of him, thick in his stomach. His chest heaved, and the blood spilled. Waves of crimson surged onto the mossy ground, painting the corpse in its own gore.
The burning thirst returned with a vengeance, and reality sunk in. The only cure to this agony was to kill, it seemed. He’d killed this fawn, drained its lifeblood, and vomited it all up. It satiated Will’s thirst for only a moment before the guilt had set in, rendering its death meaningless. Will began to cry.
For hours he stayed with the corpse of the baby deer, refusing to address the growing hunger in his core. Eventually, Will began to make sense of his surroundings.
The walls of his enclosure were earthen, hard and damp. Moss covered almost every surface. A cave, he realized. Behind Will, where the deer had wandered in, there was light. In front of him, there was darkness.
Carefully, Will gathered the dead fawn in his arms, and rose to his feet. He could not reach his full height, and had to duck forward as he made his way toward what could only be the entrance to the cave.
The outside air was loud. No, that wasn’t the right word— but Will couldn’t place it. There were dozens of smells competing for his attention. He honed in on each; much of it attractive to varying degrees. Blood, Will thought. His mouth filled with saliva, and he closed his eyes, trying to locate the source of the sweetest scent.
In flicking through them, though, he picked up on the sour, dried blood on the fur of the animal in his arms. With a guilty pang, Will returned to himself. No. He would not drink more blood. He could not. He would bury the fawn and starve to death.
Using his cupped palms, Will began to dig into the earth. The ground was cold, but it was still moist. How long had it been since the rainstorm? Since his turning? One night? Two?
The night replayed itself in his mind. The vampire. Agonizing pain. Ecstasy. Thirst.
Thirst.
Sobs wracked his body, and Will dug his fingers aggressively into the dirt. Deeper, he taunted himself. Deep enough to fit you both.
He thought of Mike. His shield, his sword, his paladin. Mike, who had sworn an oath to kill the undead after Will’s traumatic abduction by one such creature. Mike, who had slain every vampire, zombie, ghoul, and spectre that had crossed his path. Mike, who had garnered a reputation as a fearsome warrior and enemy to the reanimated.
Mike, who Will loved.
His existence was a betrayal to his paladin, but it was more than that, too. It was a danger to him. Could Mike kill him? Part of Will wanted to believe he wouldn’t hesitate, that his friend whose steadfast integrity he’d always admired could never be shaken. The other part of him, selfishly, wanted to be the sole thing to shake it.
Once he’d dug a large enough hole, Will lovingly placed the bloody fawn carcass inside. Slowly, he began to shovel the dirt back on.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. Once he’d finished, he sat there for a moment, imagining the fawn’s mother. The sweet doe waiting for her baby to come home. Will thought of his own mother.
The hunger tore through him, becoming impossible to ignore. He swallowed weakly. He was going to have to do something about it. The way he saw it, he had two options: he could kill another animal, or he could kill himself.
A streak of white appeared in the grass, and Will quickly snapped to attention. A rabbit.
Will would take the cowardly option.
Slyly, he stood, his eyes locking in on the path of the rabbit. It had sensed him, and was frozen, quaking with fear. Easy.
He struck, his instincts taking over as he snatched the animal from the ground, bringing its squirming, screeching body to his lips. It melted instantly, drooping and surrendering to his thirst. No resistance.
A voice, a human voice, freed him from his frenzy.
“Will?”
He came to his senses at once: he froze, nearly dropping the rabbit, and gaped. Blood spilled out of his mouth. He wiped his face with his sleeve.
“I—”
Mike took a step toward Will, and Will held his free hand out.
“Don’t come any closer!” He warned. “I’m not… I might…”
Mike’s jaw tensed. His face flushed.
Suddenly, Will was all too aware of the mechanics of the reddening skin. Just below the curve of Mike’s jaw, at the height of his neck, was a pulse. The visual was overpowering, and Will could feel himself losing control.
Mike took another step forward.
“Mike, please,” Will begged. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You could never hurt me, Will.”
Mike’s heart rate picked up ever so slightly, and Will felt his mouth water. The feral, hungry animal of his body was stronger than Will alone had ever been.
Mike was walking toward him, tauntingly slowly, all blade and sinew and armor.
Will raised an arm, stretched outward, palm to the heavens. I’ll stop you, he wanted to say. A threat. One Mike couldn’t doubt Will’s ability to carry out, especially after his transformation into this ravenous living dead. He met Mike’s eyes, warning him.
