Chapter Text
~Hans~
Hans woke with the foul taste of blood on his tongue. The metallic bitterness seemed stronger than the last time he came to in that dimly lit bedroom. If it was from thirst or hunger or blood not of his own, he couldn't have guessed. His arms and legs ached as if they'd been run over by horse and cart, and his headache was no better.
For a blissful moment, before he had regained full consciousness, he questioned if perhaps he'd had too much to drink the night before, gallivanting around the town with his Henry, young in spirit and in body once more. Or maybe…
Was this death? The afterlife?
The thought slithered into his mind. He had plunged his sword into his own chest, hadn’t he? But where was Henry? Shouldn’t he be here, instead of whatever wretched man had greeted him before? Henry ought to be waiting in whatever paradise or purgatory that awaited him. Hans’ chest hurt at the absence, a void more painful than any wound. Hans assumed he wouldn't be worthy of heaven or a so called paradise. Perhaps he'd never see his love again, for he surely went straight there.
Reality slowly crept in, as did the dread in mutual harmony.
Hans could tell without a single movement - his body was weaker than he'd ever known it. Even the weeks after Henry's death, where he refrained from food and liquids entirely. This felt somehow… lonelier.
The sheets under him were damp from sweat. He willed his fingers to feel as much before he stilled.
Control.
His body was his again.
Hans' gaze snapped to the armchair that previously held that thing. That monster.
What witchcraft did the man possess to be able to control his very limbs; his very thoughts?
Hans tried to stand, yet could only manage a leaning sit atop the bed at first. After a moment to gather his strength, he pushed himself up, his hands shaking as they gripped the bedside table for stability while his legs wobbled, but he forced them to hold his weight. His chest ached where the wound from Henry's sword should’ve been, but the bandages were clean, no blood seeping through at all. Either this 'Master' possessed such a skilled physician to heal him so, or Hans had been stuck in this room for far too long.
He didn’t have time to dwell on it. He needed to get out.
Hans stumbled towards the door without caring to find shoes or getting dressed more than his braies. Ignoring the black spots in his vision, and the spinning of the room behind his eyes, he gripped the iron handle and yanked it hard, yet it didn’t budge. Locked.
From the outside.
His heart sank, a cold dread curling in his gut furthermore. He was a prisoner. He tried again, rattling the handle, then slammed his shoulder against the wood. It hurt. More than it ought to.
“Damn it,” he muttered, and he barely recognised his own voice.
His stomach suddenly gnawed at itself, warring between starvation and sickness. He glanced at the table, where an oddly fresh tray of food sat. No stew this time, in fact the stew he sent across the room previously was cleaned up completely, but the sight of bread and cheese made his mouth water despite the apparent thirst and healthy suspicion.
He stared at the offerings. Hesitated, then tore off a piece of bread, shoving it into his mouth. It was soft, too perfect. Perhaps anything would taste good in this state. He gulped the water before wiping his mouth, though the food and water did little to banish the pervasive weakness in his limbs yet so far.
The windows caught his eye. That was, the lack of them.
He crossed the room, to the nearest one. He ran his fingers along the edges, finding small nails driven deep into the wood that barred the view. Was this the ordinary thing here, or was it only for prisoners?
He leaned against the wall. He ought try to piece together the remnants of his memory now that his stomach had ceased screaming at him.
He remembered his room, the sword, the pain; both physical and within. Then… someone had been there. He hadn't seen much of anything. As he glanced around to take in the surroundings once more, he winced. A shaky hand wobbled over his throat and quickly found two small welts there by seeking the pain.
If he didn't want to wretch his innards out completely before, now he did.
These marks… He had seen those marks on his late wife, hadn't he? The only other time was that beast in Skalitz, save for a few random cases in the townsfolk. One question remained at the forefront of his mind.
Why was he still alive? He didn’t know how long he had been here, nor how long since he'd been forced to sleep nor how he’d arrived from Rattay in the first place.
