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“Is... is that it?” Sypha’s tremulous voice rang out, her fingers clutching her wounded arm as she blinked, her eyes very blue among the ashes sifting through the room. She stood shakily, looking around the room, the soot covering everything and the blackened wooden floor.
“Alucard,” said Trevor, lifting his arm away from his eyes. He stood as well, eyes falling on Alucard, who was kneeling, his mouth set in a tight, unhappy line. “Did we... do it?”
Alucard stood, moving over to the carpet, the place where, only minutes before, his father had stood. Had finally realized that all along there had been nothing, and that since Lisa had died he too was gone. There was nothing left of Dracula now but a charred bit of floor, gaping holes in the eerie shape of a crude skull, and—
And the ring.
Gleaming silver among the ruins, the only beautiful thing in the burned remains of his home and his childhood. The symbol of everything that had brought life into the castle, and the symbol of everything that had taken it away. His mother’s wedding ring.
“We did.” The words were final, definite, real. He looked around, at the desk by the wall, the books still stacked there. He had been a boy here, had grown up here and had loved it, loved his mother and father and loved this castle, his home. Here he had seen his father for the first time, and now here he was, standing above what he had done.
The realization crashed into him with the brutal force of a hurricane, nearly bringing him to his knees. Tears filled his eyes, and he felt his whole world tipping around him, threatening to spill him into eternal blackness, the abyss born of his mistakes and his sins. “I...,” he gasped for breath, his eyes stinging, “killed my father.”
He felt a warm hand on his shoulder and looked up to see Sypha, her eyes wide and sad in her pale face. She said nothing, simply holding her arms out and folding him into her as if he were very small, and not she. Even so he clutched onto her for dear life, feeling tears streak down his face, gasping in quick, muffled sobs. She was steady and firm and warm, and he felt safe in her arms, safer than he had in years.
He heard a creak, and felt another firm, warm hand on his back, and he didn’t have to look to know it was Trevor, silently kneeling beside him, steadying him. They both held him as he wept, for everything that had been torn from him and everything that he had torn from himself. They said nothing, simply allowing him to draw from their presences, the steadiness of their nearness and all that they had given him.
“Shh, shh,” Sypha was whispering, her hands rubbing slow circles on his back. “We’re here, Alucard, we’re here.” She tucked him further into her arms, resting her chin on top of his head as she murmured soothing nonsense, rocking him back and forth.
He wept for his mother, for everything that had befallen her and how she had been so brutally torn from the world, such a bright flame extinguished so terribly. He remembered her so vividly, the way he had fallen and fallen and fallen as a child and she had always been there to pick him up, to kiss the tears from his cheeks and tell him to try again. How she had read to him from books about medicine, about fairy tales and about everything imaginable. How she had always been there, and how much she had loved him.
And he wept for his father, who had not known love until Lisa, how he had learned to open his heart after she came into his life. How he’d held him for the first time, and how he’d known that he was his father, because their blood was the same. How he had laughed when he discovered the villagers’ nickname for him—Alucard. “Very clever,” he had said with a smile. “Dracula and Alucard, for they are the same, yet entirely different.”
He wept and wept until there was nothing left, until he felt hollow and dry and empty inside, until all he could hear was the sound of his own ragged breathing, loud in the stillness of the room. Still he held onto Sypha and Trevor, not wanting to let go—they would be leaving soon, he knew—and a sudden, nameless fear overtook him. If they left, what would he become? What would he have left? He would be so terribly alone, alone with all his mistakes.
Sypha sniffled as well, placing a kiss on top of his head. “There,” she said, and her voice was wobbly. “Now I’m sure you feel at least a tiny bit better, no?”
“I... yes, thank you, I...” He swallowed thickly, leaning back, suddenly embarrassed. “I’m awfully sorry, Sypha, I... I’ve sniveled all over your robes.” He choked out a halfhearted laugh, wiping his eyes. “My apologies.”
“Nonsense.” She put a hand on his cheek and he closed his eyes, leaning into her touch. “Don’t ever apologize for things like this. I can’t say I understand what you’re going through, but I want to be here for you. I want to help you, Alucard.”
He cleared his throat, opening his eyes. “Adrian,” he said, blinking up at her quizzical expression. “I am Adrian now, now that Alucard’s purpose has been fulfilled. He is gone now, asleep once more, until Wallachia might need him again. Until then, I am who I was born as, who I was before everything began, and who I will be now that it is all over—Adrian Tepes.”
“Adrian it is, then.” She smiled at him, and it was like seeing the morning sky again after an endless night. “I rather like the sound of that.”
