In Nomine Patris

by Field_Kabuki_92

Summary:

Daniel Molloy is learning to live as a vampire, mastering his powers while facing hunger, danger, and the weight of his past. Haunted by absence and longing, he confronts darkness, tests his limits, and unravels long-buried truths.

Notes:

Here I am again!
If you want a bit more context, read Slipknot, the fanfic that came before this one!

For now, the tags are pretty basic—I’ll add more as I keep writing this fic!

Your comments are super appreciated and give me strength and motivation to keep going, but thank you even if you just read it <3

I hope you enjoy it! Any feedback is very welcome!

Chapter 1: Ad Imaginem

In His Own Image

 

The groan.
That’s what Armand called the sound the Al Shafar Towers made when they swayed. Daniel thought it was funny that he had something in common with those skyscrapers — creaking, unstable, haunted by muffled moans.  He often thought about time passing. About skin aging and falling away. About the slow, relentless decay of bones and flesh. Ever since his interview with Louis had begun, these thoughts about time had grown louder.

Every morning — or rather, every late morning, given the late nights — he got out of his large, ridiculously comfortable bed in the guest room. He’d walk into the private bathroom and stare at himself for a long time.
You’d think he’d be used to it by now. Living with two creatures who, even after fifty years, remained perfectly unchanged. They were a huge pain in the ass.
Every late morning, Daniel would strip down, step into the shower, scrub off the night, dry himself, and face the mirror — that enormous thing set into the wall, floor to ceiling, like it was waiting to judge him.

He’d never really cared much about how he looked. Or at least, not in the past twenty years. Ever since the diagnosis, he’d stopped giving a damn.
Sure, he still made some effort to stay upright, reasonably presentable. But that was it.
Yet, standing there in front of that mirror, he often imagined what might have happened if Louis had listened to him.
Being young forever didn’t sound bad, right? No sickness. No decay. No death. Just… being Death itself.

That pretentious thought made him chuckle. He looked away, confused by the tight ache in his chest. He felt numb. Like after crying, when the silence feels heavier and the air clings to your skin. It was as if he’d thought about this before.
But that couldn’t be. After the Seventies, when Armand rewired his brain and he and Louis left him in that junkie den, he’d never thought of vampires as anything other than fiction.
So why did it feel so goddamn familiar?
Just then, Rashid knocked on the door asking what he wanted for breakfast, and the feeling slipped away.

Now, sitting up amid the enormous mess that was Armand and Louis’s bed, Daniel realized that time, illness, and decay would no longer worry him.

He’d remain an old fucker forever.
He shook off the last clinging thoughts and pushed himself up.
His movements were smooth and quick — no tremors, no bone creaks. He felt… good.
The master bathroom was like the guest one, only way bigger.
He stepped inside and caught sight of his reflection. Everything looked the same. Yet somehow, different.
The first surprise hit him immediately: his eyes adapted perfectly to the dark. Cats came to his mind, and he leaned closer to see if his pupils looked feline.
Holy shit.
His eyes flashed brilliant purple before shifting quickly to a warm amber. He’d seen those eyes before — twin flames — when he’d sunk his teeth deep into Armand’s wrist and met his gaze in the mirror above.
He looked away, disturbed by the memory and the hunger roaring fiercely in his chest alongside his heart.
His gums ached. He needed to hurry.

Before cleaning up, he went back to the other room and grabbed the torn sheets. He tossed them into a wall cabinet — probably sending them straight to the laundry — then stepped into the shower.
Every sensation was heightened. Smells, sounds, images overwhelmed his senses, yet fascinated him deeply. He could clearly hear the voices, breaths, and thoughts of the Tower’s residents.

Not filtering all that noise would drive anyone mad, and Daniel found he had a talent for it: he isolated the thoughts, focused on his breathing, found his balance.
Leaving the bathroom, he noticed a pile of black clothes, neatly folded on a low dresser. 

On top lay an envelope.

He picked up the letter, flipped it over, and saw his name written in elegant, arched handwriting. He set it near the sink and put on the clothes. As expected, they fit perfectly.
He looked in the mirror and laughed. He looked like a Rashid cosplay.
A geriatric Rashid.
His gaze landed on the letter.

 Fuck that.

 He pulled out the sheet and began to read.

My dear Daniel,

It’s almost certain that upon waking, you’ll crave blood.
One part of you will hunger to feed; another may want my head on a golden plate, like a newborn Salome.
I do not ask for your forgiveness, for I do not regret my choice.
Children are meant to hate their fathers, and what I did to you is too great a wrong for this to be an exception.
I do not believe I will ever make amends. This time, as all others.
I was not strong enough.
There is food in the dining room. The clothes beneath this letter are yours — consider them a gift.
We, my beloved Son, will not meet again.
I trust Louis will care for you better than I ever could.
I end this letter uncertain of what you will remember, or if you will remember anything at all.
Part of me hopes not. I am ashamed, but I thank you — for your time, for your Love.
Prosper and remain Chaos, beautiful boy.
A.

Daniel froze. He read and reread the words a thousand times. Then he stared blankly at the page.
Again, he couldn’t grasp what Armand meant. The word love — that capital “L” — felt pretentious, as if Armand addressed him like an intimate.

  Beautiful boy .

 Dizziness hit him like a wave — a sudden drop in blood pressure. Sweat beaded on his forehead; his breath grew ragged. Then an image exploded behind his eyes: warm and bitter, like a kiss held too long.
A memory not just returning, but demanding to be felt.
A young man smiling, whose face Daniel looked at but could never truly see.

  “You’re mine, beautiful boy.”

 Daniel’s eyes snapped open, hit by a deep, uncomfortable awareness. Armand had taken more than six nights in San Francisco.
But how much more?
What else was he forgetting?

He slipped the letter back in the envelope and tucked it into his back pocket.
He pulled on his socks and found black shoes by the bathroom door. He slipped them on — no time to savor how luxurious and comfortable his outfit was. Hunger was killing him.
The letter mentioned food in the dining room. Daniel headed there, wondering where the blood bags were stored. Wouldn’t it make sense to keep them refrigerated?

He stopped dead at the doorway.
The room had been stripped bare — everything but the table. Armand had moved it to the center. Dim lights glimmered ominously on the dark surface. What shook him was what lay on it.
A young man, naked, wrists and ankles tightly bound in a pose unmistakably crucifix-like. He breathed slowly, lying peacefully, no sign of struggle or scratches on his smooth, dark skin.
Daniel trembled as he approached the sacrificial victim, stretched and waiting on the altar of lust and hunger.
The young man was painfully beautiful — a Dionysus carved from desire: taut skin, glossy raven-black hair, a mouth made for sin.
Long thick lashes framed his eyes, which Daniel guessed must be dark and deep… or maybe amber, like a hawk’s, like his .

The boy slowly opened his eyes, meeting Daniel’s gaze. He smiled. His eyes were black, matching everything else about him.

 “Are you Mr. Molloy?”

 For a few seconds, the vampire was speechless, breath caught. The boy’s voice was sweet as honey.

 “What’s your name?”

 “Khalid. The guy who looks like me said you’d take care of me.”

 He stretched lazily, tugging at the ropes, smiling without breaking eye contact.

 “What else did he say?”

 “Not much. He told me to tell you not to look for him. Are you his sugar daddy?”

 The boy’s eyes shifted slightly; a hungry shadow flickered.
Daniel slipped into his mind effortlessly.
He heard the boy thinking he might convince the old man to replace his old sugar baby with a new one. He imagined being showered with money, gifts, and fancy clothes.

Daniel reached out and traced the boy’s face with two fingertips — eyelids, nose, lips — slowly down the throat.
He could feel the blood pulsing beneath the skin, flowing through the veins.

 “You’re right, kid. I’ll take care of you.”

 His hand explored the stunning, lean body. Slight disappointment stirred when he noticed the boy’s pecs weren’t quite right.
His thoughts flew to his maker, aware he was forgetting something.
It pissed him off.
What was Armand trying to do? What was the point of leaving that ridiculous, weepy letter if he’d set up a damn altar with his carbon copy tied and ready to use?

His hand drifted down like a feather, first over the pecs, then the belly, until it reached the cock.
Khalid pretended modesty, tightening his legs and laughing softly as he tried to squirm away.
He was a tempting little creature; Daniel wanted to devour him.
He withdrew and circled the table to the tied feet of his young, unaware victim.

“Maybe I was wrong.”

 “What do you mean?”

 “I thought the guy who hired me was your sugar baby, but you have the same strange eyes. Are you… related?”

 Daniel chuckled. The boy had no idea how right he was.

 “You could say that.”

 Daniel fixed his gaze on the boy’s eyes, then started again at the feet.
Slowly he climbed the back and, with a quick flick, cut the ropes binding the legs.

 “Hey… how’d you do that?”

 Daniel said nothing. He ran his hands up the thighs and, firm but gentle, spread them apart. 

He thought he might drool if he could.

The boy was pure perfection. Full, firm, smooth thighs. His cock, small and hard, dripped pre-cum. The trail leading to his already stretched, tender hole made Daniel lose control. He jumped onto the table, kneeling between his personal Ganymede’s thighs.

 “You’re not ready for this, kid.”

 “Let me give you pleasure.”

 “Oh, you’ll soon give me the most delicious pleasure.”

 Daniel felt his cock strain furiously inside his pants. He imagined penetrating him, hearing that melodious voice moan and pant. He leaned in, bringing his face close to Khalid’s, who tried to catch his lips with a kiss. 

Daniel smiled and shook his head. He pressed his lips to the boy’s ear, who hadn’t done anything but accept the devil’s tempting offer.

“You’ll never be him, kid. You couldn’t. No one could.”

 Daniel licked the long neck as Khalid arched, offering himself. He smelled of oils, sweat, and sex. The vampire explored, licking lower and lower until he reached that valley of sin and perdition.

 “Please…”

 Daniel smiled and began kissing his groin.
Khalid held his breath, his moans were delicious, as expected.

 “Mr. Molloy… more.”

 Daniel gave him a long, lascivious lick and, as soon as he bit into the femoral artery, he felt blood flood his mouth, run down his throat, and shoot to his brain like the greatest hit of his life.
It was Heaven and Hell at once.
It was everything.

The boy moaned, confused between pain and pleasure, and, after a few minutes, he came. Cum covered the boy’s chest and he put both hands in Daniel’s hair, trying to hold him tight while his grip weakened. The mix of endorphins and blood pushed Daniel over the edge, too. 

In minutes, he’d completely drained the boy. 

He stared silently at the lifeless body, still kneeling between his thighs. Feeding was an indescribable experience. It was total in a way nothing else could compare.

Yet, he felt troubled by his lack of empathy, of guilt.

The poor Khalid had done nothing wrong, wasn’t even a bad guy. And yet Daniel simply felt full, vaguely excited, and pissed off at Armand. For the first time, he stopped to realize he’d left his human nature behind — clean and final.

Looking at Khalid, he saw nothing but the object of desire, the Ambrosia to sate his hunger, the sensual spite of an old lover. 

Because that’s exactly what Armand decided to do: piss him off. 

And now here he was, kneeling next to a corpse, sated with blood and endorphins, aware he belonged to a different species.

His nature was different now.

Daniel climbed down from the table and cleaned himself up. He looked over the scorched remains of his laptop. Beyond repair. He gave a mental thanks to the cloud and headed back to the guest room, gathering his things and making a mental checklist. Outside, it was still dark, but catching a flight to New York without bursting into flames? Unlikely. 

Contacting Louis was out of the question — the poor man had suffered enough. And Daniel had business to settle.

His thoughts were interrupted by approaching footsteps. Three people: three breaths, three sets of footsteps, three beating hearts.

 “Mr. Molloy, are you home?”

 “What the fuck happened here?!”

 Daniel recognized one of the voices.
In a flash, he was at the dining room doorway.
Three people stood with their backs to him, staring at Khalid’s naked body on the table.

 “You’re late, Raglan,” Daniel said flatly.