He clawed at his neck, as if he could erase the marks, his mind racing. The fear was real and coursing through his veins already. He had researched endlessly, had heard the townsfolk and guards and even Hanush and Godwin had mentioned beasts, souls unable to leave the earth and the undead. Hans had dismissed it as simple folly, tales to frighten the children into staying inside during curfew. The ones he could see - the beasts - were real enough for him.
Feral beasts didn’t lock doors or nail windows shut. Whatever had him wasn’t some mindless creature. The Master had proved itself cunning and intelligent already.
As his fingers found another set of punctures, he gasped. In a panic, he inspected the rest of his skin - it was littered with similar marks, always in pairs, scattered across his arms, his torso, even his legs. Some were faded to bruises, and worrisome enough, the ones on his neck seemed older.
He had to get out. Had to get out before it came back. Because it had to be an 'it'. No human could do what it had, and a beast would just rip him apart without thought.
Though, it seemed, something was approaching the room with unhurried footsteps he could hear from behind the door. Hans quickly scanned the room, his eyes darting to the hearth, to the poker. A weapon. He staggered towards it. He wasn’t dead yet, and he’d be damned if he’d let this place do it for him.
He slipped behind a curtain by the wardrobe - modesty for changing clothes, he figured. They must have had some civility in them here. He froze as he heard the door creak open, not a sound of the key at all. Light footsteps travelled across the room as Hans gripped the poker tighter. He braced to be found. Braced to send the iron into the false face of the man who imprisoned him.
A faint clink of metal followed, a tray being set down. He peered around the curtain carefully. A woman stood by the bedside table. She was young, notably pale, dressed in a simple linen dress, her dark hair pinned neatly into a headscarf. The tray she had carried was laid out with more bread, fruits, and a small serving knife that the noble took too much notice of.
He dashed back to his hiding spot as she suddenly turned his way.
He couldn't see her now, but she tilted her head in thought before rummaging through her satchel strapped to her tunic. In one hand, she held a small parchment, and with a piece of thin charcoal, she scribbled quickly. Hans only saw the thin hand poke behind the curtain, the hastily scribbled words catching his attention immediately.
My lord, you need not hide. I am a servant here. I bring plums and wine, I hope they're still your favourite.
Hans frowned only a moment before he stepped out, though with the poker raised. When his eyes landed on the servant, he let out a gasp.
"Zdena?"
Her familiar face was afflicted with a deep scar across her mouth - her lips a little altered from the old wound, yet she still had her effortless beauty he'd come to known. Now, her skin shimmered a little in the light.
Pearlescent.
She nodded, and Hans simply rushed to her, hugging her as tight as he could in his condition. She held him close, too, letting him go when he did the same. His hands found her face, holding it gently, noting her new to him scars, her strange eyes, her icy, perfect skin.
"What happened to you?" Hans whispered, turning into a mumble. "I thought you were killed in the bathhouse attack..." He let her go, and watched her write some more.
I was.
Hans frowned in confusion. She wrote again.
I was close to death, but Master saved me.
She smiled a little bashfully, glancing away, yet Hans' stare couldn't be more concerned and disgusted in turn.
"Saved you?" Hans breathed in disbelief. "By kidnapping you from Rattay? And doing… Doing whatever this is, to you?" He gestured at her scars, and her apparent lack of a voice.
She nodded again, entirely unperturbed. In truth, she looked well cared for. Better than she had when she worked the baths of his town, if Hans was honest. Still, something seemed odd about her. It sent goose flesh up his arms to be in her presence.
“What are you?” he mumbled with dread.
Her charcoal moved decisively.
A vampire, my lord.
Hans felt suddenly faint.
~••~
A few days later.
~••~
It had been a revelation that wasn't entirely unseen yet filled his ears unbidden as most of the new knowledge of the curse was; Zdena, his old friend, was a vampire. Vampires existed, were real, and he was seemingly held up in their domain. He had barely taken in the news before he fell exhausted, opting to rest given the proximity of a friendly face, even if it was different.