“It’ll take some getting used to, that’s for sure,” Trevor murmured, patting his back rather awkwardly. “But it suits you better than Alucard,” he added as an afterthought, inspecting him thoroughly. “Yeah, it does.”
“Well, that’s a relief.” He laughed dryly. “Seeing as that is my real name.”
“So what now?” asked Trevor, ever the voice of practicality. “We can’t just leave this massive thing lying here. We need a plan—what are we doing now? What are we doing after now? What’s going to happen to the massive hole in the ground leading to my family’s not-so-super-secret-anymore trove of books and stuff? Small questions.” He grinned tiredly at their expressions. “Or we could just take it slow and get our shit together first,” he suggested.
“I vote for option two,” said Sypha, standing and pulling Adrian up gently as well. “As do I,” he said quietly. “Come, let’s get out of this room; I don’t think I can stay here another minute.”
He felt a light pressure on his fingers and looked down to see that Sypha had taken his hand, her skin warm against his. He glanced at her cautiously and she offered him a soft smile in return, her fingers twining with his. Her other hand reached for Trevor’s, and he took it, and the three of them left the room together, hand in hand.
All was silent as they walked through the dilapidated castle, the corridors torn to rubble and the walls peppered with holes from the fight. Adrian found himself leading their odd little trio, veering left and right to lead them to the entrance hall again. They let him—even Trevor, who was oddly quiet as they walked. All he could hear was the sound of their footsteps, not in unison, but still in harmony, careful so as not to wake the ghosts.
And finally they emerged onto the landing above the entrance hall, the two flights of stairs curving out below them. The doors were flung open wide, and daylight as bright as liquid gold spilled into the room, incongruously beautiful among the bloody corpses littering the room. They moved down the stairs, and Sypha’s eyes were trained on the open doors, her face tilted up towards the light. Trevor looked uncharacteristically somber, the corners of his lips turned down and his brows drawn together.
They moved towards the light, towards the promise of something new, something different. Something that could allow them all to put behind them the horrors of the past, and perhaps bring them something to cherish. Adrian found himself straining towards the sunrise, wanting desperately to cleanse himself, to purge himself of everything the night had plagued him with.
The first rays of sunlight on his face was like emerging from an icy sea—breaking the cold, unforgiving surface, seeing light again after repressive, frozen darkness where, below, the forgotten remains of a shipwrecked existence floated in trancelike serenity. He stepped forward, mesmerized, captivated by the light. It felt like pure bliss, like he’d been waiting for it all his life and only now he was feeling it.
He inhaled deeply, closing his eyes and tipping his face up, letting it all wash over him. Sypha’s fingers tightened on his, and he heard her sigh. “It’s beautiful,” she said.
And, surprisingly, Trevor said softly in reply, “Yeah, it is.”
Adrian looked over at him in surprise, and his wistful eyes were trained on the ruins of his ancestral home, lingering on the crumbling walls and caved roofs. There was a look on his face Adrian had never seen before, one that was part longing and part sadness and part regret. It made his chest contract painfully, and he looked away quickly, feeling that he was intruding on something private, something he wasn’t meant to see. Like seeing a door that was always meant to be closed finally open.
Sypha’s thumb traced lightly across his knuckles and he tensed—half with surprise and because he was flustered at the contact, and half with pain. He hissed slightly, looking down at their entwined hands. In the dimness of the inside of the castle he hadn’t noticed the dark blue, black and purple bruises that streaked across the backs of his hands, evidently having blossomed there after the fight.
“Oh, Alu—Adrian,” Sypha corrected herself swiftly, “what on earth happened? These look horribly painful.” She brought their hands up closer to her face, brows drawing together with worry when she examined the bruises more closely. He shrugged, attempting to seem nonchalant.
“They aren’t, not really,” he lied. “They’ll heal over in a day or two, it’s nothing to worry about.”
“Bullshit,” she said calmly. He stared at her—and so did Trevor, blinking, apparently broken from his wistful reverie. He swiveled his head around to look at Sypha with a mixture of astonishment and appreciation.
She looked Adrian up and down, wincing at the bruises covering his cheeks and throat, the cuts opening up on his skin. “Oh, God.” Her brows furrowed with concern as she ran a light hand over his cheek, and he shivered. “You look terrible.”
He cracked the barest of smiles. “Thank you, Sypha.”
She rolled her eyes. “Not that way! You actually look very... I mean, quite—quite nice, for... I mean...” She dissolved into blushing stutters, which was actually rather adorable.