Mike ignored the warning.
Will let his eyes fall closed, and began to harness his divine power. He could feel the magic flowing through him, rising from the earth and into his feet, up his legs and—
Will’s eyes flew open. Mike had taken Will’s hand, held it in his own, and knelt to the ground. He bowed, and pulled the hand to his mouth, and kissed Will’s ring. His knuckles grazed Mike’s lips.
Then he rose, maintaining eye contact as he did. A fearful slayer in his peak, he towered over Will where he stood, the veins in his neck flexed and pulsing. His broad chest heaved, and Will could smell the blood on his breath. Could hear his heartbeat as clear as hooves on cobble.
Will knew exactly how he would overpower him.
“Mike,” Will pleaded, voice shaking.
“You’re thirsty,” Mike murmured.
Will’s mouth went dry, and he groaned involuntarily.
Mike lifted his arm, removed his gauntlets, setting them carefully at their feet. He raised the fabric of his sleeve, exposing the translucent skin that did little to hide his prominent veins.
Will’s mind flashed to the storm—the vampire, lacerating his wrist and commanding Will to drink. His stomach turned. He shook his head, refusing Mike’s reckless offering.
“Will,” Mike said softly. “I know what— I know who you are. I know what you’re feeling.”
“I won’t be able to stop myself,” Will squeaked.
“Yes, you will,” Mike argued. “But if it makes you feel any better—” Mike reached for the silver dagger at his hip, raising it up to Will’s chest. “—I’ll stop you myself,” he swore. He pressed the flat edge of the blade to Will’s beating heart.
“Kill me,” Will said. “Your oath—remember your oath?”
Mike nodded. Swallowed. Will’s eyes flicked to the movement. His throat constricted, reminding him of his thirst.
Then, the pressure of the dagger against Will’s chest lifted. Mike raised the knife, and in one swift movement, dragged the sharp edge of the blade against his own wrist. Blood quickly seeped from the laceration, and Will’s vision tunneled.
The salty, iron scent filled his nostrils, and before he knew it, he was swallowing with a fervency brand new to him. It tasted different from the rabbit’s blood, which hadn’t tasted all that different from the fawn’s. He knew that human blood was the healthiest choice for a vampire, but this went beyond health, and it went beyond hunger. Will should have expected, frankly, just how much it tasted like Mike.
It had all been building to this—the thick, tangy liquid on his tongue again. It was a full-body experience, drinking human blood. Like nothing Will had ever felt before—something that oscillated between coming home and pure ecstasy. He relaxed into the feeling, letting his body work for him. He was an entirely new creature now, one with instincts of its own. These instincts were sharper, cleaner, more desperate. Wild.
The electricity returned, and this time, it felt… reciprocal. A choked moan drowned in his throat, and pleasure spiked. For the first time, there was no room for guilt or shame in Will’s thoughts.
The mechanics of drinking blood were not what he had expected. There was no need to suction his mouth to the wound, Mike’s heart was a pump that delivered the liquid directly to Will’s parted lips. The flow increased, and Will’s sharpened hearing picked up on a heightened heart rate.
“Oh,” Mike groaned, and that’s when it hit him— the pleasure was shared. There was nothing about this act that felt evil, nothing about this that felt sinful. There was a purity about it. A holiness.
There was a soft thud, then Mike’s other arm came up, urging Will into his lap. Slowly, he sank onto his back, pulling Will down with him. In the shift, Will lost contact with Mike’s wrist. Blood gushed from the wound, spilling onto the fabric of Mike’s gambeson. Will mourned the loss of the few precious drops, and lapped up the blood leaking from the cut.
Low gasps and moans escaped Mike’s lips, and those noises, too, fed Will.
It caught up to him eventually, the fact that it was Mike’s blood he was drinking— how Mike was letting him do this, betraying his principles so that Will could feed. Breaking his oath.
Will ceased drinking immediately and froze.
Mike had gone pale. His breaths were shallow, his brow spattered with drops of perspiration. Will had almost killed him, would have killed him if he hadn’t stopped himself then. Mike was too weak to protest. The silver dagger lay naked and vulnerable on the grass.
“Mike, I—”
The bleeding. Quickly, Will put his palm over the cut, whispered a spell, and closed the wound. This seemed to awaken them both, and Will scrambled to get off of Mike’s lap.
