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They meet during the summit. Obi-Wan is accustomed to wrongness when he encounters vampires—everything about them sets off his wolf, from their pallor to the lingering stink of rot under their skin that no perfume can hide, to the way they drain the warmth out of a room—but Anakin is different.
At first, Obi-Wan is alarmed, mistaking him for a thrall. Palpatine rules his coven with an iron fist gloved in velvet, and they’ve never openly flaunted their awful customs like that during a summit, but what else is he supposed to think when he sees a beautiful boy with so much vitality that he makes the vampires around him look even more dead than they already are?
Then Anakin turns his head to look at him, the small gesture possessing that impossible smoothness all vampires have, as if they’re not quite occupying space by the same laws everyone else has to abide by. Unlike the rest of Palpatine’s ilk though, it looks natural on him. Graceful, rather than uncanny.
Obi-Wan wisely decides to stay away from the boy.
At least, the human mind decides that. His wolf chooses to disagree.
So does the boy, seeking him out with that willful impudence that Obi-Wan associates with pups testing out the sharpness of their teeth.
“They say you’re the strongest one in the pack.” The boy plants himself in his path, blocking the exit out of the garden. Obi-Wan could turn around and retrace his steps the way he came, at the cost of turning his back on someone clearly itching for a fight. And possibly foolish enough to break summit laws on a whim.
Not a threat, chuffs his wolf. Play.
He deliberately puts his hands in his pockets. The sun set only ten minutes prior and yet the boy is already awake and about. Either he’s far older than he appears—a given with vampires, in most cases—or he has an unusually potent lineage.
Neither explanation addresses why his skin flush with good health. Even if he drained all of the blood bags at the chateau, none of that would make him seem alive. Vampires can fool humans with their tricks, otherwise they would have died out centuries ago, but they can’t pull the wool over a wolf’s senses.
“I don’t know who they are,” Obi-Wan says crisply, “but strength is subjective. Perhaps they merely meant I was deft with my wits.”
“You killed Maul,” the boy announces, mirroring him, also pocketing his hands. “You definitely didn’t talk him to death.”
“I might have, given the chance.”
“He wouldn’t have given you the chance.” The boy rocks back on his heels, exhaling noisily. He’s awfully good at mimicking life. Obi-Wan almost forgets that vampires only ever need air to speak. “That guy had a one-track mind once he had a mission. How’d you take him out?”
“I ripped him in half.”
The boy whistles. Another extraneous, too-human gesture. “How?”
Obi-Wan shifts, uncomfortable. No one in the pack has ever pressed him on what went down that day other than the facts. A death for a death, though the scales could never be balanced. “This is not a topic to be discussed, young one.”
“Anakin. And why not?”
Put him on his back, his throat is pretty, is his wolf’s helpful suggestion. Obi-Wan counts to five. “It is not wise to bring up settled scores during a summit. There is enough bad blood to deal with already. Leave it be.”
“I’m not mad you killed him, though.” Anakin bites his lip, fang peeking out. “I—well, whatever. Just wanted to meet you.”
Obi-Wan watches him leave. So does his wolf.