“‘Nice’?” he couldn’t resist poking a bit of fun at her, just a little. “That’s all? I’m wounded, Sypha.”
Her blush intensified. “No! I mean, you’re very—very beautiful, Adrian. But these bruises and scratches look absolutely horrible. You must be in such pain.”
Beautiful. She’d called him beautiful. He had to admit he was taken aback—taken aback, and secretly rather pleased. He hid his smile as he shrugged again, scuffing the ground with the tip of his boot. “Not really; I can hardly feel anything.”
“That’ll be the adrenaline,” said Trevor, looking over at him with his eyes still full of the blazing sunrise and the crumbled ruins of an old life. He’d never seen such incandescent an expression on Trevor’s face. Then he blinked, and the spell broke, and he was just Trevor again, looking slightly bored and just generally fed up with life. “The aches and pains will start springing up soon enough, once it wears off.”
“And you’re caked with dirt and blood,” said Sypha, wrinkling her nose. “Both of you—all three of us, actually.” She frowned down at her robes, torn and bloody and sooty. “I think we’re all in desperate need for a bath.”
Trevor looked horrified. “A bath?”
“Yes, it’s an act where one usually cleanses oneself with soap in hot water to get rid of dirt and grime,” said Sypha mildly.
Trevor spluttered indignantly. “I know what a bath is,” he said, rolling his eyes. “I just... don’t really think we need one.” He looked down at himself—at his torn tunic and threadbare trousers and the fine layer of sweat and grime that coated his skin. He examined his hands, frowning at the crescents of dirt and blood crusted beneath his fingernails. “Okay, maybe we do.”
Sypha looked pointedly at Adrian. “And I shudder to think of the state of your hair,” she sniffed disdainfully. “Come, let’s get you cleaned up, you’re the most battered of all of us.”
He gaped at her wordlessly. “I—my hair is perfectly fine, thank you,” he spluttered, patting his head self-consciously. “And I’m not battered—”
“Oh, stop being such a wuss,” said Trevor. “You’ve got more bruise than skin right now, and God knows how bad it is under your enormous coat and those ridiculously tight leather pants you’ve got on.”
He spluttered some more. “There is nothing wrong with my pants!”
“‘Course there isn’t,” said Trevor, eyes glinting maliciously. “It’s just that they’re so fucking tight that they leave absolutely nothing to the imagination, and your shirt happens to be so low-cut that anyone with eyes can see halfway down your chest—but no, nothing’s wrong with that.”
He blinked. “You’ve done your fair share of observation, Belmont,” he said, smirking. “If I knew you spent all your free time staring at me I might have actually made an effort to entertain you.”
“Oh, fuck off,” sighed Trevor. “I don’t stare at you.”
“Yes, you do,” Sypha said unexpectedly, then grabbed both their elbows, marching them into the castle. “Now, enough bickering. Adrian, do vampires take baths?”
He rolled his eyes. “Of course we take baths, Sypha—”
“All right, I was just making sure,” she said. “Where’s your nearest bathroom?”
He steered them leftwards, down a flight of stairs. “We’ve got plenty,” he said. “But God knows what condition they’re in, I doubt they’ve been used for at least eighteen years. There’s one that’s constantly in circulation, though, and it’s rather impressively large. My father built it for my mother when I was very young, it was a... a gift...” His voice trailed off, and he felt that all-too familiar hollow pang in his chest.
“Well, it sounds wonderful,” said Sypha, in a clearly transparent attempt to lighten the mood. “Lead the way.”
They arrived at the door, and Adrian pushed it open warily, part of him expecting to see the room destroyed, perhaps, or blood to be spattered on the walls. Cracked floors and broken pillars and leaking pipes that his mother had designed so carefully. Perhaps his father had not wanted to remember what had been tied to the place, and had let it fall into disuse, as he had for so much of the castle.
But he had not.
If anything, the room was even more well taken-care of than it had been when his mother had still been alive; it was startlingly clean, the white marble floors spotless and the pillars shining, the high, arched stained-glass windows spilling colored lights into the room. It was just as he remembered it as a child; wide-open and clean and dazzlingly white.
“Wow,” said Trevor.
“I agree,” said Sypha faintly. “I feel cleaner just looking at this.”
Adrian shrugged, breaking away from the group and moving further into the room. He paused at a shelf full of bottles and jars, all labeled painstakingly by hand by his mother and him. He picked one up, feeling the smooth, undamaged glass, untouched even after so many years. “It’s certainly better than a freezing cold river, I suppose,” he murmured.
Sypha walked forward, footsteps echoing in the room. She knelt by the tub—which was just a rectangle sunken into the floor, almost eight feet in length. She looked back up at Adrian, eyes wide. “The water—it’s hot?”