 The young man and woman, barely in their twenties, spun around, startled.
Raglan James didn’t flinch — his expression was its usu al mix of cold contempt and disinterest.

 “I told you to leave quickly.”

 “Curiosity won out,” Daniel replied.

 “So it seems.”

 He studied the three of them. The two youngsters looked like interns — wait, did the Talamasca have interns? — but they were trying, with some effort, to keep him out of their heads. He still felt their anxiety.

Raglan, though, was a brick wall. Daniel pictured himself as the wolf in the fairy tale, huffing and puffing at the third little pig’s house.

 “What brings this delightful surprise visit?”

 Raglan gave him a slow once-over, then turned back to the body.

 “Is this your doing, Mr. Molloy?”

 “I’ll answer only in the presence of a vampire lawyer.”

 “You can do better.”

 “I could, but the last few hours have been a little intense, as you can imagine. Now tell me — what the hell are you doing here?”

 “Tell me, Mr. Molloy, how exactly did you plan on returning to New York?”

 A cold silence fell over the room. The truth was, Daniel had no plan. And Raglan knew it. The man held all the cards.

 “So what now? You came to gloat? Gonna pull up a chair and watch me explode like a firewo—”

 “I came to offer a solution to your problems. Including safe travel back to New York and a temporary residence while your apartment gets fitted with the same protective glass as this one.”

 “Does the package include a coffin?”

 “Not a chance.”

 Daniel sighed.

 “Alright, let’s hear it.”

 

Chapter 2: Memor fui noctis nominis tui

Notes:

I hope you enjoy this new chapter!
As I’ve mentioned before, English is not my first language, so any feedback or suggestions are very much appreciated!
Enjoy! <3

In the death of night, I remembered your name. 

 

Daniel hadn’t really considered how much of a pain in the ass being a vampire would be—beyond the thrilling first hours, of course.

The reality kicked in later: the goddamn sun precautions, the constant hum of people’s thoughts, and the Talamasca practically stapled to his ass. Central Park looked stunning from up here. At night, anyway. Not that he had any chance of seeing it in daylight anymore. The Organization didn’t skimp when it came to its global safehouses, and this place was no exception. It was the epitome of hiding in plain sighwith just the right amount of smugness. As promised by Raglan, Daniel had been staying for a few nights in one of the Dakota apartments the Talamasca had quietly acquired. Offices, residences, fallback zones. He didn’t know the details, but he knew better than to ask. Some deals weren’t meant to be traced.

Since moving in, he’d started to notice how well-trained the Order’s people were. Sure, he could pick up on their thoughts—sometimes. But only the ones they wanted him to hear. Carefully chosen words, images, and impressions woven like decoys, shielding their real intentions from any telepathic snooper. Honestly? He appreciated it. Easier for him to shut off too. Let the neurons rest for once.

 

"We watch. And we are always there."

 

“What?”

 

“Your edgy TV show motto. You watch and you're always there. For a bunch of glorified voyeurs and note-takers, Raglan, you guys make a ton of money. Who’s backing you?”

 

Raglan had walked in unannounced—no knock, no apology, not even a hint of shame. These people really thought handling his book deal, his custom apartment makeover, and keeping him alive gave them full access to his personal space.

Unbelievable .

The man wore his usual slate-gray suit, crisp white shirt, tie pulled tight like a noose—not that it bothered him. Daniel could hear the way his breath was steady, his blood polite. Just like the rest of him—annoyingly well-behaved.  He carried a thick binder. The scent of his skin and cologne hit Daniel like a spark. His gums ached.

 

“How are you finding your temporary accommodation, Mr. Molloy?”

 

The hunger haze passed and Daniel smirked at the word temporary. Raglan always emphasized it, like a landlord eager to remind you the lease is about to run out.

 

The man was carved out of pure procedural ice, and Daniel? He was the lit match. If he didn’t leave soon, Raglan James was going to earn himself an ulcer. And Daniel was more than happy to help.

 

“You know what, Raglan? I kinda like it here. I might not leave.”

 

“Understandable, Mr. Molloy. But you will.”

 

“Oh, I’m sure. What do I owe the pleasure?”

 

Raglan scanned the room, zeroing in on a sleek low table in front of an absurdly wide sofa.

 

“May I?” he asked, already sitting down.

 

“Why even ask?”

 

Raglan raised an eyebrow, shrugged, and made himself comfortable. He opened the binder and laid out a neat stack of papers on the table like a man prepping for a TED talk.

 

“Renovations are nearly complete. The windows have been installed properly. We’re just waiting for our rune specialist to return from a mission. He’s already sent a report—he’ll be back in a couple of days. You should be able to move back in by Monday night.”

 

“A rune specialist? You trying to turn my apartment into a gateway to Valhalla?”

 

“The runes are invisible. They’re for protection. Your protection, Mr. Molloy. We are fully aware that publishing your book may cause some... unrest in your community.”

 

“Gotta love that marginalizing tone of yours. Ever felt left out, Raglan? In school, maybe?”

 

Raglan looked up. “My academic record was excellent. As were my results.”

 

“No doubt.”

 

Daniel loved provoking him. The man’s irritation hit him in perfect little waves of righteous indignation. It was like a vibrator for his ego. 

 

“Let’s talk about the real stuff, shall we? You were saying something about publishing my book?”

 

“We’d like to move forward with publication. We can ensure the project’s success, nearly guaranteed.”

 

“And what makes you think it wouldn’t be a success already? I’ve got two Pulitzers, in case you forgot.”

 

“Two Pulitzers and, after a rather lengthy hiatus, a sudden and very public claim that vampires are real. I’m just waiting for the tabloids to start tossing around terms like ‘late-onset dementia’ and ‘crowdfunds for senile legends.’”

 

Low blow. Raglan was enjoying it.

 

“I’m listening.”

 

“We’ll handle redacting certain... sensitive sections. We’re also open to managing future projects, if you’re interested. That’s part of what we’re offering—in exchange for a little cooperation, Mr. Molloy.”

 

“You want all the intel you can get on my community .”

 

“Only what’s necessary.”

 

He crossed one leg over the other and smiled like a man who’d just closed a hedge fund deal. Daniel wanted to skin him.

 

“We can talk.”

 

“Excellent. You’ll find all our terms itemized in these—”

 

“I’ve got terms too, Raglan.”

 

That shut him up. He raised a brow, waiting. Daniel let the silence hang, let his eyes drift around the room like he hadn’t already rehearsed every word in his head. But something about saying it out loud made his chest go tight. It had been days since his turning—since his rising. Daniel had kept his trademark defiance through it all: the sensory overload, the hunger, the Mind Gift. Detoxing years ago had steeled him for this. Certain things leave marks. Discipline you. He kept busy.

But being under the Talamasca’s protective wing also meant he wasn’t exactly roughing it. The apartment had all the creature comforts. The wide windows and wraparound balcony helped anchor him when the feelings surged too high. Sitting outside, letting his gaze wander across the park or up into the night sky—that helped. It made him feel a little less trapped in his own head. Raglan had arranged for blood bags—another detail Daniel planned to unravel eventually. He stored them in a massive, three-door fridge. They kept him from doing anything stupid. Like overhunting.

Bottom line? He had time. Too much of it. And when the mind slows down, it always goes back to the same damn place.

Back to him.

Daniel hated being clear-headed. Had hated it since the '80s.

 

“I want everything you have on him.”

 

“On... him?”

 

“Don’t test me, Raglan. You wouldn’t like me pissed off.”

 

The agent inhaled slowly, slid the papers back into the binder, and pushed it aside on the table.

 

“Very well. You’ll have his full file.”

 

“I want updates. Every time you have eyes on him—past, present and future.”

 

“We have a deal.”

 

“Raglan?”

 

“Yes, Mr. Molloy?”

 

“You should leave. I’m getting hungry.”

Outside his luxury coffin of a suite, the city pulsed like an insomniac heartbeat. It was Friday night, and the air was cool against his skin. He’d dressed in black—soft shirt, fitted jeans, and the leather jacket he’d never be caught dead without. Maybe a little age-inappropriate, but then again, age was off the table now.

If he’d still been human, he probably would’ve worn a scarf too. But some sensations had changed. Some had gotten overwhelming. Others, irrelevant. Heat and cold were still there—just... downgraded. Like the body had decided those details weren’t worth reporting anymore.

His priorities had shifted. Imperceptibly, but entirely.

Since arriving in New York, he’d hunted every night. He woke up early—for a fledgling—while the last rays of sunlight still kissed the tops of Manhattan’s skyline. Thankfully—or maybe strategically—the apartment was fitted with the same kind of glass he knew would follow him from one property to the next, until the end of his days. If they ever ended.

He liked that time of day. Golden hour. He’d always loved it.

And before diving into the city to find some piece of shit to take off the planet, he liked to pause. To stand still and watch the sun go down.

He fed in places he knew wouldn’t miss a few regulars. Shady clubs, dive bars, backroom joints far enough from where he slept. Disappearing someone quietly in New York was child’s play. Getting rid of the body and making it back before dawn? Not a problem. Neither was the emotional fallout.

He thought about Louis, sometimes. How different they were. Louis fed with guilt. Daniel remembered that. The shame, the mourning, the never-ending horror show of moral hesitation. Daniel understood it. He just didn’t share it—not naturally, anyway. Feeding on criminals came from somewhere old—some faint trace of leftover ethics. But it wasn’t guilt. It was clean, deliberate, ideological.

Immortality had brought with it a cold detachment. A certain economy of feeling. The ties to his human life were still there—of course they were. He still loved his daughters. And yeah, he’d call—eventually. He just wasn’t ready. Too many ghosts crowding his mind. 

And let’s be honest—only one ghost had room to stretch out in there. The rest were just background noise.

Lost in thought, he found himself a few blocks from 72nd Street. The sky had darkened, and so had his mood. Thinking about Armand had unsettled him. He’d pre-fed before leaving the apartment—more than usual. Enough to steady the hunger. But not the rest. He thought about Raglan’s words. About the file. About what it might reveal—where Armand was. What he was doing.

It had been days since the transformation. And just like he’d promised in that cursed letter, Armand had vanished. No messages. No signs. No indication he ever intended to see him again—not now, not ever.

And still, Daniel couldn’t stop going over that damn letter.

 

Thank you for your love.

 

What the hell did that mean?

 

Ridiculous.

 

He ducked into a bar he didn’t recognize. Popular, from the look of it. But he couldn’t say why he chose this one. Ten or twelve tables, a small stage in the back where a band was setting up. The crowd was chill. Too chill. If he stuck around, he might go hungry.

He took a seat at the bar and scanned the shelves. Not bad. Some quality stuff up there.

 

“Hey! Haven’t seen you around before. New to the neighborhood?”

 

The bartender was maybe thirty. Tall, handsome, warm smile.

 

“Not exactly. My place is under renovation. Crashing with a friend for a bit.”

 

“Friend bail on you tonight?”

 

“Had a fight about half an hour ago. Needed to clear my head.”

 

“Got it. What’s your name?”

 

“Daniel.”

 

“I’m Dean. What can I get you, Daniel?”

 

“Laphroaig. Neat.”

 

“You got it.”

 

Dean moved with clean, practiced speed. Polished. Thoughtful. While he poured, Daniel picked up stray thoughts about his mother—something about “this whole fucked-up mess” and trying to save her. Daniel accepted the drink with a nod, then turned his back to the bar. The band had started to play—not bad, actually. Solid bassist. Bassists were tragically underrated, and without a good one, a band was just noise with delusions of rhythm. The ambient chatter was nice, low and rhythmic. The lights dimmed slightly, trying to fake intimacy.

Daniel’s eyes landed on a couple at a round table near the back. Two young men—clearly lovers, though understated. One had his arm draped behind the other’s chair, fingers drifting casually from shoulder to hair to neck. The other rested a hand on his partner’s knee, thumb tracing soft circles.