Zdena cared for him over the coming days, though he seemed to wake weaker and weaker every dawn. Every dawn? He scoffed at the thought. There was no seeing sunlight here, thanks to the barred windows and the lack of being let out even for a stroll to stretch his legs. His only saving grace was the young woman visiting him every day.
He was quite fond of her, they had an easy friendship that seemed to aid their odd, new situation. Fond enough that he allowed her to cut his unkempt beard, their eyes only meeting briefly here and there as they sat in silence by the fire. His gaze, instead, kept finding the bowl of water that seemed to reflect all but Zdena in the light.
She moved with eerie grace, setting the tools down and picking them back up as needed. She ran her fingers along his half shaven jaw, where she tilted it, the red along his neck catching her eye.
Zdena reached for her charcoal next, and began to write. Hans barely wanted to read it.
The pain will not last long. Do they hurt badly?
Hans didn't respond for a moment. Everything hurt, in all honesty. He had so many marks by now he couldn't pin point where the pain stemmed from in particular.
He nodded.
She gave a pitying look.
"What happens to me when I sleep? Is it you? Are you the one biting me?"
Zdena shook her head quickly and scribbled some more, though her pupils dilated noticeably at the thought.
Of course not! Even if I wanted to, I am forbidden to.
"Then…" Hans grimaced. "Is it him? He's feeding off me when I sleep?"
She merely shook her head again before working on removing the last bits of hair from his jaw. Once finished, she packed up her tools and placed them in the armoire, returning with a fine garment draped over her arm along with noble hose.
“What’s this for?” Hans asked weakly, straightening up a little. He waited.
Master will visit today. You must look appropriate.
Hans’ face darkened, offense flaring like a spark on dry tinder. “Appropriate? For that monster? I won’t play dress-up for the bastard who caged me here!” His voice rose, his usual argumentative fire kindling despite his exhaustion.
Zdena’s eyes widened, a worried crease forming on her brow. She shook her head vigorously, almost as vigorously as her hand scrubbed to erase the last message to make room for the next.
For your own good, my lord. It is best to do as he says.
“I won’t,” Hans snarled, though his defiance wavered at her evident fear. “I’ll never submit. Why won't he just let me leave? Why keep me stuck here for no reason?"
Her response came laden with sorrow.
As your friend, please listen to me. If you don’t want to do something, Master will make you do it. It is easier to play along.
Hans' resolve weakened, seeing the plea in her strange eyes. The idea sent a shiver down his spine, colder than Zdena’s touch. Hans realized, he might not be dead, but he was far from free. Henry remained a distant dream, Rattay a distant memory.
Soon, she set her words aside and began helping him dress. After some resistance, he allowed it. At least he wouldn't have to see the marks across his skin, nor his ribs poking through it. Hans watched her, as he mostly did these last few days.
She was trapped too, wasn’t she?
“Tell me about him,” Hans said suddenly, his tone softer as Zdena adjusted the nicely decorated collar of the new pourpoint. “Who is he? What does he want with me?” He hadn't the courage to ask it until now.
The woman didn't reach for her voice, and it became evident to Hans why.
The door creaked open, not before the lock disengaged, and that tall man entered once more. Hans’ heart raced. The presence alone was all consuming - suffocating. This was the master vampire, the architect of his nightmare.
Hans felt like prey entirely.
The man regarded Hans with that patient smile, his eyes gleaming with calmness as his soundless steps approached.
“You look improved. The rest has done you well, though I must apologize on behalf of my hungry servants. They forget themselves in such company." He spoke casually, like they were friends. It only made Hans angrier. "I trust you’ve had time to reflect since our last… conversation.”
Hans knew now - knew what this creature was. Vampire. A leech. Abomination and demon all in one.
“Reflect on what, you godless fiend?” Hans spat, venomous. “I demand you release me at once! Or would you rather I killed you first?" He bluffed, of course, because he didn't have any silver on him, and the room seemed to lack any silver cutlery. He scoffed.
The vampire's expression didn’t falter; if anything, his smile simply deepened, a strange amusement dancing in those unholy eyes. He moved closer, sitting across from Hans with his posture relaxed, almost paternal, like Hans' Pa would sit to scold him when he was little.