He nodded. “It’s a system of pipes, all connected to a boiler—it’s all rather complicated, I’ll explain it to you properly someday, it’s fascinating—when we’ve got time. And energy.” He sent her a tired smile, which she returned, standing again. “That would be lovely,” she said, and he inclined his head to her before heading to the taps, turning them to their full capacity. They squeaked a bit, on hinges slightly rusted by years, but the water they gushed forth was remarkably clean.
He sighed as the tub filled, remembering when he’d been afraid of the water as a child, since he met with resistance when he came in contact with running water in any form. He’d been fascinated by the differences in his father and mother, that she could put her fingers under the water but he couldn’t, that he could sharpen his teeth at will and she couldn’t. He could do whatever they both could, though, which had caused him great amusement.
“Adrian,” said Sypha’s soft voice, and he turned, casting off the memories as easily as one cast off their waking dreams. He blinked a few times, returning to the present, and she tugged on his coat, her eyebrows raised. “I need to see how badly injured you are,” she said. “Take off your clothes.”
“I’m sorry—what?” He spluttered, just managing not to choke. “I—I’m fine, Sypha, honestly, there’s nothing you need worry about, I—”
“Absolutely not.” Her calm, firm voice cut through his stutters with ease. “If we don’t take care of you, Adrian, nobody will, least of all yourself.” She paused. “And I... I fear that you... after everything that’s happened...” She exhaled shakily, then shook her head. “Please, Adrian.” Her voice was soft and imploring. “Allow us to do this one thing for you.”
“I...” He looked at her wide, baby-blue eyes, so full of earnest pleading and sadness, and he knew he couldn’t say no. “All right,” he sighed, and her lips curved up into the softest of smiles. “Thank you,” she said.
He shucked off his coat, dropping it onto the floor once he’d shed it. It had protected his shirt from any serious damage, but it was still tattered nonetheless as he looked down at it. Now would come the real challenge. He winced, deliberately turning his back to Sypha as he grasped the hem, dragging the shirt upwards and pulling it up and off his body, peeling it off his skin and dropping it next to his coat.
He looked down and winced. Yes, this would be very convincing.
“Oh, God, your back,” gasped Sypha. “What on earth did you fall on, a battering ram?”
He laughed weakly, turning around. “I think there would have been less damage if I had fallen on a battering ram,” he said. “My father, he... he didn’t hold back this time.”
“This time?” echoed Trevor, whose eyes were wide. “What, carving you open like a turkey wasn’t enough? You look like shit, vampire.”
He sighed, briefly closing his eyes. “Thank you, Belmont,” he said. “I’m aware.”
Sypha was shaking her head, her eyes as wide as Trevor’s. “This is much worse than I had expected,” she said, moving towards him. She hissed in sympathetic pain when she placed a light hand on his chest, on top of a large splotch of tender, purple-blue skin. He closed his eyes at her touch. “You must be aching all over.”
He said nothing.
“Okay, now your pants,” she said, her hand falling away from his chest.
His eyes flew open. “Oh, no,” he said. “This much is enough, I think—”
“Oh, honestly!” Sypha huffed. “Boys can just be so immature sometimes. You’re badly hurt, and I need to tend to your wounds and if you don’t let me, they’ll only get worse.” She glared daggers at him. “Just take off your pants, Adrian, we won’t look and damage your masculinity beyond repair or whatever it is you’re really worried about—”
“I’m not worried about that—” he protested weakly.
“Well, take them off, then!” She glared, turning around and covering her eyes. “Go on, get in the bath. We won’t look, will we, Trevor?”
Trevor sent him an evil grin. “I dunno, Sypha,” he said. “No promises.”
“See?” demanded Adrian, trying hard not to sound like a whining, petulant child. “He’s being insufferable, Sypha.”
“Trevor, you’re next,” snapped Sypha. “Don’t look so smug—now cover your eyes, go on, or this will never end.” She waved off his protests, and he finally turned, a hand over his eyes, grumbling. “I doubt he has anything I don’t, anyway,” he muttered.
Adrian made a face at his back, then quickly undid his belt, wriggled out of his pants at supersonic speed, and slid into the water, wincing as his torn, bruised skin came in contact with the scalding water. Luckily, the steam cascading off the surface covered his form fairly well, and he submerged himself till his shoulders, biting his tongue so as not to let any embarrassing squeaks of pain escape his mouth.