They were watching the band, mostly, but their eyes found each other often, and when they did, they smiled with a quiet, unmistakable kind of joy.

Daniel smiled too. Bitter. Fleeting. They reminded him of something. Of someone.

 

Thank you for your time. For your love.

 

And then it happened—again. Like during the interview with Louis. Like that flash of Armand’s face in San Francisco. The bar didn’t change, not exactly, but it overlapped with something else.

Another place. Another time. Part of him was still here, glass in hand, music playing, the air warm, b ut the rest of him had been yanked backward. A round table, covered in every kind of dish imaginable. Armand sat across from him, elbows resting on the table, chin in his hands, blinking slow and lazy like a satisfied cat.

 

“How exactly do you expect me to eat all of this?”

 

“Just eat what you like. And tell me everything. The texture, the taste... all of it.”

 

“I’m gonna be sick.”

 

“Then I’ll take care of you, beautiful boy.”

 

“Ugh. Still weird to eat alone.”

 

“ Oh, I wouldn’t worry. Later you’ll have plenty of opportunities to feed me in return.”

 

The sound of glass shattering snapped him back. The glass hit the floor with a sharp crack. Lucky for him, the music was loud enough that no one really noticed.

 

“Daniel, you okay?”

 

“Huh? Yeah—yeah, sorry, Dean. Slipped out of my hand.”

 

“No problem. You sure you’re alright?”

 

Their eyes met briefly, and Daniel wondered if it wasn’t his absolute right to get the kid to come with him after the shift and drain him completely — a way to vent after a night that had turned into a complete shitshow. Then he slipped into Dean’s thoughts again. He didn’t even need the Mind Gift to convince the guy—Daddy Issues were practically baked into this generation. But the Gift helped confirm the rest: the mother with cancer, the useless father, the weight of it all pressing down on Dean like a boot to the chest. If anyone was worth killing, it’d be his old man.

 

“Hey... Dean?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“You mind helping me to the bathroom? Head’s spinning a little. Forgive an old man.”

 

“Sure. Just give me a sec.”

 

Dean vanished briefly, returned with another bartender in matching black tee and logo. While the new guy crouched to sweep up glass, Dean gently took Daniel’s arm. Lucky for him, the place was basic: men’s, women’s, one toilet each. No cubicles, no mess. Just a chair and a cabinet under the sink. Dean cut the line without hesitation and got him inside. Daniel sat. Dean grabbed a towel, wet it under the tap, and pressed it to his forehead. Water trickled down, cool against his skin, catching on the rims of his glasses before sliding off.

 

“Maybe take these off,” Dean murmured.

 

Daniel didn’t stop him. Dean gently removed the glasses and set them aside.

 

“Oh—your eyes.”

 

“ Dean .”

 

The boy froze. He didn’t know why, but his body knew enough to fear it.

 

“ Easy, sweetheart. Nothing’s gonna happen .”

 

Daniel reached up and touched his face—warm skin, soft mouth. He was beautiful. Young. And carrying so much.

 

“ You like me, don’t you? ”

 

“Yeah… Daniel.”

 

“ Come here. Kiss me .”

 

Dean leaned in slowly, dazed, pliant. Daniel pulled him into his lap. The kid straddled him with no resistance, breath warm with a hint of mint. Their lips met gently. Daniel’s hands traced his arms, his back. Dean let his hands settle around Daniel’s neck, body sinking closer. Daniel tilted his head, brushing kisses down to his jaw, then his throat.

 

“ It’s alright ,” he whispered. “ Let go. Let it all drain away.”

 

His bite was gentle, perfectly placed. Dean sighed through parted lips, his head tipping back, offering more.  Daniel drank—deeply, slowly. Once. Twice. A third time. He pulled back with a low breath, pricked his finger, and sealed the wound. Watched the skin knit itself closed, seamless as water settling.

That little miracle never failed to draw his wonder. 

He wiped away the stray blood, still holding Dean steady so he wouldn’t collapse. Then, effortlessly, he lifted him and set him in the chair.

 

“Thanks, Dean. You’re a good kid. That’s... three-fifty in cash. Take it. Call out for the night. Be with your mom.”

 

Dean, half-lucid, stuffed the bills into his pocket. The blood loss made him clumsy, slow. But grateful.

 

Daniel stepped out and scanned the room for someone in charge.

 

He found a guy near the bar. “ Send Dean home for the night. Pay him in full .”

 

The man nodded like this was hardly the weirdest request he’d gotten all week.

 

Daniel walked out into the street. It was pouring. He stopped on the sidewalk, tilted his face toward the sky, and closed his eyes as the rain soaked him from scalp to boots. Took a long breath. Tried to clear his head.

Fuck. He’d left his glasses in the bathroom.

Screw it.

It had been a memory. That’s what really got to him.

Not that Armand had been part of his past—at this point, that much was obvious. But the look he’d been given, that molten-gold gaze, the softness in his voice. While Dean had taken care of him, while Daniel had been drinking from him, all he could think about was Armand. That same fucking look from the dinner table. Armand watching him, adoring him, smiling like he’d never smiled before—or maybe hadn’t since.

Daniel racked his brain.

Was that the '70s? The '80s? He had no clue.

 

All he knew was that if he were still human, his head would’ve exploded by now. Instead, Dean’s blood had grounded him, but the ache in his chest remained—huge, yawning, impossible to ignore. It wasn’t even close to dawn. He didn’t want to go back to the Talamasca yet. I nstead, he crossed the street and slipped into Central Park, ducking the cameras like second nature.

He looked like hell. Soaked to the bone, hair plastered to his face, leather jacket heavy with rain. He sank down onto a bench in the middle of the empty park and laughed—short, sharp, joyless. Raglan had joked about early-onset dementia and charity funds for the elderly.

 

He wasn’t that far off.

 

Things were unraveling. Daniel knew it. And maybe that was okay. Time to pull the thread. Time to find the knot. He had shit to figure out, and now? He had all the time in the goddamn world.

 

First, he needed to go home. His home. Not the Talamasca's. Once he was back in his own space, he’d start working on the book. He’d dig into Armand’s file. Hunt down the bastard, one page at a time. And maybe—just maybe—he’d start remembering the missing pieces. The ones Armand had stolen. The ones he’d let go of willingly.

 

That was the plan.

Simple. Direct. Necessary.

 

What could possibly go wrong?

Chapter 3: Custos Animæ Tuæ

Notes:

Here we are again!
Things are happening, and I’m living through them with Daniel—his confusion slowly fading on one side, only to grow on the other.
I always hope you're enjoying the ride as much as I am! Enjoy <3

Guardian of Your Soul

 

Daniel woke drenched in sweat, hair stuck to his forehead and the nape of his neck. The ceiling fan and the faint breeze rustling the white linen curtains of the luxury suite weren’t nearly enough to cool him down. He opened his eyes slowly and reached a hand out beside him.

The soft beam of light cutting through the curtains helped him make out the shape of the man next to him. Armand lay face down, the sheets pulled up to his hips, leaving his bare back exposed.

Daniel forgot how to breathe. He rolled onto his side, drinking in the sight of his lover—the raven-black hair, the breadth of his shoulders, the sleek curve of his back. It reminded him of the statues of Apollo scattered across the city. He traced Armand’s graceful lines with his hand, sliding upward, fingers finally sinking into his glossy hair.

Armand turned his head toward him, eyes fluttering open, gaze settling softly on Daniel’s face. His lips curled into a fond smile.

“You’re looking at me like an idiot.” 

“The way you look turns me into one,” Daniel whispered. “Morning, boss.”

If he could see them from the outside, Daniel figured they’d look like two lazy cats curled up in the heat, limbs tangled, faces so close they were breathing the same thick air – despite the oppressive warmth.

Armand was watching him, his fingers lazily kneading whatever part of Daniel’s body he could reach in slow, circular motions. Daniel let out a low murmur, somewhere between a sigh and a purr.

Armand chuckled quietly. “Is my dear boy enjoying the massage?”

“Mmh-hm…” Daniel replied, limbs limp, breath deep and steady.

Armand studied him a moment longer. In the morning light, his eyes glowed with the warmth of gold, his smile wicked and sweet as honey. He pulled Daniel closer, burying his nose in his hair, then trailing down to breathe deeply against his neck.

When Daniel shifted his arms, he realized every single muscle ached. He groaned, triggering another soft laugh from Armand.

“You remember what happened last night?”

“We fucked.”

“Oh yeah, we did. Remember anything else?” the vampire prompted.

Daniel shut his eyes, trying to focus, trying to dredge up the memories from the night before.

He and Armand had wandered through the city streets, retracing some of the vampire’s old memories—starting from the Theater of Dionysus and making their way up to the Acropolis. Daniel had soaked up every detail, completely absorbed by Armand’s stories. He spoke of walking those same roads in some impossibly distant era, and Daniel watched him move through the foreign streets like he belonged there—graceful in every gesture, elegant behind his sunglasses (even though the sun was long gone) and his linen suit.

Every now and then, Armand would complain about some building that was no longer there, a landmark he used to rely on to navigate the crowded alleys of Athens. He was beautiful. And timeless.

Young and ancient, forever.

Their tour ended with a not-so-legal visit to Kerameikos. Armand insisted on showing him the hauntingly beautiful cemetery after hours. Daniel was spellbound. Armand pinned him against a remarkably well-preserved tomb and sucked him under the stars overhead.

After leaving the Acropolis, Armand—unsurprisingly—insisted Daniel try every kind of dish for dinner. Out of all the substances he’d tried in his life, Gyros might’ve been the most addictive. He loved how meat was cooked in Greece, and Armand begged him to describe it in detail. Daniel did, and the vampire smiled at the description, nodded with a trace of longing in his voice and said, “Yes, I think I remember that.”

The night went on like that. Daniel washed down meat, vegetables, and desserts with what felt like liters of wine, of laughter, of genuine happiness. And by the time they returned to the house Armand had rented for the month, Daniel felt something he hadn’t in their entire relationship up until then.

Sex with Armand had always been the best he’d ever had. He was the only man Daniel had ever fully opened up to—no drunken pretext to hide behind, no journalistic excuse to justify the intimacy.

But that night, for the very first time, Daniel felt… loved.

Armand didn’t stop touching him for a second—kissing him, licking every inch of skin. Their eyes locked, their breaths in sync. As he moved inside him, Armand kept carving tiny cuts into Daniel’s skin, kissing and licking the blood away before sealing each wound with a touch. Daniel’s heart pounded in his chest, and Armand whispered sweet words into his ear.

My darling. Beloved. Beautiful boy.

They kept going until Daniel practically passed out—from exhaustion, from wine, from too many orgasms.

“Okay, yeah, I think I know why everything hurts.”

“Mmh, what a detective,” Armand murmured, brushing his nose along Daniel’s neck.

“Ha ha, go ahead, mock m— Ah!” His sentence cut short as fangs pierced his skin.

Hold me between your thighs, Beloved.

 And Daniel did as he was so gently commanded. He wrapped Armand in a gentle vice, welcoming him between his legs. Armand drank lazily, playfully, just enough to make Daniel burn low in his belly, stoking a fire that hadn’t gone out all night.

“Do you want me again?” Daniel’s voice had gone quiet, blissful.

I always want you.

But soon the vampire pulled back from Daniel’s throat, pricked the tip of his own finger with a fang, and healed the wounds with a slow, careful touch.

“But not right now. You need to eat something—you’re more than a little worn down. And unless my memory’s just as bad as yours, you mentioned something about an article you were planning to write.”

Daniel’s eyes snapped open. He slapped Armand’s arm twice.

“If I don’t write it now, I never will. It’s all come back to me. I adore you, but move.”

Armand burst out laughing, rolling off Daniel with mock offense as the man leapt naked from bed and dove for his satchel, rifling through it for pen and paper.

“Daniel.”

“Baby, give me a second.”

“Daniel.” Armand’s voice shifted—firm, unmistakable.

Daniel looked up at him. Lying there in the sheets, Armand reminded him of Titian’s Venus of Urbino .