Zdena shifted uneasily in the background, her nails digging into her palms.
“Such fire,” Master murmured, leaning forward. “It’s one of the things that drew me to you, Capon. In a world of sheep, you are a wolf. Fierce and unyielding. Even now, weakened as you are in body and soul, you still bare your teeth. Admirable. Truly."
“Save your flattery, you leech. Only a monster would do what you're doing to me."
“Such crude terms for the one who saved your life. You plunged that sword into your chest, Hans - without me, you’d be rotting in the ground."
"I'd rather be in the ground than here with you." Capon seethed.
"Let me offer you an olive branch, hm? Knowledge." The man looked over him idly. "Rattay’s curse… is no mere disease. You know of us vampires now, and I'm sure you know of the feral ones that stalk the roads and the mines. But they are not like me, Hans. They are abominations, born from a powerful sire. My people have hunted them, tracked them as far as Kuttenberg, but as we speak, this sire eludes me yet.”
"I've killed many of your beasts. You are all the same." Hans spat as he could have sworn he heard a sigh.
"Let’s speak plainly. The curse has a simple end. Kill the sire, sever their power, and the beasts he commands disappear. The curse lifts from Rattay. I need your help, Hans. Your mortal insight, your fortitude at hunting these creatures is truly one to be sought after. And in return, your town will be restored to its former glory… and so will your son.”
Hans' face paled further than a white sheet.
"I don't believe a single word from your mouth!"
Master’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Doubt me if you must, but consider the stakes. Rattay falls deeper into darkness. And those you love… Poor Jitka was taken too soon, and Young Heinrich is as brave as he is foolish. It would be a pity if a creature found him wandering alone, would it not?”
Could Heinrich have been taken, just like Hans had? He could scarcely believe the beast in front of him, let alone look at Zdena in the corner knowing she had likely known about this.
Hans saw red. “You bastard! You want my help, but threaten my son? If you even dare to touch him-”
“I need not,” The vampire interrupted calmly. His tone was honeyed while he waved away Hans' outburst. “Help me, and I vow his safety. A fair exchange; your aid for his life. In the end, you will be able to go home, where the sun will shine forever more.”
Hans’ mind reeled, the delirium amplifying the panic. Yet, for Heinrich and Rattay, he’d swallow pride.
“Fine.” A reluctant fire burned in his eyes. “I’ll do it. But you'd better leave Heinrich alone, demon. Swear it.”
The Master vampire smiled, entirely pleased as he rose to stand gracefully. “I knew you were wise, Hans. I swear it; I will leave your son alone if you keep your end of the deal. Zdena will ready you for tomorrow, Kuttenberg is not far. Rest now.” He made to leave, pausing at the door with a tilt of his head. “And Hans? Do not try anything foolish. Do not try to flee. If you do, my mercy ends.”
Even with rest, and an abnormal lack of new punctures in his skin, the journey to the city had taxed Hans considerably.
Kuttenberg had always felt too large when Hans walked it alone. He never had to, really, since the only times he had visited were with Henry by his side or on his way to the man in his forge.
Hans had been given nothing to work with. This sire was a mystery to him. Thusly, he would start with logic. A vampire of such prestige would leave a trail, no? Bodies. Rumours. Yet the moment he stepped beyond the city gate with that resolve, all logic melted into a dreary kind of aimless wandering. His feet carried him wherever his memory tugged hardest.
The market was already bustling despite the light spattering of rain. The Kuttenberg folk argued over wares as though the world was not infested at every turn. Hans drifted through the stalls and laneways, with neither purpose nor appetite, and found himself stopping beside the sword seller purely because he remembered Henry debating with the smith about materials and how Henry could offer him some from the forge out of the goodness of his heart. Their forge.
Hans had been happy then. Stupidly, painfully happy.
And they had walked the market shoulder to shoulder, unable to show anything more than friendship in front of the others, yet drunk on one anothers' company all the same.
If only they hadn't returned to Suchdol at the summons of Zizka.