“All right, I’m turning around,” said Sypha, and he sat up just as she turned, her fingers falling away from her eyes. She knelt by the water, her brows drawing together as she put a hand on his shoulder. “It looks like your skin doesn’t puncture easily,” she mused aloud. “But you bruise remarkably quickly—your skin seems more tender.” She stood, muttering to herself. “Salves... tinctures... leaves...” She moved off towards the shelves filled with herbs and poultices, examining each one and muttering to herself.
“Hey, Adrian,” called Trevor. He started, splashing rather loudly—it was the first time he’d called him by his real name. He looked up in surprise just as something sailed through the air, directly towards his face. He caught it mostly out of reflex, and looked down at it. He looked back up at Trevor, both brows raised. “Soap?”
“You reek,” Trevor informed him archly, plunking himself cross-legged by the bath. “I figured you could do with some soap.”
“How immensely thoughtful of you.” He rubbed the soap between his fingers, sighing; he could practically feel the dirt and blood flaking off his skin. A sweet smell rose from the lather on his skin—vanilla, lavender, juniper. God, he’d nearly forgotten how it felt to be clean.
“I imagine you realize you don’t exactly smell like a rose, either,” he told Trevor, raising a brow and holding out the soap. He glided backwards, allowing his hair to float on the surface, damp, heavy gold curls on white. He nodded at the water. “Join me.”
Trevor’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re joking.”
“Not at all.” He blinked up at Trevor enigmatically. “I daresay you are more desperately in need for a bath as I was.” He raised an eyebrow. “When was the last time you bathed, Belmont?”
Trevor frowned. “Properly? No idea. Months, maybe. Unless you count jumping into a river fully clothed as a bath—”
“I don’t,” muttered Adrian.
“—then yeah, months.” He dipped a finger into the water, ripples expanding outwards from where his skin touched the surface. He swirled his finger about for a few seconds, then shrugged. “Hell, why not,” he said finally, and stood. He reached upwards, unbuckling his vest and dropping it. He moved to remove his shirt when he winced, dropping his hands.
Adrian paddled to the edge of the bath, peering upwards at him. “What’s wrong?”
Trevor looked slightly uncomfortable. “Ah, nothing. Just some scrapes, that’s all.” He moved to take the shirt off again when he swore softly under his breath, gasping with what was obviously terrible pain. And it must have been bad if Trevor showed it, because he could get his arm chopped off and still say it didn’t hurt.
“Here,” said Sypha’s voice, and both of them jumped as she came behind Trevor, arms out. “Let me get it off. I’ll take a look, and then you can clean yourself up.”
He obediently stood still and raised his arms as Sypha lifted the shirt off, making a face at it before dropping it next to his vest. He looked down at his own chest and whistled. “Ouch,” he said.
To say he was bruised was a gross understatement; his whole chest seemed to be one big bruise that made Adrian’s own chest ache with sympathetic pain. He was holding himself gingerly, grimacing down at the injuries. Sypha gasped when she came around to look, her eyes widening. “Both of you, what on earth?” she demanded. “Why can’t you just stay safe and out of the way of these horrible painful injuries?” She gently put a hand flat on his chest and pressed down slightly. He gasped.
“Broken ribs,” she sighed. “Several, if my experience is anything to go by.”
“What experience?” Adrian inquired curiously, and she grinned tiredly. “I’ve broken a few ribs in my time,” she said. “But none so many as this. When did this happen, Trevor? Did you feel them break?”
“Uh, yeah, I think,” he said, blinking down at Sypha. “Dracula sort of slammed me into the wall, and I think I felt two break. And then he hit me right there”—he gestured at his sternum—“and I felt two more break. And then we ran all over the place, which must have jostled them around a bit. But after that, nothing.”
She winced. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“We were sort of preoccupied at that moment, Sypha.”
She hummed. “Granted. Okay, four broken ribs and all these bruises, and Adrian’s bruises as well. I suppose I should be happy that none of us have any bleeding injuries, but still...” She sighed. “Bruises take longer to heal. All right, Trevor, get in the bath; I’ve found a salve that apparently tends to these sorts of bruises.” She beamed at Adrian as Trevor toed off his boots. “Your mother was very knowledgeable,” she said happily. “She has herbs I’ve never even heard of, and then some.”
“Yes, she was,” he agreed, turning around as Trevor unbuckled his belt. Sypha turned around as well, cheeks slightly pink, he noticed—as he heard the soft thud of fabric hitting the floor, then a gentle splash as Trevor lowered himself into the water. “Fuck,” he sighed as Adrian turned around. “This feels good.”