“Take a look around, beautiful boy,” he said with a lazy smile.

Daniel frowned and did as he was told. The room wasn’t big or cluttered enough to make it hard to spot what Armand meant—and when he did, his breath caught for the second time that morning.

Sitting on the desk near the bed was a typewriter, a stunning shade of pale blue, its design like nothing he’d ever seen. He walked over to get a better look.

“I’ve never seen one like this. Where’d you get it?”

“It’s not on the market yet—won’t be for another year or two. This is one of the first prototypes. Let’s just say I have a friend in Italy who values my opinion when it comes to his new design work.”

“What model is it?”

“It doesn’t have a name yet. Do you think that’ll be a problem?”

Daniel turned to look at Armand, who was suddenly sitting with his body tense and composed—his usual pose whenever something worried him and he didn’t want to show it. It warmed Daniel’s heart, the way Armand still tried—and failed—to hide his anxiety.

“I don’t deserve you.”

The vampire’s eyes widened just a bit, and his expression immediately softened. “No, Beloved. I don't deserve you . “

Daniel woke drenched in red sweat. His eyes snapped open into total darkness—the inside of his closed coffin, set in the center of a high-floor suite in the Dakota Building, overlooking the west corner of Central Park.

No soft light spilling into his bedroom. No sweltering summer morning in Athens, 1974. No flawlessly sculpted, breathtaking body lying beside him.

He wanted to scream.

He pushed open the lid of the coffin, which lifted without a sound or creak—he’d finally gotten it charged to Raglan’s account. He looked around, the silence in the room pressing down like velvet. His head buzzed, his brain dull and sluggish. He rose and stepped out of the coffin with the ease and grace typical of his kind.

If someone had told him he’d ever move this naturally , he would’ve laughed in their face.

He felt the marble floor beneath his feet—cold, solid. It felt good. The intensity with which he experienced even the simplest sensations still made him smile. When you’re a vampire, every sensation hits different.

Daniel didn’t like sleeping with shoes on. It was bad enough not being able to sleep properly unless he was in the coffin. Doing it with shoes still on just felt like stripping away the last bit of his humanity.

A few minutes later, he was naked under the pounding stream of the shower. Thoughts spun through his mind in a feeble attempt to analyze what he’d dreamed. What he’d remembered.

Yeah. Good luck with that.

It had been a few days since those memories of Armand started resurfacing again—clear, sharp—and Daniel had more or less gotten used to this calm sort of panic.
He woke up often with heavy breathing, his chest gripped tight, cock hard in his pants. Taking care of it was infuriating — reality felt a thousand miles away from those daily flashbacks.

At least tonight, Daniel was going home. The repairs were finished— Talamasca had surely taken the opportunity to copy any file remotely interesting found in his place—but he didn’t care. He was ready to return to something that felt like his. Luxury aside, having eyes constantly on him made his skin crawl.

Once out of the shower, he put on the clothes he’d left out next to his packed bag the night before. He added a wide, soft white turtleneck to his usual black uniform. Coat and sunglasses went on just as someone knocked at the door.

“Come in, Raglan.”

“Good evening, Mr. Molloy,” the man said from behind another soulless, warmthless suit. “Did you hear my thoughts while I was approaching?”

“I heard your thoughts, your heavy breathing—which tells me you should probably smoke less—and your smell, which confirms it.”

Raglan wrinkled his nose, as if he too could smell the cigarettes and wasn’t sure whether to be embarrassed or annoyed.

“Ready to head home?”

“More than I’ve ever been.”

“Very good. Before you leave, Mr. Molloy, just a reminder of what we discussed: you’ll write your book, our editor will assist you with the project. Afterward, as per your request, we’ll aid in your personal search for your maker… in exchange for some useful information you may possess.”

“ If I possess it.”

“If you possess it. Of course.”

“I confirm everything we agreed on.”

“Excellent. Then here are your house keys. Your new coffin will be delivered shortly after your arrival—discreetly, of course. I’ll reserve the right to contact you by phone if necessary.”

He extended his hand. Daniel shook it.

“Goodbye, Mr. Molloy.”

“It’s been a thrill, Raglan. See you around.”

Daniel grabbed his keys and left Talamasca headquarters with all the vampiric speed he could muster, leaving Raglan James standing there with his arm outstretched and a truly stupid look on his face.

Daniel stepped through his front door and looked around. Nothing seemed to have changed. The only clues strangers had been inside were the smells—fresh paint and unfamiliar bodies—and a low electrical hum from certain rooms, which Daniel guessed came from hidden cameras. His enhanced senses were fucking amazing. He’d deal with all that later.

He took off his coat and tossed it on the nearest chair, then dropped himself onto the center of the couch, head leaning back against the cushions. He stared up at the sky painted on his ceiling and let out a deep breath, feeling more grounded.

That ceiling had always made him feel that way.
No matter the darkness in his life—two divorces, fights with his daughters, failed editorial gigs—he’d always had that blue sky overhead. Offering a sliver of comfort. He smiled at the thought. It was simple. No deeper meaning. One of the last things in his life that didn’t come with strings attached.

He got up and went to the storage closet, re-emerging with three old boxes. Two of them held keepsakes and documents—a huge chunk of his past. Family photos. Pictures of Daniel as a kid, of his wives, of his daughters. Dozens of papers: letters, birthday cards, all kinds of sentimental crap.

And yet…

He didn’t know why he was so sure of where to find it. Or why he kept it in that exact spot, among his most treasured memories. But Daniel unfolded a few sheets tucked in the bottom of one of the boxes and read:

“The Greek Voiceless Referendum: The Monarchy Falls, but the Dictatorship Remains — The Illusion of the '73 Vote and the True Democratic Awakening.”

There it was. The article Armand had mentioned in his dream, in his memory. Right under his nose.  He read it again and again, trying to remember something more, but nothing came. All he felt was that the article belonged in his hands.

Like when you open the fridge and see the milk carton—you don’t remember buying it, but of course it’s there. That kind of certainty.

You son of a bitch. You’re gonna drive me insane.

Daniel folded the papers and put them back exactly where he’d found them. He closed the first two boxes and set them aside, focusing all his attention on the third.
He already knew what was inside. He wasn’t looking for confirmation this time.
He lifted the lid, and there it was— the first version of what, two years after he’d gotten his hands on it, would become the Olivetti Studio 46. It had aged well.
He’d kept it safe, almost obsessively, without ever knowing why it mattered so much.

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and decided it was time.
A moment that couldn’t be put off any longer.

“Before you say anything—and especially before you book the first pointless flight to Dubai—please, just hear me out.”

“Daniel.”

“Hey, Louis.”

“Daniel... fuck.”

“Easy! I’m alive and kicking—well, sort of,” Daniel chuckled.

“You’re still in Dubai?”

“New York.”

“He turned you.”

“Oh, you bet he did.”

“Fuck,” the vampire repeated.

Even though he technically couldn’t, Daniel kinda felt the gears turning in Louis’ brain, working overtime to piece together what the hell had happened between Daniel and Armand since the moment he had walked out of the Dubai attic.

“I didn’t think he had the guts, honestly. Didn’t think he’d actually go through with it. I told him I’d kill him.”

“Man, come on! Let me just say—these past seventy-seven years? You haven’t exactly been a master at spotting your ex-husband’s bullshit. You’d been gone less than ten minutes and he was already standing, back straight, voice icy, stick wedged firmly up his ass.”

God knows how many other lies he fed you over the last seventy-seven years .

“What are you implying?”

“What?”

“No offense, Danny, but you still don’t know how to think in private.”

“Fuck.”

"Yeah, we’ve been repeating that one for a while. What exactly were you implying about my last seventy-seven years of toxic entanglement?"

Daniel closed his eyes and let out a deep sigh.
The last thing he wanted was to mess things up with what was—realistically—the only true friend he had left in his new un-life. But he had to start somewhere. 

Maybe, though, dropping another bomb wasn’t the smartest move. 

"Let’s take it slow, yeah? How was coming back to the US?"

"As you’ll soon come to understand, Danny, I have all the time in the world and an admirable amount of patience. So I’ll spare you the interrogation about that worthless bastard and play along.
It went very well, thank you for asking."

"You found him?"

"I did." Louis paused, and Daniel smiled. There was something about the way he spoke—it reminded him of any old phone call.

"We cleared a lot up. Some things are still on the table, but we’ll get to them. Right now, if you must know, I’m in San Francisco."

"Ah. Déjà vu."

Louis let out a short laugh. "Yeah, well, I’m not here to take a stroll down memory lane. Of all places, San Fran’s not exactly one that brings back happy times. I’m handling some business."

This time, it was Daniel who went quiet for a moment, "Were there any happy times after Paris, Louis?"

"Have we agreed to another interview I don’t know about, Mr. Molloy?"

Daniel raised his hands in mock surrender and laughed, even though Louis couldn’t see him, "My apologies. Can’t help myself."

"I’m not mad, Danny. At this point, there’s no point in leaving out parts of my story. Not for you."

Just like in person, Louis had a habit of drifting off into his thoughts. Daniel had to resist the urge to ask if he was still there.
The older vampire had been right: Daniel didn’t yet understand the slow rhythm of vampiric thought. He was still shackled to that human itch to move fast, to rush through time like a frantic little ant. Never enough time.

"There was a stretch—ten years, I think—when things were really good. After my clumsy attempt to walk into the sun, it took a few weeks for the burns to fully heal. Inside and out."
Daniel walked to the fridge, surprised to find it stocked.
He pulled out a bag of O-negative—his favorite, for some unknown reason.
He’d need to wrap things up with Louis soon. He was starving.

"Armand and I used that time to talk. We discussed the relationship and how we’d become codependent. What we could do to fix it and to get back to something like the way things were, in the early days."

"Was it him who brought up the word codependent ?" Daniel asked, draining the bag in one go and tossing it into the trash— swish .

"Mmh, can’t say for sure. Maybe. Why?"

"No reason in particular. Did he also come up with some kind of plan?"

"He did, actually. He said eternity was a long time, and it would eat us alive. Said he loved me too much to let that happen. He suggested we start taking time apart, regularly. Unexpectedly—it worked. He started smiling more."

Daniel felt the little bit of blood left in his body go cold. He didn’t know why, but he felt filthy. Drenched in guilt. Reflux, vomiting, or any other human reaction was off the table now— but what Daniel felt in that moment was probably the closest thing left to nausea.

Afraid to let his thoughts take form, he pushed Louis with another question, "What do you mean by time apart ?"

"Mostly solo travel. On his end, anyway. Since I get the feeling you couldn’t care less about my tourist destinations—or about me in general—he got into art. Buying and selling it. In Europe, mostly. He spent a lot of time overseas. Can I ask how this relates to you ?”

"What would you say if I told you you can't?"

"I’d say you can’t hide forever. Not really your style. If there’s one thing I know about you, Daniel, it’s that keeping your mouth shut—or your thoughts in—drives you fucking insane."

"You have no idea."

Louis’s chuckle echoed in his skull, "Daniel, do you need my help?"

"Actually, yeah. Know anyone who can come change the door locks at my place after sunset?"

"You want to change the locks?", Daniel could almost see Louis’s eyebrow arching.

"Let’s just say I’ve kept some… complicated company. I’d like as much privacy as possible."

"Mmh. I figured they’d keep in touch. You’re too valuable to them now. Daniel? Don’t talk too much. It won’t do anyone any good. Especially you."

"Noted... Hey, Louis—you said it lasted ten years. What changed?"

"One night, he came back in a terrible state.
The moment he walked through the door, when I looked into his eyes… he wasn’t himself. Or maybe—looking back—I saw him for the first time. His eyes were terrifying."

"And…?"

"Nothing. I didn’t say a word. He locked himself in his study for three nights. When I finally checked on him, he opened the door with the biggest smile. He held me, and he apologized. Said some demons perch on your shoulders and some nights the weight is too much. I didn’t press him."