The memory landed on him with such unanticipated force that he startled, bumping into a crate of apples. Pull yourself together. He continued on. Bought nothing. Looked for nothing but traces of a plague he knew all too well.
He had sworn he wouldn't visit the forge, what did it have to offer except heartbreak? Seeing others live there, work there in Henry's place; he wasn't ready for it. Though as much as he warred with his thoughts about it, he hadn't even realised where his feet had taken him. Capon stood before a lane so familiar he could have traced its path blindfolded.
The forge.
Perhaps seeing it bustling with strangers would have been kinder than this. Whatever life had once warmed its walls was long gone. The whole structure was evident with neglect. The fencing around it almost crumbled, and on the gate, in a thick wash of crude white paint, someone had scrawled a single word.
Demon.
The word on the gate swam before his eyes, blurring as confusion and grief flooded through him. Demon. Someone had dared to mare his old happy place with such a thing? Not to mention, Henry had been the best damn blacksmith in town and no one thought to rid his forge of this filth?
Hans swallowed hard. He did not cry. But it was a near thing. A dangerously near thing.
If he let himself break here, in front of this ruin of a life Henry and himself had dreamed of, he would never stand again. So, he let the anger consume him. He seized the nearest bucket beneath the eaves, half full of rainwater, and a stiff old brush abandoned by whomever last tried to tidy the lane.
The brush scraped against the wood, the white smears bleeding into watery streaks beneath it. He scrubbed until his fingers ached.
Only when the last trace of paint dissolved into the puddled earth did Hans lean back to examine it. He wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his wrist, leaving a smear of grime across his face that he didn’t bother to fix.
“There.” He whispered to the empty yard.
It wasn’t much. It wasn’t nearly enough; the forge needed a lot more work to be restored to its former glory. But it was something he could do. A kindness he owed Henry.
He looked up at the forge, spotting a single perched raven. It watched him with an unsettling stillness.
“Of course,” he muttered, glaring up at it. “Of course you’d choose this place.”
His gaze landed on the inn down the street. For once he needed a drink.
The tavern took him in easily enough, as well as miserable people could accommodate miserable people. He grabbed a table in the back, away from the door, and spoke only enough to order an ale from the tavern maid. Even she seemed to pity him, what with his little coin that was barely enough for the drinks and a place to rest his head.
Night crept closer, after a full day of nothing. How was he to find this sire, without much knowledge of his whereabouts at all? His eyes floated over the other patrons; drunkards, women, nobles. All lost in their own worlds. This place seemed to be one where men pretended their drink required all of their concentration. Hans tried very hard to pretend exactly that. His ale tasted horrible, his mood tasted worse, and Kuttenberg had been stubbornly useless in aiding his search all day.
He drank. He had entirely forgotten the draw of alcohol, and the buzz it gave him that night was more unpleasant than he remembered. What he did remember, though, was the few drunken nights he and Henry spent, stumbling into the forge late at night and one time, even missing the correct door to their room and ending up in the closet.
He felt eyes on him long before the stranger wandered over. It was a man with a pleasant grin and a cup already half-empty that casually sauntered up to his table.
“Hello, Sir.” He seemed to still have his wits about him. Must have been his first drink. "Allow me to buy you another drink?"
Hans frowned slightly, confused enough that he nearly glanced behind himself at the wall.
“Me?”
“Aye, you.” The man laughed. His smile was strangely endearing.
Hans forced his expression to remain neutral - something in this stranger’s grin felt rehearsed. He declined the drink with a smile that was more habit than sincerity, then watched the fellow retreat out of the door.
Strange.
More glances from other patrons within the tavern, as if he’d wandered in wearing nothing but a sign on his back reading talk to me, I'm lonely and miserable.
One was a fluke, but two felt suspicious - because it happened again merely an hour later.
A different man this time, with the same lingering eyes and the same offer of a drink found him at the table, bringing Hans’ head from being buried in his arms on the table up to meet his dark brown gaze.