He closed his eyes, then submerged himself completely, vanishing underneath the surface. He was under for so long Adrian had begun to worry whether he had drowned when his head popped up out of the water right next to him, shaking water from his hair. Adrian jumped, splashing loudly. “For God’s sake,” he said, his heart jumping into his throat. “Don’t do that, Belmont.”
“Don’t do what?” Trevor raised an eyebrow, water streaking down his cheeks like tears. “Come up or stay under?”
“Either. Neither. Just—don’t do anything.”
“Huh. Eloquent.” Trevor sighed, closing his eyes. “You father is—was—strong,” he said after a while, looking down gingerly. “Really fucking strong. Hell, he just punched me and I broke two ribs. And he beat you up really, really badly. We were two floors below and we could still hear you.” He looked over at Adrian, and there was something almost like concern in his eyes. “You’re sure you’re fine, right?”
“I—yes, I am,” he said, flustered for some reason. “Really,” he added at Trevor’s dubious expression. “Here,” he said, tossing Trevor the soap, partly to dispel the tension and partly because Trevor really was covered in grime. “Clean yourself up.”
Trevor caught the bar of soap, apparently startled, because the moment he caught it he dropped it, the slick surface slipping in his fingers. It hit the water with a loud splash, water spraying onto Trevor as it promptly sank. Trevor swore, wiping his eyes as he dived for the soap, spluttering when he emerged, the soap clutched tightly in his hand.
And Adrian found himself laughing, actually laughing—and it made his chest hurt, but he didn’t care. He was laughing so hard that he didn’t even see it coming when Trevor splashed him, dousing him with water, drenching his hair. His laughter broke off into a yelp as he lost balance, his feet slipping on the floor of the bath as he half-fell. “Belmont,” he managed to cough out, glaring at Trevor’s smirking face. “You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into.”
Trevor shrugged artlessly, examining his fingernails. “Do I?” His smirk widened as he submerged himself into the water again, vanishing. Adrian frowned, looking around warily, but Trevor didn’t emerge. Shrugging and making to look for more soap, he’d just begun to move when something grabbed his ankle, tugging sharply and pulling him under the water. Unprepared for the sudden assault he choked again, emerging from the water sopping wet, coughing and spluttering.
“What are you, a child?” he demanded, coughing and glaring at Trevor, who was laughing, floating effortlessly away from him, watching him splutter angrily. “Come on, that was too easy,” he grinned.
“You—” He shook his hair, sopping wet now, out of his face, glaring at him. “You’re lucky both of us are incapacitated,” he said, pointing a finger at him. “Else I wouldn’t be willing to let you off so easily.”
“Oh, please.” Trevor grinned blindingly. “You’re not even trying.”
Adrian narrowed his eyes, concentrating. He felt the world smear into a red blur around him, and when he could see again he was standing directly behind Trevor, who turned around just in time for Adrian to kick the surface of the water, sending a bout directly into his face. He made a gagging sound, spluttering as Adrian smirked, satisfied. “Was that ‘trying’ enough for you, Belmont?”
“You—that’s cheating,” coughed Trevor once he’d stopped choking. “You can’t pull your vampiric mojo on me when I’ve got four broken ribs. It’s not fair.”
“Who said anything about fair?” He grinned, and as Trevor made a swipe for him he vanished again in a flash of red, reappearing at the other end of the bath. “Too slow,” he called, grinning.
Trevor sighed, apparently giving up. “Fuck you.”
Adrian laughed. “That’s just Trevor for ‘I’m a sore loser’.”
“Boys, stop it,” called Sypha’s voice, and she emerged from the shelves holding an armful of jars and vials. “I leave you alone for one minute and you start acting like children,” she sighed, putting the jars on the floor and kneeling beside them. “Now that’s enough; both of you, come here.”
Trevor waded over, making a face at Adrian as he looked up at Sypha with a mixture of expectancy and confusion. “What the hell are all these?” He picked up a jar, squinting at the label. “Symphytum?” he read aloud. “Isn’t that comfrey?”
Sypha looked surprised. “You know Latin?”
He set the jar down, his lips kicking up into a small smile. “I was raised noble,” he said, picking up another jar. “Of course I know Latin.”
“Well, then you’ll know that this”—she shook the jar of comfrey—“is a rapid healer of broken bones. I’ve never used it myself, it’s rare and expensive, but...” She shrugged unscrewing the lid, sniffing the contents. “It seems to be in good condition,” she said happily. “I’ll help you apply it later, after I’ve cleaned up as well.” And then, as if nothing was wrong, she reached up to unclasp her robe.
Trevor and Adrian both exclaimed at the same time.