Louis sighed deeply, "After that, Armand never left Dubai again. I kept traveling. But he stayed. Always waiting for me."

"Thanks, Louis. I’ll... call you later, okay?"

Another beat of silence. "Sure. I’ll send someone to change the locks. Goodbye, Daniel."

Daniel felt the link cut out. For a while, he just stood there, staring into space, not thinking of anything. 

Well—almost nothing.

One thought branded itself into his mind, over and over.

Ten years.

Ten years of peace. Of smiles. Of solo trips and strategic silences.

He shook himself out of his trance and glanced around for his laptop— only to realize that in his rush to tell Raglan to go to hell, he’d left the Talamasca with nothing but his apartment keys.

He’d have to wait for the coffin and the rest of his things to be delivered before he could do anything else.

He sighed in frustration, threw his leather jacket back on, and headed out, leaving the apartment—and his fears—behind. It was time to get some answers. 

But first—dinner.

 

Chapter 4: Lux in Tenebris lucet

Notes:

Ok, everybody, I’m so nervous this time.
I rewrote this chapter about four times, and I’m afraid I might not have done a good job.

I wrote a scene in tribute to Anne Rice, echoing the suspense of Santiago’s first stalking of Louis in Interview with the Vampire (the book), if I remember correctly.
The flashback section is taken from the Devil’s Minion chapter in The Queen of the Damned, but I’m not sure the dialogue is completely faithful to the original, since I translated it from Italian.

Please feel free to leave comments and suggestions!

I'm also updating the tags!

I really did my best and I hope you’ll enjoy it!

Light shines in Darkness

 

“What a mess!”

“Calm down, we’ll fix it! I’ll make a call!”

“No, I’m not calm, Steve! That old bastard left us exposed for a full twenty minutes!”

“Maybe we’ve got last week’s comedian…”

“I’m not paid enough for this shit!”

Daniel leaned against the wall in the hallway just outside the set where his interview with Leonard Michael had just taken place, savoring every moment of the tragic hysteria the interview had caused. After telling the mediocre journalist—an even more mediocre host—to go fuck himself, he had simply stood up and left the room. Book sales were doing well, and he was far too pleased with his current situation to worry about the consequences of his actions. His agent would rip him apart, and he would probably have to pay Leonard for the scene.

Who cares.

Heading outside the building, he intercepted Leonard’s assistant, a woman in her thirties. She was cute and nervous. The words left his mouth before he even knew exactly what he wanted to say.

“Hey! Katya, right?”

Katya turned sharply, her eyes widening slightly. “Mr. Molloy… yes, Katya is correct. I’m sorry about what happened on the set, Mr. Molloy, but I must point out that you signed—”

“You’re absolutely right, Katya, I’m inexcusable. That’s exactly why I came to find you,” Daniel interrupted, flashing what a college friend had once called a real son-of-a-bitch smile . “I’ll pay whatever amount you deem appropriate after speaking with my agent, but I also wanted to ask if you’d be so kind to give me an address where I could send a gift to apologize to Leonard. I’d go ask him myself, but I don’t think he’s too cooperative right now.”

Katya looked at him skeptically, unsure if she should trust the same man who’d caused that chaos in the adjacent room—the nervous voice of Leonard still filtering through the walls. Daniel decided to make practical use of the situation. He gently took her hand, looking at her with the same paternal expression he would reserve for one of his daughters.

“You can trust me, Katya. I’m sure Leonard will be thrilled .”

Using the Mind Gift amused him, satisfying a childish need for control he was only partly ashamed of. After all, getting information was something Daniel enjoyed almost as much as he had enjoyed heroin.

Katya gave him a vacant smile and proceeded to give the address Daniel needed.

It was Leonard’s second apartment, which he only used twice a week and justified to his family as a place to rest near the TV studios. His wife was either too naive or too stupid to suspect that on Tuesdays and Thursdays Leonard’s lover also stayed there, or that he used the place to run private auditions. Most of the girls who passed through never got called back.

Daniel said goodbye to the still-confused woman and headed for the exit. Leonard’s voice still filtered through the thin studio walls and the vampire reflected on what an unpleasant man he was. He checked the date on his phone screen and smiled: Monday, October 14. With a bit of luck, tomorrow he’d have two guests for dinner.

Or, more accurately, as dinner .

He smiled at the quote as he left the building, considering  grabbing a quick bite and heading home to watch Manhunter . Even without Anthony Hopkins, he found the movie far superior to Red Dragon .

The air was crisp that evening. But really, wasn’t it always like that, New York? Pulsing. Bright. Alive. And it felt even more so when Daniel was hungry. Before reaching the studios, as was his habit, he had downed a bag of blood—his energy drink before the real meal. It had given him just enough fuel to get to that moment without too much stress, and now that he had dealt with every annoyance, he owned the night.

In those months, Daniel had been learning to understand himself, like a teenager stepping into the world for the first time. His relationship with Louis had rooted. Louis was still in Dubai. He had told Daniel that night—while Daniel was intercepting his next meal—that he hadn’t read the book and had no news of Armand.

“Fucking asshole.”

He and Louis often talked about their shared new nature. It was very different now that Daniel could understand what it meant, all the things that had become part of his daily life. For example, he had figured out what kind of people he liked to hunt, and when the prey around him didn’t meet his culinary standards, he had become a specialist in the Petit Coup. It was supposed to be extremely difficult for a newborn to manage; Louis jokingly called him the Enfant Prodige.

“No surprise, if you think about it.”

“What?”

“Your Maker is old and powerful, and you are his first. Beyond all that’s behind it—which I suspect but am not sure I want to know—you clearly had an advantage, Danny.”

Daniel had smiled at Louis’ observation without replying, but his friend was right. He could feel it. When he used it, he sensed the power flowing through him almost tangibly. He was good at using the Mind Gift with humans and had become very skilled at shielding himself from those who were not human. He hadn’t told Louis, but he had even managed to move small objects without touching them.

This required considerable concentration, but he had casually asked if his friend could do anything like that.

“No, Danny, I can’t use telekinesis, I can’t fly, and I can’t resist the sun. Armand taught me the Fire Gift, and I can use it within certain limits, nothing more.”

Daniel stayed silent.

As for culinary preferences, what counted as “favorite dishes” passed before his eyes just as he was advising Louis to leave the Al-Shafar Towers if he wanted to avoid the vampire underworld—mostly fanatic extremists—paying him a not-so-friendly visit.

The boy’s name was Trevor. He was twenty-six, had a drug record, and carried a boiling hatred of women, fueled only by a lifetime of being a miserable loser.” A friend had found a way to crash him into a party that night, and the cocky piece of shit was heading there with his pockets stuffed with Rohypnol.

Lucky night for Daniel, who was almost ravenous. Far less lucky for Trevor, who barely had time to turn toward the vampire before Daniel dragged him into a dark, desolate underpass and pinned him to the wall, freeing the world of his presence in a few deep sips.

Daniel liked feeding on society’s leftovers, on the violent, on small-time criminals. It made him feel righteous and more human – where his humanity had partly given way to a dull sense of detachment. In moments when hunger hit him mercilessly, he found a release for his anger and fear, constant companions of his solitary nights.

When he finished, he used his own blood to close the bite mark on the boy’s neck and dragged the body among large garbage bags.

Trevor would be found only several hours later. No one would miss him.

The blood had done its job, recharging Daniel with renewed energy, and the sun wouldn’t rise for a few more hours. Daniel was on 57th Street. To get home, he could take the subway or—more likely, more appealing—cut through Central Park. During his brief time at the Dakota, he had learned to appreciate the view, and in moments of fragility, visiting the park had helped clear his mind.

Once he made sure no one could notice, Daniel sprinted into the park—his abilities easily allowing him to evade any surveillance—and headed toward the Reservoir. Walking along the lake’s edge helped calm his troubled mind; the moon reflected on the water’s surface, and the vast silent spaces satisfied a need for peace entirely opposite to the chaos reigning in his head.

His new un-life was going wonderfully; the ten million dollars and the book’s proceeds allowed him to live comfortably like never before, even smoothing over some of the tension with his daughters—their cold interest in his money a fair consequence for being a shitty father. Daniel wasn’t naive; he knew that in a few years he would have to fake his death and start a completely new life. Until then, he decided to settle all outstanding issues with them.

And not just with them…

Armand had literally vanished from any radar. Daniel had been searching for months, and to be blunt, the older vampire had made himself untraceable. Daniel was convinced that if Armand wasn’t actively blocking their Bond, finding him would have been a piece of cake by now. He remembered Louis’ stories about what it meant to be linked to one’s Maker—the feeling of his breath on your neck, that invisible thread pulling you inexorably toward the same blood running through both your veins.

Daniel felt the need for him, but like relying on a malfunctioning compass pointing in all directions at once. It was terrible. Painful in a way that reminded him of his heroin withdrawal, only there was no substance to soothe it.

And he had tried, oh, he had tried.

In the months after his turning, left behind without memories, without answers, and gnawed by an endless craving, he fed on drunks, junkies—or both. The cruel irony? He couldn’t get addicted anymore, but no drug could ever fill the hole Armand had torn in his chest.

It was this weakness that terrified him—and drove him to fury.

It was a sort of silent despair, accompanying him in sleep and wakefulness. As if he needed to stretch, but wearing a suit too tight and resistant to allow it. He had spent entire weeks high, trying to feel better, but it backfired, and his agent scared him more than any other being on the planet. So he decided to distract himself with the only remedy that had ever worked for him: hyper-productivity.

He devoted part of his time to writing, and another to the relentless study of the dossier on Armand the Talamasca had provided him—as guaranteed by Raglan.

He had spent hours studying Armand’s life, tracking his movements over the centuries and those documented in recent years—but it had yielded nothing. The Talamasca’s information ended with what Real Rashid had provided. That said a lot about how little Armand had actually tried to remain in the shadows during what Daniel had discovered were twelve years of their relationship, and how damn good he was at being untraceable when he wanted to be.

As for his memories, Daniel hadn’t been able to recover them, and perhaps never would. Most of the photos and records felt like windows into the life of a stranger with his face. The boy he saw in photos walking hand in hand with Armand had nothing to do with him, even though he knew that had really been his life. A life forcibly taken, erased as if it hadn’t mattered.

But when he thought about it—and he thought about it constantly —what were twelve years in a life spanning centuries? A few seconds. Totally forgettable moments. Could he really get mad because in those photos, he and Armand were smiling at each other, lost in each other’s eyes as if nothing else mattered?

Of course he can. 

A sudden noise ripped him from his thoughts. For several nights, he’d been certain someone—or something—was watching him. More than once on the street, he felt eyes on him and each time hurried back to his apartment. The moment he crossed the threshold, the feeling vanished, and he silently thanked Raglan and his damn rune expert.

The sensation was back, senses on edge. When he walked, another pair of footsteps echoed his; when he stopped, so did they. Standing frozen, the world held its breath. The air was still, the tiny park creatures silent in their burrows, the lake a flat, glassy mirror.

Two thoughts crossed his mind, both making him snort with laughter. The first concerned his Maker: the presence stalking him was not Armand. He could feel it with every fiber of his being. The second thought reminded him of nature documentaries about big predators, when the narrator is silent and no music covers the moment before a large cat strikes.

Daniel snapped forward.

Predictably, his speed was matched easily by his stalker, who followed without missing a beat. Daniel weaved through the trees, zigzagging as much as possible, trying to come up with a smart idea. He glanced over his shoulder but saw no one.

The son of a bitch was good.

Daniel could try to reach his apartment, where he’d be safe—but it meant ten minutes of nonstop running—or face his pursuer, risking his life. Neither option seemed safe, and unfortunately, the choice was soon taken from him. Daniel emerged into the North Meadow without even realizing he’d gone that way, distracted as he was, and felt himself stumble into empty air. The speed he had been running made his tumble more like a cannonball shot straight ahead. He landed face-up and, looking down, saw the “nothing” he had tripped over.