The man wasn't what he expected from a drunk beggar, of which he assumed him so. What he got instead was a noble. Young. Clean and handsome by most standards. Delicate cheekbones and a slender frame. None of Henry's broad shoulders and muscled arms that could lift him without a struggle. This one was too thin and too calculating and far, far too close for Hans' liking.
He hadn't put a single thought into the possibility of moving on; past Henry or past Jitka. Though, tonight, he had a seemingly impossible task in which he needed information. His best bet was catching rumours from whatever patrons walked the streets that night.
“May I sit?” The noble stranger asked, already halfway pulling out the chair without waiting for an answer. His hood was embroidered with an immaculate design and his short hair swept back. In the past, it might have worked on the Hans that cared about status and nobility. Now, it just seemed… fake.
Hans sat back, keeping his voice low. “Suit yourself.”
The man settled in with a smile. “You look like someone in need of company.”
A sign on his back, indeed.
“Do I?” Hans murmured. He took a sip of ale mostly to avoid rolling his eyes. “I thought I looked like someone trying to be left alone.”
The noble chuckled, looking Hans over. “Even the loneliest men deserve an evening of pleasant distraction.”
Hans raised a brow. “What makes you think I’m lonely?”
"There are some tells,” The man offered lightly. “You are sitting alone, and you've been looking at the door more than your drink since you wandered in here.”
So, he had been watched. Wonderful.
Hans took in the sight of him in calculated form. The man’s knee bounced under the table, restless, and his fingers upon the tankard were no better, tapping away in a random rhythm. It was jittery… almost hurried. Nervous, perhaps.
Hans’ voice softened into casual curiosity. “And what brings you to Kuttenberg? Or do you live here?”
“Business. Lots of meetings and trading in the market.” The noble answered with a wave to dismiss the topic. “Dull things like that.”
“Mm.” Hans pursed his lips thoughtfully. “You hear much, then? Any strange things happening around the city?"
This time, the noble’s brow furrowed, utterly lost. “No. Should I have?”
Hans watched his face carefully, that little twist of it that made him certain the man wasn’t lying. He was many things, perhaps things Hans didn't want to know, but a convincing actor wasn’t one. So no hidden knowledge. No hints. Nothing but idle chat and good looks.
Pity.
They spoke for a while longer, the noble seemed to lean in closer bit by bit, trying far too hard to be charming. Hans pretended to be interested, nodding at the right times, answering how he would when questioned back in Rattay, though his mind kept drifting to Henry.
Eventually the noble cleared his throat and gave a shy little smile, and placed his hand lightly on Hans' across the table. It was ice cold.
“We needn’t part ways yet. If you’d like… my room is upstairs.”
Hans stilled from the unmistakable tug in his chest and his realisation of how desperately not-Henry this all was. When had any other man ever taken a liking to him? Let alone so blatantly out in the open, in front of others? Even Henry had kept his feelings to himself until Hans himself had took the leap.
Hans lifted the stranger's hand gently off his wrist.
“You’re kind, and I am flattered,” He said with a weary, forced smile. “But I will have to decline.”
A flicker of disappointment crossed the man’s face, more human than anything he’d shown before. He rose with a graceful nod.
“Another time, then.”
“Perhaps.” Hans lied.
When the noble vanished back into the crowded inn, Hans let out a breath of relief. He finished his drink slowly, letting the noise of the tavern drown out his thoughts of Henry.
Well. All that effort entertaining a stranger for nothing. That was pointless.
So, he left.
Night had settled well into the city by now. Hans found it unsettling; how people actually walked about here in the streets, laughing, going about their night without fear. On his walk, not far from the inn, he spotted the noble from before walking the same way further up ahead; perhaps he could be of use yet. The man seemed to always be glancing over his shoulder as if concerned someone was following him. He was right, Hans supposed.
He trailed him through narrow streets long enough that it became… boring, frankly. The man's wandering was nothing to bask at, nor anything to keep Hans awake enough for. He was close to giving up entirely when the fellow abruptly stopped, his posture straightening no different to a hound catching a scent. Hans looked past him.
