Chapter Text
Footsteps pound down dark empty streets, echoing off of nearby homes and tall buildings. Figures dash through the shadows, appearing once under gas lamps before fading into the blackness once more.
Conor runs as hard and as fast as his feet will carry him, suddenly grateful for all the hours he’s spent with his brothers jogging through meadows and up hills. He’d be dead by now if he hadn’t accumulated this much stamina.
Even so, his pursuer is quick and agile, seemingly perfectly built for chasing and hunting vampires, and that thought alone pushes Conor into a harder sprint. His lungs ache and his breaths come out as rapid pants. He feels like his legs might give out any second now. Even if they don’t, he’s aware the hunter will be on him shortly.
Conor ducks into an alleyway in hopes of losing his pursuer in the dark—all vampire hunters are human, of course, so obviously they’re clumsier in the absence of light. What greets him, however, is a rickety old fence separating properties. Too high to vault, and any slowing down now would mean certain death.
But so would completely stopping, and yet he still skids to a halt and whirls around. “Can’t we—“ he starts to exclaim, but he’s immediately knocked onto the hard ground, all the air leaving his lungs at once. Can’t we talk this out? is what he’d wanted to say.
Conor opens his mouth to try again, as breathy as it might be, but stops himself when he feels and sees the cold glimmer of silver. It catches the faint light of the moon as it peeks out from behind the clouds, illuminating it clearly and threateningly. A sword, pointed at his throat. He feels the point against his skin. The back of his neck breaks out in a cold sweat, and it takes Conor a moment to even process who’s holding the blade. When he looks up through fear-glazed eyes, he’s met by a startling realization—he knows the face of his attacker.
Devin Trunswick stares down at him, cold and unforgiving and maybe even slightly peeved.
Bad news, Conor thinks. There’s a reason the Trunswick family reigns supreme. A reason the town Trunswick was named after them. They’ve been successfully hunting vampires for over two centuries, and it would be stupid to ignore their prowess.
It’s just his luck that Conor, a vampire, would be discovered by Devin Trunswick, the heir to the legacy their town is built off of.
“You’re a vampire,” Devin says simply, because he’s already figured it out.
“I’m not,” Conor lies shakily. “You’ve made a mistake, milord.” He knows he holds more physical power than Devin overall, but something about his presence makes him feel so small. Devin is the town’s beloved celebrity and the earl’s perfect son. Conor is the very reason people hang up herbs in their windows; the sole purpose being to ward someone like him off from their homes. Even Conor’s country accent sounds pathetic compared to Devin’s sharp consonants.
“If you’re going to lie, you should at least make it believable,” Devin responds flatly, his tone judgemental. “You’re afraid,” he points out. “That gives you away.”
Conor swallows his nerves, trying to stop his hands from shaking. The cold press of silver at his neck is making his mind fuzzy, so he has to gather his thoughts slowly before he’s able to softly comment, “You are too.”
Devin visibly bristles, deeply offended by being called a scaredy-cat. Conor takes in a sharp, startled breath as the prick of the sword point suddenly becomes more painful. He thinks he feels the hot drip of blood cascade down his neck and over his collarbone. “I’m not scared,” Devin snaps. “My family has been hunting your kind for centuries. You’re nothing to me.”
Conor pulls in the tiniest bit of courage he’s managed to hold onto and lifts his chin defiantly to look Devin in the eyes. “Then why are you hesitating?” he asks seriously.
The tension in the air grows thicker the longer the two boys stare at each other. Vampire and vampire hunter. Same age, same birthplace. Rich and poor. Pure and corrupt.
The first to waver is Devin. He tears his gaze away from Conor’s stubborn green irises, glossy with unspoken fear in the dark.
Conor feels the sword tip inch away from his neck before hearing it slide back into its scabbard. Some of the tension in his body drains with the relief that comes with mercy, and he allows a deep breath to escape past his lips.
“I’m feeling generous tonight,” Devin announces, his voice newly uncertain. “You have the option to either die now, or face trial in the town square. What will your choice be?”
Conor can’t say he’s connected with many vampires. His family lives rather secluded on a farm out in the hills surrounding Trunswick. However, even he’s aware that all vampires that attend a trial never come out innocent, and death is a guaranteed doom if you happen to be caught by any hunter. Even so, Conor doesn’t want to meet his end in a dirty alleyway in the city. How had a simple journey to the market gone so wrong?
Conor lowers his gaze, but anger burns fervently behind his eyes. “The trial,” he decides. “I’ll attend a trial.”
Devin shrugs. “Okay,” he says nonchalantly. Conor has no time to ponder why he sounds so questionably casual about it before a sharp pain hits him in the side of the jaw and the whole world abruptly fades to black.