A man had cut him off, taking advantage of the moment Daniel glanced back, and tripped him brutally. What a dumb way to get caught.

Daniel was back on his feet just in time to see another man step out from the same direction. Clearly his pursuer. The two looked strikingly alike—both young, leather and studs, black hair, dark eyes glowing with the vampiric shine. Handsome, he had to admit. Damn good-looking, even. 

“So! You two don’t exactly scream book-signing fans. What can I do for you, boys?” Daniel said, forcing a calm tone.

“Daniel Molloy.”

“Your book violates the Great Laws.”

“Your very existence violates the Great Laws.”

“Everything around you is an abomination.”

The two vampires, who on closer inspection turned out to be twins, began circling him. They reminded him of the two moray eels from Disney’s The Little Mermaid , and deep in his mind, Daniel wondered why exactly he was thinking about bullshit like that while facing probable death.

Thinking of that film also made him think of his daughters, and a painful tightness gripped his chest. He had to get out of this somehow.

“Oh alright, I admit our differences of opinion could be widely debated—”

“There is nothing to debate, Daniel Molloy. The Great Laws cannot be argued or broken. The penalty, if violated, is True Death.”

“That’s what’s going to happen to you tonight.”

“That’s what’s going to happen to the heretic Louis de Pointe du Lac, soon.”

“That’s what’s going to happen to Armand, the betrayer of the precepts.”

Daniel couldn’t help raising an eyebrow. “Do you two always talk like that? Finishing each other’s lines and everything?”

Unlike in the movies, the antagonists didn’t pause for words. They lunged together, moving as one, trying to trap Daniel in a pincer. He dodged sideways, but it barely helped. A dull pain flared in his side as he rolled—and then he saw the source. One of them had driven a knife into his right flank, the blade still lodged deep.

The two sons of a bitch were armed and strong. Together, they were certainly stronger than him and clearly used to cooperative hunting.

Daniel felt adrenaline surge and his fight-or-flight instinct favored the first option. He gritted his teeth and pulled the knife from his flesh.

Fuck, it hurt.

Daniel had no experience, no tactical instinct; his only weapons were brute strength, the desire to survive, and the urge to see these two assholes reduced to ashes. He lunged at the one who’d ended up unarmed, but the other was on him in an instant. Daniel landed a few hits, but what followed was a blur of fists and pain he couldn’t track. When it finally ended, he was on the ground, every nerve screaming, breath ragged, body wrecked, all strength gone.

He had lost a lot of blood and perhaps had a broken leg.

Daniel found himself lifted on both sides by the two vampires. His thoughts went to his indifferent Maker, who would never answer the questions that tormented him night after night, who would never provide a remedy for that excruciating void—his sole companion and the silent witness to every tear.

In an instant, the attackers sank their fangs into both sides of Daniel’s neck, siphoning the last reserves of his strength. He closed his eyes, tilting his head back slowly, and let out a faint, ragged breath, feeling the life ebbing from him under their merciless grip. 

And then, as his executioners drained him, he remembered. 

Armand was seated in a huge black velvet armchair, his shirt and pants as white as snow.

“Come, Daniel, sit. I didn’t expect you back so soon.”

“Son of a bitch,” a young Daniel said. “You wanted me here and you called me. I couldn’t eat or sleep, nothing, I wandered thinking of you. It was you.”

Armand had laughed in a way that made him seem human, young, happy. He had a wonderful laugh. It warmed Daniel’s heart.

“Calm down, Daniel. Your heart beats too fast; it scares me. Tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you. Why do you keep running?”

“You lie, bastard! Say you wanted me. You’ll torment me forever, won’t you? And then you’ll watch me die.”

“I’d rather die than see you die, Daniel.”

“Then give it to me, damn it, the immortality so close… so close, like your arms.”

“No, Daniel, because I’d rather die than do that to you.”

Of all the times to remember something, it had to be now—when Death was staring him in the face. A slight smile flickered across his lips.

You said you’d rather die. Liar.

Chaos hit. Daniel crashed to his knees, landing face-first in the grass. The predators tore themselves from his flesh with brutal force. Deathly still, he barely managed to lower his eyelids halfway. He couldn’t see them from his angle—but he could hear them. 

Hear them screaming. 

Daniel closed his eyes again. He felt so tired, yet so light. His whole body tingled, and his consciousness flickered. He barely noticed the flash of light from the two vampires, burning like moths wrapped in a torch flame.

Finally, their screams ceased.

Daniel had no idea how much time had passed—hours, minutes, seconds—it all blurred together. All he could think was that the moment had come for him. Would he scream? Or would he surrender quietly, letting sleep take him forever? 

Finally, the end had arrived.

Daniel heard slow, measured footsteps drawing closer until they halted right by his face. He couldn’t force his eyes open, and each breath felt like fire, yet he felt arms slip under his wounded frame, lifting him effortlessly as if his body were weightless.

“Reckless boy, you’re going to get yourself killed.” His voice was calm. Like a caress. Like velvet. “I’m here now. Sleep, Daniel. Sleep.”

Chapter 5: Ardens Anima

Notes:

And here I am again! I sincerely apologize for being later than usual, but this chapter demanded my full attention.
Sorry (not sorry) for the huge amount of sex in it. It had to be done.
The inspiration for the loft comes directly from Brian Kinney’s loft in Queer as Folk. An illustrative image can be found following this link:
https://i.pinimg.com/736x/fe/bf/89/febf89927720c621584061cb23f0b40e.jpg
As always, I hope you’ll be kind to me, and I really hope you like it!

All your comments are, as always, highly appreciated!

Enjoy <3

Burning Soul

 

If he watched himself from the outside, Daniel would have been horrifically captivated by his own appearance.

During the interview, Louis told him about those Armand walled up alive, how they went mad and starved to death. Louis himself had been in that uncomfortable, terrifying position, even if only briefly.

What Daniel hadn’t been told, though, was the less romantic, less cinematic part.

The twins would have done a perfect job in Central Park, plunging their blades into all of Daniel’s most vulnerable spots and then latching onto his flesh like leeches—if only they hadn’t been interrupted.

Daniel wasn’t dead. No. But he didn’t feel alive either.
His skin was pale and withered, his arms bent close to his torso, fingers twisted at strange angles. His lips were pulled taut, mouth open in a snarling expression, canines bared and sharp as daggers.
He was rigid, cold, and possessed by a gnawing, piercing hunger.
 

He wasn’t even sure if he was making sounds—groans or screams. Every fiber of his body burned and ached for the one thing that could save him.

Blood .

Around him, silence reigned, broken only by the ticking of a large clock. Each tick was a whip against his sensitive ears. Was he dead? Was this hell, after all?

Hungry. I am so hungry .

Suddenly, as if a merciful god had heard his cries, Daniel felt a surge of pure energy flood his body, sparked by a single drop of blood landing on his tongue. Another. And another.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

What could only be divine nectar trickled into his mouth, sliding down his parched throat. It was a sweet torture, like slow kisses along his neck or languid caresses across his body, and just when Daniel thought the storm of sensations couldn’t get any better, his teeth sank into the skin of that benevolent god.

It was pure ecstasy.

Daniel sucked and swallowed the offered blood in greedy mouthfuls, and soon his limbs regained the strength to wrap around the body of his prey. Instinctively, his mind registered that his legs were locked around sturdy thighs, his arms clutching broad, unmistakably masculine shoulders.

The man smelled of nostalgia and pressed against Daniel in slow, sensual movements.

In the frenzy, Daniel tore at what seemed to be a broad silk shirt, revealing skin so soft it made his head spin. That blood was ambrosia, devastatingly sweet. Like honey… honey and pineapple.

The vampire tried to open his eyes but, to his deep frustration, couldn’t. They were glued shut by an invisible force working against his will.

“It’s you,” Daniel rasped, snapping his mouth away from that perfect neck. He tightened his hold with both arms and legs, afraid of losing again the object of his desire, of his desperate quest. “Armand.”

Daniel felt a deep sigh against his ear. “You need to rest, Daniel,” Armand said, burying his nose in Daniel’s hair and lowering his lips to brush against his neck. “It’s not time to talk yet.”

“Why won’t you let me look at you? Please, let me open my eyes,” Daniel said, voice trembling.

His heart felt like it would burst from his chest, his head spinning. He was still weak. It felt like being in a crazy hangover, multiplied a thousand times.

Another deep sigh. Then Armand said, “There’s nothing you’d see that could give you relief or answers, fledgling.”

“Son of a bitch, let me decide that!”

“Sleep, Daniel. Rest.”

The next night mirrored the first. Armand fed him, wrapped in a relaxed, intimate embrace. Daniel, far less ravenous now, simply clung to his Maker, trying to regain balance and clear the fog clouding his thoughts. When he was sated and restored, Armand forced him to rest, just like the night before.

Daniel felt torn in two between the carnal pleasure of holding the vampire in his arms and the rage mixed with anguish that seized his soul. He wanted to ask Armand so many things. He wanted to throw all the pain and confusion of these months in his face. He wanted to punch him. He wanted to beg him to make him remember.

On the third night, Daniel opened his eyes.

He was lying naked on a king-size bed, dark frame, white sheets, in the center of what seemed to be a raised room above the rest of the apartment. The floor was glossy gray marble, and while the wall behind him looked like the same material and color, the walls in front were dark wood, interrupted by tall glass panels. Beside the bed, a few candles, minimal objects, and that suspended atmosphere mixing sensuality with danger.

Daniel slid to the edge of the bed and stood. To his right, wooden panels divided the room from what turned out to be a walk-in closet. He headed to the large mirror in the corner and examined his body. All his wounds had healed perfectly, leaving no trace of scars. What stunned Daniel most was that his skin seemed firmer than usual, his eyes—a deep violet—shone with vitality, and overall, he felt stronger .

The vampire tore his gaze from the reflection and turned to the wardrobe proper. All the clothes were hung out in plain view, organized by color and type. Daniel ran his hand over the fine fabrics, savoring their softness. Nothing seemed quite right for him so he opted for dark gray pants and a blouse– who knew what had happened to his own clothes . They were stretchy and comfortable, suited for exploring the rest of the loft. He didn’t bother looking for underwear or shoes. He had no intention of leaving yet.

Daniel descended the three black steps leading out of the bedroom. The space opened up like a huge shell of wood and brick. Curved beams of the high ceiling descended like Gothic arches, as if supporting not just the roof but the silence below. To the left, a wide arched window, veiled with dark, sheer curtains, let in uncertain light, casting reflections on the polished wood floor. At his feet, a white living area, almost an island in the dimness, and beyond that, a discreet kitchen. Everything felt temporary, ready to be left as-is at the end of a sleepless night.

Looking in the mirror, Daniel noticed he was perfectly clean, so he postponed a bathroom visit and headed straight to the kitchen. He opened the fridge and found it stocked with about twenty bags of blood arranged in perfect order– as he expected. He grabbed one and emptied it quickly, then a second, and a third.

Daniel wondered if binge-eating existed among vampires too. Since waking, a deep anxiety had gradually taken hold of him, and he tried, with little success, to ignore it as much as possible.

Armand wasn’t there. Predictably, he removed himself before Daniel had the chance to ask any questions. Even just to see him one more time.

What a humiliation—being an old bastard and suffering for a son of a bitch like a teenager. Daniel laughed sadly at himself.

A light breeze drew his attention to another large window. He drew back the sheer curtains and stepped out onto the terrace. It was a spacious area: in the right corner, low, wide couches; in the center, chairs and a glass table with a lava stone ashtray; on the left side, a few lounge chairs. The furniture matched the interior of the house—industrial, minimal, and elegant.

To his surprise, as he approached the railing, Daniel found himself looking down at the Reservoir. It didn’t take him long to figure out exactly where he was in relation to Central Park. Armand’s loft sat on Fifth Avenue.

Of course .

He remembered the unbearable smugness with which Armand corrected him, telling him that he and Louis were just multimillionaires, not billionaires.