His healing hand was coated in scarlet. He wanted to lick it, to not waste a drop. Instead, he sat there. Staring at it.
“I’m sorry,” Will said, avoiding Mike’s eyes.
After a moment, Mike replied weakly, “What, no ‘thank you, Mike?’”
Will spared a glance at him. “Thank you,” he added quickly.
Mike sighed, pulling his arm over his eyes. “Mmm.”
“I hurt you,” Will whispered.
“Didn’t hurt.”
“I almost killed you.”
Mike hummed. “‘m not dead.”
“You have to kill me,” Will said softly. “We both know it.”
“Mm. No.”
“Your vow,” Will pleaded. “I don’t want to be the reason you become an Oathbreaker.”
Mike hummed again.
Will looked over at him, and found him on the edge of sleep. Will rushed to his side. “Mike, stay with me, please. Say something.”
“‘m not dying,” Mike slurred. “Feels good.”
“You…what?”
Mike opened his eyes, blinking slowly. He looked utterly wrecked, but Will had thought it was because he’d just had an ungodly amount of blood drained from his body.
He reached forward and grabbed Will’s bloody hand. He pressed it to his lips. He slipped his tongue out, licking a stripe of his own blood off of Will’s hand.
Will gasped, but remained frozen where he sat.
“Did I…turn you?” Will asked, panicked.
Mike just smiled, his nose crinkling weakly. “You can’t turn me, Will.”
“How do you know?”
“It’s my business to know,” Mike reminded him. His voice was clearer now. He sat up a little, propping himself up on his elbows. “You can’t turn me because dhampir bites aren’t venomous.”
Will cocked his head. Dhampir? No, that couldn’t be right. “But I’m…elven,” Will protested dumbly. Dhampirs—daywalkers— were born to a vampire parent and a non-vampire parent. Neither of Will’s parents were vampires— he was sure of it.
Mike chuckled softly. “A half-elven cleric dhampir,” he said. “Pick a struggle.”
Will scoffed, but reality sunk in quickly. “How is this possible?”
“Kas,” Mike said quietly.
Will’s eyes darted over to him. “But…that was years ago.”
When Will had gone missing at twelve, a vampire named Kas had taken him. He’d fed on Will, taking him repeatedly to the brink of death until his mother and Sir Hopper found him, tied up and drained.
“Dhampir transformation is usually delayed,” Mike explained. “I… wondered if it might even be decades before you did.”
“You knew?” Will demanded.
“I suspected,” Mike admitted. “I knew it was a possibility.”
“How long?”
Mike sighed. “In the order,” he said. “When I decided to serve Kelemvor.”
Will nodded, at a loss for words.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”
Will laughed humorlessly. “Yeah, well.”
“I didn’t know for sure. And… I worried about you. I knew it would be hard for you.”
“I could have prepared, Mike. I could have been ready. Instead, I’ve just been out of control. Killing left and right—” His voice caught. He shook his head, willing the impending tears away.
Part of him knew Mike was right. For several years after his return, Will had struggled. He knew it was hard on his family and friends. He certainly would have…well, he would have ended things if he knew. And Mike, apparently, had anticipated that.
Mike took a breath. “It’s why I slay vampires,” he revealed.
“What?”
“Surviving a vampire attack, with trace amounts of venom in your system—that can make a dhampir.”
“Trace amounts…” Will repeated. Kas had been feeding on Will for the better part of a week. He didn’t know if he’d drunk any of Kas’ blood, but he’d been revived from near death gods know how many times. “Trace” was probably an understatement. Will swallowed.
“Dhampir powers can lie dormant forever,” Mike continued. “But traumatic events can… trigger them.”
Oh. “Like another vampire attack,” Will realized.
Mike rose to his knees, and crawled closer to Will. He put a hand on Will’s thigh. “Can you forgive me, my cleric?”
Will stared at the hand on his leg. “I…” He swallowed hard again. There was a dryness in his throat, but he didn’t feel thirsty anymore. Not for blood. He felt satiated. Taken care of. Because of Mike.
Will nodded.
Mike breathed a sigh of relief.
“But what about your oath?” Will reminded him.
“Still true.”
“But…I’m still alive.” Will blinked. The stars were unusually beautiful tonight. With no moon to light the realm, the stars twinkled freely. “Unless I’m…not?”