“What are you doing?” shrieked Trevor.
“Wait, you can’t!” yelped Adrian.
Sypha paused in the act of drawing her robe off, staring at both of them. “What?” she asked defensively. “I need to get clean, too! And you boys have hogged the tub for far too long already, the water will start getting cold soon.”
“But—I mean—” Trevor blinked rapidly. “Aren’t you, um... I don’t know, uncomfortable, since—I mean, we’re both—and you’re—”
“Well, maybe I’d be less uncomfortable if the both of you turned around and stopped acting as if you’ve never seen a naked woman before,” she huffed, pulling off her sleeves. She made to take the rest of her robe off and glared at them, and they immediately turned, both blushing.
“There,” he heard her say, and a second later she kicked her discarded robes to the other side of the room, where they could see them lying on the floor, a crumpled sky-blue heap. His mouth went dry as he heard a splash, then a sigh. The water level rose slightly, lapping gently onto his chest.
“You can turn around—you know that, don’t you?” said Sypha’s voice, and both of them turned to see her shaking her hair out, the strawberry-blonde curls springing around her head and curling at her temples and her nape. The water came until her clavicle, and he forced his eyes away from the way her skin rose from there.
“Finally,” she sighed, running her fingers through her hair. “After weeks of grimy travel.” She paddled over to Adrian and plucked the soap out of his limp fingers pointedly before working it into a lather in her hands, scrubbing herself clean. Once she seemed satisfied, she held her hands out, clearly asking something.
He raised an eyebrow.
She gestured at his hair. “May I?”
He blinked, then blushed, then nodded almost shyly, turning around to allow her to wash his hair. She smiled at him before rubbing the soap in her palms again, releasing the sweet scent of gardenias. She placed soft, careful hands on his hair, gently washing the dirt and blood from the thick golden locks. He’d gotten his mother’s honey-colored curls, and had kept it long out of sentimentality, not wanting to cut it.
“You have such pretty hair,” Sypha said wistfully as she ran her fingers through the strands. “So long and thick.”
“Bet that’s not the only thing,” said Trevor, appearing suddenly next to Adrian, who elbowed his shoulder hard enough to make him grunt with pain. “Okay, okay, it was just a joke! For fuck’s sake.” But he was grinning, rubbing his shoulder.
Sypha rolled her eyes, but she giggled all the same. “Oh, grow up, Belmont,” she said, smiling. “There. Done.” She gently poked Adrian’s shoulder. “You can wash it off now.”
He dunked his head under, washing the soap from his hair, rising a few minutes later, his now-clean hair hanging down his back like a damp golden flag. Sypha was trying to get Trevor to let her wash his hair, but apparently he was refusing steadfastly.
“I can do it myself,” he protested, and she shook her head. “Let me, Trevor, I won’t choke you. Don’t be a child, come on.”
“I’m just—I’m not used to casual physical contact, all right?” he sighed finally, scowling. “I haven’t had much of it, and I’m not used to it.”
Sypha pouted adorably. “Let us get you used to it again, then,” she said, holding her hands out. “You need to be touched sometimes, Trevor, it’s the only way you can be truly comfortable with a person.” She moved over to him and he sighed finally, submerging himself till his shoulders to allow her fingers better access to his hair. She smiled at Adrian from above his head.
He could tell Trevor was secretly enjoying Sypha’s fingers in his hair; the scowl on his face faded, and his eyes closed, and he seemed to be in danger of falling asleep in the water. All the lines of tension and worry on his face faded, and his shoulders finally relaxed, his knotted muscles loosening. A fluttering sigh escaped his lips when Sypha scrubbed harder, letting the damp black spikes slide through her fingers.
When she moved to pull away he made a little mewling noise. “More,” he said.
Sypha laughed, resuming her careful combing of his hair. “Well, someone’s warming up to me,” she said softly. “Now, which one of you will return the favor?” She raised a brow at Adrian, who shrugged fairly. “I don’t see why not,” he said, scooping up the bar of soap.
He’d secretly always wanted to touch Sypha’s hair—it was so short, and bouncy, and it sprung free in adorable curls that coiled up close to her head as if they wanted to be nearer to her. His fingers slid through the reddish-blonde tangles, loving how they curled around them. She hummed softly as he washed her hair as she had washed his, his fingers occasionally brushing her shoulder or the curve of her neck—little starbursts of sensation erupting from his skin whenever he did.
“All right,” he said, pulling away somewhat regretfully, once her hair was sufficiently clean. “Done.”