Damn bastard. Snob. Coward.

“I can’t hear your thoughts, Daniel. But your emotions scream your contempt. I can only assume all this venom is aimed at me.”

Daniel spun around in an almost comical whirl. He hadn’t heard him arrive, move, or even breathe. Yet his Maker stood there, in front of him, lazily leaning one shoulder against the terrace doorway, hands in his pockets, one ankle crossed over the other. 

The picture of nonchalance.

He held a jacket draped loosely over one arm, dressed almost entirely in black. The only exception was a purple shirt Daniel had already seen him wear in Dubai. It suited him perfectly, and this time he wore it outrageously unbuttoned to the chest. A delicate gold chain rested around his neck, the two strands meeting at a small ring, from which a single thread descended between his pectorals and disappeared inside the shirt. Daniel guessed the jewelry connected lower to a similar strap around Armand’s hips. His pants were loose and soft, his shoes shiny and polished.

Daniel’s gaze finally rose to Armand’s face. He had cut his hair, the faded sides complementing his curls in neat, structured waves. A pair of dark gold and onyx earrings adorned his lobes. Subtle, refined, perfectly matching the color of his skin.

He was elegant. Confident. Brazenly sexy. 

Daniel hated him.

“I thought our hair grew back during the day. You must have plenty of time and money to waste.”

 “I have both in abundance. I was hungry, and providence led me to the perfect meal in a closing barber shop. I took advantage.”

 “You fed during the day.”

 “I’ve done so often over the past three days. At night, I’ve been quite busy having a stupid, reckless fledgling drain me.”

The reference to the previous nights stirred in Daniel the memory of Armand’s body pressed against his, the taste of his blood, his sighs, and Daniel himself draining him, marking his flesh with teeth and claws. He felt his pants tighten and shoved his hands into his pockets.

“I couldn’t have expected those two sons of a bitch to ambush me. I was taking a walk. Do you think walking is stupid or reckless?”

“Don’t lie to me, Daniel Molloy. You’re not particularly good at it. Those two sons of a bitch followed you for weeks, and you knew it. You simply thought it wise to ignore it. You didn’t tell your friends at the Talamasca—who I doubt were unaware—and you didn’t tell Louis. Stupid and reckless, indeed.”

Armand stepped away from the window and passed Daniel without giving him another glance. He sat at the table facing the park, draped his jacket over the chair back, and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Daniel didn’t recognize the brand—seemed foreign—and watched Armand bring one to his lips. He lit it instantly, taking a deep drag. Rings matching his earrings adorned his fingers, making his hands look lithe and almost feminine. Daniel couldn’t help but watch him through the entire process until Armand exhaled smoke upward, dropping his head onto his shoulders, and turning toward him without meeting his gaze.

“In any case, you look fit now. Keep the clothes. Your personal belongings are in the first drawer to the right in the wardrobe, shoes at the entrance. You’re free to leave whenever you see fit. I’ll be leaving soon, anyway.”

After a few seconds of icy silence, Daniel burst out laughing.

“Am I amusing you, Daniel?” Armand asked, one eyebrow raised in annoyance.

“Oh, immensely amusing,” Daniel replied, sarcasm rolling off him in waves. “Sure, you’ve got guts, damn it.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“No, of course not.” Daniel walked over and sat sideways on a lounge chair, elbows resting on his knees. “Nothing touches you, nothing shakes you. Tell me, Maker, what brings you to the city? Have you missed me?”

“I’m just passing through. I had business to attend to.” 

“A little more than passing through, considering you knew the Addams twins were on my tail for weeks. Let’s try again. Armand, what brings you to the city?”

Armand’s expression was hard, his gaze firmly fixed ahead. “You presume too much and wrongly. Do you think my presence here is because of you? It isn't, Daniel Molloy. You’ve just had the brazen luck that I happened to be in the right place at the right time for you. I must leave now.”

Armand stood, stubbed out his cigarette in the stone ashtray, and reached for the jacket draped over the chair. 

“Liar.” Daniel trembled. Frustration accumulated over those months threatened to consume him from the inside, and he lunged at his Creator in an instant, catching his wrist.

“Why leave me that letter when you turned me? Why leave me your ugly copy as my first source of nourishment?”

Armand froze, staring at the spot where Daniel held him. 

“Why don’t I remember our life together, Armand? Ten years, maybe twelve! Years when you left Louis to come to me ! Why did you take them from me?”

Daniel grabbed Armand’s shoulders, shaking him, hoping to wrench the answers he craved with everything he had.

“Daniel…”

“Why didn’t you want me to watch you while I fed on you? Why won’t you look at me now?”

“Your eyes…”

“Yes, my eyes are the mirror of yours. When I’m angry, when I’m passionate, when I’m afraid. When I get aroused just looking at you, even though I hate you so much.”

Daniel’s heart raced. If he were alive, he might have feared a damn heart attack. He clutched Armand’s shirt as if his life depended on it. And maybe it did. He didn’t allow himself even a moment to think about what would happen when he finally found his Maker.

Now that he held him, every single terror buried deep in his soul, big or small, erupted like lava from an explosive volcano.

“I fall asleep thinking of your face, dreaming of your voice, the sound of your laugh, the feel of your skin under my fingers—and I wake as if I’ve always known them. And that’s the thing, isn’t it? I do know them. I know you . Maybe I even know you better than I know myself.”

Armand’s eyes were red and glossy, his mouth a tight line as if holding something back.

“What have I ever done, Armand, to deserve your contempt? Have I been such a disgrace to you?”

“Never, Daniel. I never felt ashamed of you for even a second of our life together. The shame is mine alone. You speak of the sound of my laughter, of my skin under your fingers, but it hasn’t always been that way. I’ve hurt you, Daniel. I’ve taken so much from you…”

Daniel released his grip, sliding his hands along Armand’s sides. He drew a deep breath.

“You took my memories, Armand. I can’t imagine anything worse.”

“I took your humanity. Twice. The first time was forty years ago. The second in Dubai. I can’t forgive myself for either. You speak of giving your memories back, but the truth is I’d rather you hate me for this than for what you might remember.”

A tear of blood slowly ran down Armand’s cheek. Daniel followed it with his eyes until it hovered on his chin, unsure whether to drop or not.

Daniel felt like it, too, teetering between hope and misery.

He lowered his gaze to Armand’s chest and traced the gold chain with his fingers, wrapping one hand gently around Armand’s throat and, with the tip of his tongue, collected the tiny drop of blood, almost reaching the vampire’s eye.

“I hate you,” Daniel whispered into Armand’s ear. “What will happen when the memories return on their own?”

Armand finally lifted his gaze, locking Daniel’s eyes to his, their faces so close they breathed each other’s air. He whispered, “I won’t be able to run anymore.”

“How do my eyes look now, Armand?” Daniel asked.

“The mirror of mine,” Armand replied, lips barely moving.

The kiss was fierce, drenched in anger and despair. Their bodies moved as one, naturally, perfectly synchronized. Daniel’s senses were heightened, his heart thundered.

He wrapped an arm around Armand’s waist and pulled him close, sliding a leg between his thighs. Armand moaned, pressing against Daniel’s leg.

Control was completely gone.

In seconds, they were inside the loft, moving up the steps to the raised bedroom. Armand pushed Daniel, who lost his balance against the edge of the bed and ended up sitting on it.

“Undress for me, Daniel,” he said, voice gentle but commanding.

On another occasion, Daniel would have hesitated to undress in front of Armand. He might have felt ashamed of his body, no longer as athletic as it once was. But to the vampire standing before him, it seemed completely irrelevant. Daniel didn’t remember ever seeing Armand like this: tousled hair, the expression of a man dying of thirst and impatience.

Daniel slid out of his shirt, then his pants, remembering he was wearing nothing underneath. Armand stepped forward, running his eyes over Daniel’s body with a captivated gaze, slowly unbuttoning his own shirt. Each undone button revealed what Daniel had already guessed, and when the shirt slipped off Armand’s shoulders, it confirmed it. The gold chain descended all the way to his hips, ending in a soft belt right at his navel. It wrapped sensually around his form, highlighting his skin.

Then Armand removed his shoes, socks, and belt, approaching Daniel wearing only his pants, the outline of his hip bones and the V-shape of his lower abdomen on full display. Daniel was breathless, enthralled by the man in front of him, excited like a teenager. He ran his hands along Armand’s thighs and, gripping his hips, pressed his face to his groin, lips and tongue tracing his length. Armand was hard as Daniel, and every sigh made his own need grow.

“Beautiful boy, always so impatient,” Armand sighed, fingers tangled in Daniel’s hair, shifting his hips. “Don’t stop.”

Daniel obeyed, undoing Armand’s pants, letting them fall to the floor along with his underwear. He didn’t waste a moment admiring his body; before Armand could speak, Daniel’s mouth was full of him.

Armand’s scent, his airy moans, his taste—it robbed Daniel of all control. He lifted one of Armand’s legs, almost making him lose balance, opening the way to his tight entrance. Daniel quickly lubricated two fingers and went back to work, sucking Armand fervently, fingers massaging behind, slick with saliva.

It was passionate, obscene, perfect.

“Please, Beloved, don’t stop.”

Armand moaned and gasped in ecstasy, face tilted upward, eyes closed, lips parted over his exposed fangs. When Daniel suddenly buried both fingers inside him, filling him to the hilt, Armand came hard, screaming in desperate bliss.

Daniel quickly lifted him onto the bed, lying down beside him.

“If you want, I can stop,” Daniel said.

“Don’t you dare ,” the vampire gasped. “Touch me, Daniel. Take your pleasure.”

“I made you bleed with these damned claws.”

“The wound’s already healed. I don’t need your fingers, beautiful boy,” the vampire said, rolling onto his stomach, lifting his hips slightly in an unmistakable invitation. “I need your patience.”

Daniel understood immediately what his partner wanted. “Got lube?”

Armand smirked and glanced at the nightstand to their left. “First drawer.”

Daniel opened it, found what he needed, and straddled Armand’s thighs.

“Are you sure?” Daniel whispered.

“I want it. I want you now.”

Daniel squeezed out a generous amount along his length, then another over Armand’s entrance. Armand held his breath at the touch.

What followed was exquisite torture.

Daniel didn’t know why Armand’s suggestion had felt so obvious—probably a memory burned into the back of his mind. All he knew was that this was the only way he and Armand loved to fuck. Daniel massaged himself for a few seconds, then positioned himself at Armand’s tight entrance and pushed. He penetrated just a little, pulled back, and repeated. Slow, nerve-wracking, intensely arousing. Each push went a bit deeper than the last.

It was sweet, slow, and sensual.

Armand moaned softly, his back arched and glistening with tiny beads of blood. His face hidden in his folded arms, hair revealing the long curve of his neck. Daniel fought the urge to take him with abandon, to sink his teeth into that smooth skin. Occasionally, Armand’s muscles clenched around him, sending sparks of pleasure through Daniel’s brain, driving him insane.

If he died right then, he would die happy.

They continued at that painfully slow pace for what felt like hours. Once fully inside his lover, Daniel lay across Armand, licking the nape of his neck, hands tracing every reachable inch.

“How do you feel?” he whispered.

“Full,” Armand murmured, almost purring.

Daniel pulled out a few inches, pushing slowly again, repeating until the passage was stretched and ready.

When Armand’s body was fully relaxed, Daniel finally took his pleasure.

He pounded him with wild abandon—breathless, mindless, uncontrolled. He shifted position, threading a leg between Armand’s and rolling him onto his side, one leg rising to rest on his shoulder. Armand’s cock was hard again, dripping rosy pre-cum, rocking with each thrust and feeding Daniel’s hunger and urgency. 

He wanted to consume him completely.

The new position allowed him to hit that special spot inside Armand that made him cry out, and he kept going until his partner, undone, began pleading and repeating his name like a prayer. His tight hole gripped Daniel, driving him to the brink of delirium.

“Daniel. Daniel. Daniel.”