A woman. Pretty and alone, and possibly the most important - looking utterly miserable as she sobbed into her hands.
The man's face brightened with the same charm Hans had seen directed at himself earlier in the night.
“Evening.” The man greeted her.
Hans squinted. He couldn't hear their conversation after that, but the cadence and the tone was nearly identical to the lines he'd tried on Hans. Was the man just a terrible flirt, resorting to scripts to pickup lovers? Or… Hans remembered his icy skin. The woman tittered shyly, and the noble offered her an arm with perfect grace.
She took it without hesitation.
Hans felt the dread once more. Something was wrong. Very wrong.
He followed them at a distance, heart beating louder with every step. The noble pointed up at the sky, talking about constellations and stories about lone wanderers. Hans rolled his eyes when the woman fell for the nonsense. One could hardly see the stars through the fog of the cold night.
“Where are we going?” She finally asked. When she didn't get a response, she tugged her arm out of his grip. He didn't let her go. “Hey, I said, where are we going?”
It happened all at once.
The man spun her into him, pressing her back to his chest with strong arms trapping her still. Her startled gasp turned into a whimper as his teeth sank into her neck.
Just as Hans had suspected. Albeit, this one seemed too human, and he hadn't felt anything strange until the touch of their hands. Unfortunately, Hans' foresight had slipped up already, for he had no weapon nor help to take down this monster. And if this one possessed the abilities the Master did, could he force him to act against his own will?
“Hey, that's enough!” Hans yelled out, feeling like a fool in the middle of the alleyway.
The vampire let the woman drop, pale and bloodless. It had only taken moments, and she was gone. How had Hans been fed upon so fervently, yet he still stood? The monster turned with an expression that was too entirely delighted for Hans' tastes.
“Hans Capon,” he breathed, smiling wider. “I wondered when you would step in with your sense of morality. You smell much sweeter than they described.”
"Who is they?" Hans aimed for confidence, but he knew the man saw through it. "And I didn't tell you my name at the inn. How do you know me?"
"You have many questions, which I don't care to answer." The vampire sighed a little. "Though, since I've had my little appetizer, I can allow you one question, before I kill you."
Was he scared of dying?
He hadn't been, his last night in Rattay. Was he more scared now, knowing that Henry had not come to him to guide him into the afterlife? If the Master's words were true, which he suspected they weren't, it meant Rattay had a chance, even if it was minute. And of course, there was the matter of Heinrich.
"Where can I find the sire?" Hans' one question.
"Whose sire?" The vampire tilted his head in thought, though Hans frowned.
"The sire." Hans paused. "There's more than one?"
"Of course." He spoke flippantly. "There is more than one sire. And that, I believe, was more than one question."
Hans had just enough time to mutter an incredulous 'Oh, for god's sake' before the vampire was on him.
They clashed hard, and for what it was worth, Hans stood his ground better than the vampire expected. The stranger wasn’t strong like the beasts in Rattay were strong, but he was nimble. Quick. Thinking two steps ahead. Hans was hard pressed to keep his footing as he was grabbed with sharp-nailed fingers.
“Hold still, my sweet.” The vampire muttered as he looked Hans' face up and down. “Master will be so angry if he finds out I fed off you. So, you see, that's why I have to kill you. I can't have it getting back to him. You understand that, right?”
”Master? I’ve a task set by him, you can’t do this!” Hans seethed.
The vampire breathed him in, his eyes dilating at the proximity to Hans’ blood.
”More than one sire… More than one Master.” He was too occupied with his potential meal to speak further.
Hans grimaced at the grip, and furthermore as the man buried his face into Hans' neck. He struggled against the vampire, feeling a wretched tongue make its way down his skin before two pointy teeth pierced into him.
Pain exploded through him, and sure, he expected it to hurt. Even the punctures of old bites still hurt a little. But this was different. There was no way one could sleep through such a thing as this. It was hot, his body burned with the pain. Hans heard the vampire moan in pleasure against his skin, making Hans want to wretch before he felt his pulse stutter in its frequency.
He was really going to die. This was it?