“Thank you, Adrian,” she said, turning and smiling at him before rinsing the soap away, letting go of Trevor as she did. He did the same, running his fingers through his sopping hair that was finally clean. It was honestly more brown than black, but the dirt and tangles had darkened it. The water had flattened it, making the strands cling to his cheeks, streaking his skin. It looked good—he looked like some sort of warrior prince out of legend.
“You look like a wet dog,” he said instead, raising his brows at him.
Trevor calmly stuck out his middle finger without looking at him, still scrubbing at his hair. Piss off, he mouthed.
Adrian laughed again.
***
They were sitting by a roaring fire, their hair still damp from the bath. Adrian had scrounged for clothes and had come up with a wide variety of sleepwear, which was the only thing light and comfortable enough for the bandages Sypha had wrapped them all in. He felt toasty warm and pleasantly drowsy, the fire making waves of warmth travel over his skin.
Sypha was wearing a billowing white nightgown, and she was squeezed between himself and Trevor, who had, irritatingly, ended up with clothes that fit him—a white cotton button-down shirt so thin that he could see his skin through it, and supple leather pants that hugged the curves of his legs. His feet were bare. What with his clothes, and his smoldering gaze trained on the fire, which played across his elegant, noble features, Adrian rather thought he looked as if he should belong on the cover of a romance novel. The thought amused him greatly.
He’d managed to snag one of his older shirts from his closet. It was white and veritably covered in frills, which had made Trevor snort—but he privately liked the thing—and loose pants that whispered around his ankles. They were all sitting shoulder to shoulder, looking into the fire. It was evening, falling into night, and the first stars were just beginning to emerge.
Adrian had tended to their wounds, having learned all the techniques from his mother. The salve for Trevor’s broken ribs had been spread carefully over his chest by Adrian’s fingers, and he’d had to force his heart to still and not leap about the way it had. There had been a few nasty cuts on Sypha’s back and shoulder as well, which he’d treated with yarrow. He could tell it had stung, but she had waved off his concerns with gritted teeth and a determined expression.
“Will you two be leaving soon?” he asked finally—the one question that had been nagging at him the whole day. He’d worried at it like a broken tooth—it was painful, but he couldn’t stop doing it.
Sypha and Trevor exchanged looks. “Well, we do have to find the Speakers again,” said Trevor haltingly. “And it isn’t like now that Dracula’s dead everything will just fall back into place. There’s still the issue of what happened at Braila, and the vampire mistress who got away.”
“Carmilla,” murmured Adrian. “Yes, she got away with another of my father’s loyalists. We’ve no idea where they are.”
“But, until we’ve got solid leads...” Trevor shrugged. “There’s nothing we can do.”
“You still haven’t answered my question,” said Adrian quietly.
Sypha sighed. “We will need to leave eventually, Adrian,” she said softly. “But we will stay with you for as long as you need—”
“No, please don’t compromise on what’s more important for my sake,” he said hurriedly. “I’ll be fine on my own.”
“No, you won’t,” said Trevor, looking over at him, his expression unreadable. “If I know even half of what you’re going through, then I know that it’s not easy. And it’s even less easy when you’re alone.”
“You were alone,” pointed out Adrian.
“And look how well that turned out.” He gestured down at himself. “And I didn’t lose my mother, watch my father go crazy, and have to kill him because of it.”
Sypha winced. “Don’t sugarcoat it, Trevor.”
“No, I mean it,” said Trevor, sitting up straighter. “You’re probably going through hell right now, and leaving you here to go through hell alone is a shitty thing to do. We’re not just the Sleeping Soldier, the Hunter and the Scholar anymore—we were, for a little while, and we still are, but at some point we—we weren’t just that anymore. And we’re not about to just leave you here like you don’t matter to us.”
Adrian blinked at the fire, feeling oddly touched. “That’s... thank you, Trevor. I... That means a great deal.”
Sypha took his hand, leaning into him, and he held her gratefully. “So yes, we will go,” said Sypha, “but only when we’re sure you’re better. And when we don’t feel exceptionally terrible about leaving you behind.”
He smiled down at her, feeling something expanding in his chest, something warm and soft and something he’d never felt before. It opened up inside him like a flower blooming, and it just touched the edges of ragged blackness that shrouded the other, darker memories, the ones that had formed a huge, bitter cloud inside him and was slowly consuming him.
“Thank you,” was all he could say.
They said nothing, just sitting by him and giving him the solidity of their promises. And as the sun rose from behind the Belmont family home and kissed the sky with the first rays of the morning he finally, finally allowed himself to think that maybe—just maybe—he might finally truly belong somewhere after all.
He belonged with them.