Armand was obscene to look at, rolling his eyes back in blind ecstasy, biting his own arm to stifle his moans, while his other hand moved rapidly across himself.

“Beloved… you’re… making me come,” the vampire sobbed, lips streaked with blood.

That’s when Daniel reached his limit. He slid Armand’s leg along his side, bent over him, fingers tangled in his dark curls, and kissed him deeply. Tongues entwined like snakes.

Moments later, Daniel pulled back, sinking fangs into Armand’s neck, then guided his wrist to his Maker’s lips, feeling their connection in every shiver and touch. 

Blood filled their hungry mouths, the intense pleasure, amplified by their Bond, driving them over the edge together.

Daniel gave the final, exhausted thrusts, then collapsed into his lover’s embrace, hiding his face in Armand’s neck, breathing in his skin. Someone had told him vampires didn’t have a scent, but Daniel would have bet his life it wasn’t true. Armand had a scent, a taste—he would recognize it anywhere.

“Sleep with me, Armand. Please,” Daniel whispered. His body was numb, heavy. They’d been at it all night, and while Armand seemed unbothered, Daniel’s younger body—how ironic—was beginning to show the first signs of fatigue.

Armand shifted slightly, looking Daniel in the eyes, smiling softly. “They’re violet now.”

“Please…”

Armand kept smiling, running his fingers through Daniel’s hair, caressing his face.

“I can’t stay, Daniel.”

“I forgive you for everything. I’m not even asking for my memories back. Just… stay with me. Stay by my side while I try to get them back,” Daniel said, ashamed of the need in his voice, but he couldn’t lie to Armand, couldn’t lie to himself. “Don’t leave me again, boss.”

Armand studied him for a long moment, eyes half-closed, then said, “Let’s rest tonight, the sun is rising, beloved. We’ll talk about everything when darkness falls. Sleep.”

And sleep came like a spell, carrying Daniel with it. It was a rest untouched by dreams, not a shadow of any memory or regret.

 

He woke up alone.

Daniel reached out and found the space next to him cold and empty. He rose slowly and headed to the wardrobe. Everything had been removed except for a casual outfit: a coat, a shirt, pants, underwear, and shoes. All were new and perfectly his size.

This time, no letter waited for him. Only a vast, heavy silence hung around Daniel like a dense, invisible fog.

He dressed without a sound and stepped onto the terrace as the last streaks of sunlight bled behind the skyline. Manhattan lay beneath him, quiet, glittering like scattered gems in the deepening twilight. 

The cool evening air filled his lungs, sharp and electric, and a lightness spread through him, loosening every tense muscle. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the city’s hush sink in, and when he opened them again, a calm certainty had taken hold—he knew exactly what he needed to do next.

Chapter 6: Cor Contritum

Notes:

Hi everyone! Unexpectedly, here I am with a new chapter — two in less than 7 days!

Some personal events pushed me to focus more on writing, my only outlet and lifeline.
This time I’m back with a shorter chapter, but with a little surprise!

Toward the end, there’s a reference to an unpleasant event between the two characters, taken from the books. Nothing graphic—barely hinted at—but better to know it’s there than not.

I really hope you’ll enjoy it <3

A Contrite Heart

In the night, every sound is amplified. As if a microphone were aimed directly at every object that makes noise, every breath inhaled too deeply.

The footsteps of a man in his thirties, slowly advancing down the central aisle, were no exception. His gaze fixed on the towering reliquary at the center of the altar.

Tap-tap-tap.

At first glance, he could have seemed like a boy disguised as a man. He would have seemed that way forever.

"This church, my dear friend, is named after the object right in front of us. The Basilique du Saint-Sang. It is said to contain a small amount of Christ's blood," he said, meeting the gaze of the young woman who had emerged from the silent darkness behind him. "The blood was brought to Bruges in the 12th century by Thierry d'Alsace, Count of Flanders, who received it from Baldwin III of Jerusalem during the Crusades. The relic was then kept in that precious reliquary and brought here."

"Is this what we are, Amadeo? Friends?"

The woman approached slowly and confidently. She wore a snow-white suit, exquisitely Italian in cut. It couldn’t have been different, even after all those long centuries. There’s a certain venal pride beneath the surface of each of us that makes us carry fragments of our identity like a banner. Bianca Solderini, Botticelli's Venus with golden hair and eyes, locked her gaze with her old friend and brother in blood, smiling enigmatically like the Mona Lisa.

"It’s Armand now. It has been for a while, in fact, but you already know that. Would you prefer to call us siblings, Bianca?" Armand said, with a faint smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

His smiles rarely did.

"You don’t seem angry."

"I’m not. Not really. I understood what had happened when I saw you that night outside Paris, centuries ago. It had to be him."

Armand turned back to the altar. "I hold no grudge. You served him well, as I did in my time. So much has changed since then, and there’s no room for regret in my heart. Not for this. My Master must have had his reasons for ceasing to love me, for abandoning me in the arms of Satan and his children."

Armand walked to the dark wooden pews and sat in the front row, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. "It suits you, in any case. You’ve always been beautiful; now you’re a thousand times more so."

The vampire shifted his gaze, locking it onto Bianca's eyes. "What brings you here? And why aren’t you with your companion?"

Bianca sat on the opposite pew, crossing her legs and straightening her back. An old habit that centuries of abstaining from corsets hadn’t erased.

"He’s not my companion anymore. His heart is too fickle, and so are his priorities. Rather, the last few months in New York have been quite eventful, Armand. Certain vampires have decided to start making noise, and word has spread quickly among the city’s covens. I knew about your former lover, Louis de Pointe du Lac, but someone else caught my attention. Not just mine."

A chilling silence fell between them. Outside, it began to snow, flakes heavy like a wounded heart. It was rare for this to happen in Bruges, despite winter having arrived just a couple of weeks prior. 

Bianca continued, "A young man. An old young man, I’d say. I’ve watched him for a long time. He has great reflexes, quick legs, and thinks out loud when he’s not paying attention."

"Did you send those two pitiful creatures to kill him?" Armand asked dryly, now staring fixedly at the reliquary.

"No, I sent them to help him. It seemed he was looking for someone. That someone came to his aid, right?"

"You’re treading on dangerous ground, Bianca. Tell me clearly what you need to say."

"I followed you to your loft. I saw what you did for three days and three nights, only to discard him and run away like a coward. You never wanted to make one, Armand. Not in five hundred years or more. Something has changed. Why, of all people, do you decide to abandon your creature? A creature that loves you so much. A creature you love as I’ve seen you love only one other in your life."

The vampire began to laugh, in an unnatural and anguished crescendo.

"Armand…"

"What? What should I do? Go back to his arms and forget what I’ve been? What I still am? My Master decided to abandon me to the care of wicked assassins, who tortured me, who made me commit vile acts. Riccardo. I have—"

"I know."

"Everything I had, everything I believed to be beautiful and pure was ripped away from me, like raw flesh. I loved Marius so much, but there was nothing in me worth loving enough to make him stay. Centuries later, Lestat came, and my life was turned upside down again, and once more I was left behind. To maintain a semblance of life, of happiness, I betrayed every vampire who ever trusted me. I lied. I killed. I devoured everything beautiful. Louis was the final blow. A blow I wanted. I knew it would happen. I knew it."

Armand stood up and paced back and forth in front of the altar. His breath was heavy, his eyes glistening, and his gaze wild. He was not beautiful at that moment. It was as if all his inner torment had distorted what was usually sweet and delicate about his features. Bianca watched him in silence, tense as a bowstring.

"And it could only be him. My beloved Daniel. My mortal lover. The one for whom I betrayed the Great Laws. First the Fifth, then the Second and the Third. The only one who ever loved me unreservedly, or at least that’s what I wanted to believe..."

"I know nothing of when he was mortal. But I know what he feels now. I see it, I feel it, Armand. That man is obsessed with you."

"With my blood. Not with me. Just like when he was a young mortal. A drug addict. Cocaine, heroin, and finally, me. I gave it to him. I made him drink so many times that his heart became corrupted. He wanted nothing but this cursed blood that flows in my veins."

"That’s why he doesn’t remember. You erased yourself from his mind."

"I erased every trace of me that was dragging him to Hell. He was getting sick. He stopped eating, only drank alcohol. One night, I found him lying in the snow. He was delirious, sick. I realized that to save him, I would have to disappear. No one is meant to be happy for long if I’m too close, Bianca."

Armand stopped in front of Bianca, thick red tears streamed down his cheeks, he took her hand and helped her up.

"Some time ago, I read an article about his illness. I couldn’t resist. I was the one who made Louis call Daniel and resume the interview. It took just a casual bait and a bit of reverse psychology. Louis has a simple soul."

Armand held Bianca’s hands so tightly that, if she weren’t made of the same substance as him, they would probably have broken.

"I needed to see him again before death took him from me completely. But I have a fragile will and a miserable heart. And here I am again, ready to rob him of everything. Dignity, humanity, Heaven perhaps."

Armand ran his fingers through the long golden hair of the vampire before him, trailing down to her cheeks. He gently held her head as she wrapped her arms around his waist.

"What can I possibly do, my friend and ancient confidante, to repay my beloved now immortal, if not to stay as far away from him as possible?"

"You could start by forgiving yourself and end by asking him for his forgiveness. It’s not up to you to decide for both of you, Armand. You’ve done that until now, and it hasn’t gone very well, I think."

"A reasonable voice speaking to a deaf heart. I won’t return, Bianca."

"He will find you. He’s stubborn and powerful."

"Of course he’s powerful. He is mine," the vampire growled, tightening his hands around her delicate neck.

Bianca was not at all disturbed by that gratuitous display of aggression; her breath was calm, and she smiled playfully at Armand. Then she kissed him. The kiss began softly, then transformed into something slow and languorous. Armand released his grip, his breath steadied, and the tension left his body.

When they separated, Armand said, "It’s been five hundred years since the last time I sought comfort in your arms."

"I remember. You weren’t kind."

"I know. I’m sorry. Will you ever forgive me?"

"I forgave you back then. But I never forgot. I will never forget." She caressed Armand’s raven hair and forced him to look at her, holding his chin between her fingers. "It wasn’t that hard, was it?"

"Bianca..."

"You don’t have to decide now. You have all the time in the world, or almost. Just think about it, Armand. Who knows, a glimmer of light might return to your dark, long life."

Armand brought one of her hands to his lips and kissed it. "Will you stay with me tonight?"

"No. I have to catch a flight soon. I’m just passing through."

"Will I see you again?"

Bianca kissed Armand’s hand in return, then added, "Who knows? Take to heart what I’ve told you. This eternal self-punishment must end."

She smiled at him and walked away, returning in the direction from which she had come. She disappeared into the darkness.

Armand headed toward the exit and flung open the door that led to Place du Bourg. The snow had stopped falling, leaving only a thin white layer covering the pavement of the deserted square. The townspeople had already set up some lights; preparations for the Christmas festivities had begun.

The vampire looked up at the Moon, his only companion on such a lonely night, and for a moment wondered what it would be like to be happy.

He remembered a night many years ago on Night Island. He saw again two deep green eyes and the smile of the man to whom they belonged.

The same expression touched his lips. This time it reached his eyes. Rarely did his smiles ever reach that far.

 

Notes:

In this chapter, I decided to include a few canon references, pulled straight from the books, but I’ll try to keep it as spoiler-free as possible.

Bianca Solderini is a character from Anne Rice’s novels, one I really hope to see show up in the series. She was Marius’s companion for a time.

Riccardo, mentioned by Armand, was like a brother to him. I won’t say more, but let’s just say it didn’t end well.

I chose Bruges because it’s European, medieval in its architecture, French-speaking, built on canals like Venice, and small enough to slip under the Talamasca’s radar. In other words—perfect for Armand!

Finally, here’s a quick recap of the Five Great Laws at this link: https://vampirechronicles.fandom.com/wiki/Great_Laws_(Concept)

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 2 of Chains of Blood