The thing that irked him most wasn't the mode of it, but the fact that it wasn't on his own terms.
Then the weight pressing him was gone abruptly. It was ripped away from him with such a force that Hans collapsed into the dirt gasping for his breath to return. He clutched the fresh punctures at his neck with shaking fingers that promptly became coated in blood. The sounds around him turned feral. A hiss. A snarl or a few. A grunt of effort from someone he couldn't recognise. It was all too fast for his blurry vision to catch sight of, so he closed his eyes until he heard a thud in the dirt beside him.
There was stillness, yet the vampire did not return to finish his meal.
"Hans?" The voice was near, and he recognised it now. "My god… What have you gotten yourself into?"
Samuel.
His sword dripped with red, his chest still heaving from the fight and dirt smeared across his face, albeit the fear and pure relief in his eyes took Hans' attention the most.
"S-Samuel… What are you doing here?" Hans' voice was weak, and he hated it.
Samuel lowered to his knees beside his lord. His eyes surveyed over Hans’ bloodied neck, Hans' own did the same to the felled vampire nearby.
“Hans,” Samuel repeated like he didn't believe it. "I thought you were dead. Everyone back home thought… I hoped you were only missing, but-”
“Samuel,” Hans cut in, wincing at his neck when he moved it. “Not now. There's no time for chit chat here. What if there's more?”He stood shakily, receiving help under the arm from his friend.
“Come on. We need to get somewhere safe.”
Hans nodded, sparing one last glance to the woman who wasn't as lucky as him.
Samuel’s inn room was cramped but desperately needed. Hans sat on the edge of the bed while Samuel cleaned the bite on his neck. Every press of the cloth sent a fresh sting through him, but he held still.
"Where have you been? All of these bites…"
“Why are you even in Kuttenberg?” Hans asked instead. “Is it Liechtenstein? Did he send for you?”
Samuel hesitated long enough that Hans turned his head.
“No,” Samuel said quietly. “It was… Heinrich.”
He stared at Samuel, though his expression sharpened with sudden alarm. “What about Heinrich? Is he here with you?” Please let him be here. Please let the Master be a rotten liar.
Samuel swallowed. “Not long after you disappeared, he ran off. I caught him on the road to Kuttenberg. He would not take no for an answer.”
Hans shot to his feet. He ignored the spots in his vision. “You brought my son into this hellhole?” His voice cracked. “Are you mad? There are things here you have no notion of. He could be-”
“He would have come alone if I did not accompany him,” Samuel spoke calmly. “I did the only sensible thing.”
“You should have dragged him home by the ear.” Hans grumbled.
“He’s not a child anymore.”
“He’s my child!”
"Do you think I don’t know that? I have watched over him his whole life. I have done everything to keep him safe.”
Hans paced, one hand clutching his bandaged neck that still burned. “Where is he now?”
That was when Samuel’s eyes dropped.
“I… lost him.”
Hans stopped dead on the other side of the room.
“You… what?” Quietly. Dangerously.
Samuel lifted both hands as if to calm him. “He slipped away when we were near the market. I have been looking nonstop, I swear."
Hans surged toward the door. “I’m going after him.”
“Hans, you’re bleeding through the bandage-”
“You lost my son and now he has him!” He felt the panic rise quickly.
Samuel grabbed his arm as confusion spread across his features. "Who has him?" The noble withdrew immediately. "Who? Tell me, it could help us find Heinrich."
He shoved Samuel’s hand aside and took two determined steps toward the door, though it seemed he was equally as determined to meet the wooden floor as he felt suddenly faint. Samuel, with his arm already outstretched, caught him before he could do much damage to himself, the two of them sitting on the floor as Hans tried to breathe and Samuel placed the back of his hand to his forehead.
"You're burning up, Hans. You need to come lie down." The noble didn't protest as he was guided to the bed. "Rest up, I will go get something for you to eat."
Hans nodded, the fight going out of him completely. His eyes closed the same moment he heard the door click shut.
When Samuel returned with food and drink a few minutes later, Lord Capon was gone.