Mike shook his head. “You’re alive,” he said seriously. “I won’t kill you.” He slid his hand upward, and took hold of Will’s. Shyly, Mike ducked his head, averting Will’s eyes. “My oath was to protect you.”
“What?”
Mike took a breath, then bravely met Will’s gaze. “I swore to Kelemvor to serve him and you, that I would slay all undead creatures that crossed my path. To protect you.”
Will’s jaw dropped, and he shook his head in disbelief. “But…I’m undead. And I’m—” he motioned to their joined hands— “in your path.”
“You’re alive,” Mike repeated. He was sitting up straighter now, and the pink warmth had returned to his face.
Will nodded, trying to understand. “You’ve killed daywalkers,” he said.
Mike nodded in return, having the decency to look a little ashamed. “They were hunting you,” he explained. “But they won’t anymore.”
Will furrowed his brows. Hunting him? “Why?”
“They know their kind,” Mike said. “It’s…reproduction.”
“Oh,” Will said, startled. “Oh.” He recalled the vampire from the night before. Startlingly beautiful— not monstrous. It had been a dhampir.
“Many dhampirs serve Kelemvor,” Mike divulged. “Nearly all of them kill vampires.”
“Because they’re territorial?”
Mike shook his head. “Because they’re not,” he said. “They don’t need to be. Numbers are advantageous to them— daywalkers are unattractive to vampires, so they’re uniquely qualified for slaying.”
“A revolution,” Will muttered. “They want to recruit me.”
Mike nodded.
“Is your order aligned with them?” Will asked.
Mike sighed, then nodded once more. “Their methods are…” He hesitated. “Radical.”
“Like, dhampir world domination?” Will joked.
Mike thinned his lips.
“Oh,” Will said. “Like dhampir world domination.”
Mike confirmed with a nod of his head.
“So you killed them… to protect me? Even though you knew I might be one of them?”
“Everything I do is to protect you,” Mike said solemnly.
Will searched his face, looking frantically for any hint of dishonesty to quell the hope blooming in his chest. But Mike had freely given his own blood to Will. His life’s purpose was to slay vampires—no, to save Will from vampires, to delay his transformation. Mike did not lie. Not ever, and certainly not now.
“Thank you,” Will said stupidly. He meant it. He was more grateful than he’d ever been in his life. Much more grateful than he’d been when he was rescued from Kas’ lair (although that wasn’t hard, because at that point, he hadn’t wanted to be rescued anymore).
“You’re welcome,” Mike whispered.
“I won’t drink your blood again,” Will promised. “Daywalkers don’t need human blood to survive, right? I can drink…animal blood.” As he said it, he gulped uncomfortably, and his stomach twisted.
“No,” Mike said. “I… I want you to.”
“What?”
“It felt…” Mike sighed, smiling with pleasure at the memory. “Like nothing else I’ve ever felt.”
“Yeah,” Will agreed. “For me, too. Human blood is really…” He shook his head, at a loss for words. “Wait, why did it feel…like, for you, why…?”
“I think,” Mike began, “that it felt good because it was you.”
“Because…oh,” Will said, not really understanding.
“‘The blood of the covenant, freely offered, is taken without loss and given without harm,’” Mike recited. “The Dhampir Creed,” he elaborated.
“So it felt good because you offered?”
Mike seemed to consider his next words carefully. “Yes, but it’s more than that.”
“More, how?” Will’s heart pounded in his chest.
Mike took a deep breath. Then he leaned forward, taking Will’s chin in a gentle hand. Will stopped breathing.
Mike’s gaze caressed the length of Will’s face, starting from his lips and ending at his eyes. There was a question there, one without words. Will nodded his answer. Mike drew their faces together, and Will’s eyelids fluttered shut.
Their lips met.
Mike’s arms came around Will’s waist, and Will’s fingers threaded into Mike’s hair. The kiss deepened, and Will had to break away and come up for air. Panting against Mike’s lips, he leaned his forehead against Mike’s.
“Mike,” he gasped.
“Will,” Mike replied, and oh, Will loved how his name sounded on Mike’s tongue. One of Mike’s hands left his waist and pulled on his chainmail collar, exposing his neck.
Will watched Mike’s heartbeat throb at his pulse point. His mouth watered.
It was an offering— no— a request. Will granted it.