(no subject)
TITLE: As Aught Of Mortal Birth
RATING: 18-ish.
FANDOMS: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel the Series & Tanz der Vampire
SPOILERS: Buffy S1-7, Angel S1-5.
SUMMARY: William the Bloody is presented at the Graf von Krolock's Ball for the first time.
SERIES: Part of Carpe Noctem series.
And just to confuse matters, in sequence, this is the first chapter.
In order, after this one: Til The Moon Is Abed, Unwritten Words, What Remains, The Gentler Sex, Visitation, After the Storm, In The Name Of and In The Air
PAIRINGS: Darla/Angelus, William/Drusilla, Herbert/William
WORDS: 7673
NOTES: This chapter has been in the semi-finished stages for so long. I thought it would never be done, but apparently, flu gives me motivation.
Also, yes, there is quoting from Rimbaud's Illuminations and Byron's "And Thou Art Dead". What can I say? I love William ;)
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Despite the early hour, the ball appeared to be a success.
Hundreds of guests from half a dozen generations were gathered in the grandiose ballroom of the Graf von Krolock’s castle, dancing and laughing.
Admittedly, some of the guests were more rustic, their funereal garb dispersing dust across the polished floors, but for one’s reputation, one had to tolerate those who had lesser manners but great esteem nonetheless.
And, how delightful, the embodiment of those characteristics had just swaggered into the ballroom.
Of course, he had his lady with him and the second was accompanied by...
“Who is that?” He felt his son move closer behind him. Ah, Herbert would be the first to notice the new arrivals and their unexpected addition.
“I trust you do not mean Angelus,” he replied, smiling slightly at the expression that crossed his son’s face. He gazed at the newest visitor, unfamiliar and drinking in the surroundings with wide-eyes. “My, this is... interesting.”
“Oh? You can see who he is, then?” Sometimes, Herbert could be so refreshingly excitable and predictable. “So...?”
Dark eyes gleamed. “More than simply a pretty face, Herbert,” he murmured, then descended the staircase with a measured tread, his cloak whispering behind him.
At once, there was a reverential silence, the crowd parting before him to allow him to greet these newest arrivals. It was not done out of a mutual liking, but as a sign of respect towards the Order of Aurelius.
In truth, he had never met any vampires with an exaggerated sense of self-worth as grand as those of that bloodline, but it seemed fitting to be... associated with them, mutually beneficial, although he would rather shear off his own hand than spend time readily with Angelus.
Loosing her arm from her pet’s, the eldest of the quartet moved forward with a broad smile, extending her hands to him. “Your Excellency,” she murmured, sinking into a well-practised curtsey, her deep purple gown spreading around her.
“Darla,” he acknowledged, clasping her fingertips lightly and inclining his head. “It has been some time since you have graced our halls.”
And of the reason, there was no doubt. He could see Angelus scowling already. Such a charming creature. It seemed, however, that his previous lesson in manners had taken, because this time, he had restraint enough to stay behind his Sire and hold his tongue until spoken to.
“Had to show a fallen angel the best places to dance and play,” the dreamy voice drifted from Darla’s right, and von Krolock turned his most charming smile to the third - and until now - the youngest member of the group.
“You flatter, Drusilla,” he said, claiming her slender hands and lifting it to kiss her knuckles softly. “It is a mere trifle, this ball.”
Grey-blue eyes gazed at him, deep red lips curling in a knowing smile. “Bad boy, telling such fibs,” she cooed.
“As always,” von Krolock gazed at her fondly. “You see to the truth of the matter.”
“Hide and seek and there it will be.” Drusilla tilted her head back with a quiet, contented sigh.
“And I see you have brought a new guest, my dear.” Releasing her hands, he glanced to her right, to the youngest vampire in the group. He met ice-blue eyes that were staring with no small measure of bewilderment, a faint smile touching his lips.
Pulling the tawny-haired youth forward, Drusilla beamed in delight. “I found the sweetest, bravest knight in all the land,” she said in a sing-song voice. “Willy, this is the one I told you about.”
The boy was staring at him with wide, reverent eyes and the Graf could barely mask the smile that crept upon his lips.
“William, I trust?” von Krolock murmured.
“Yes, Sir.” The bow the boy executed was flawless, one hand at the base of his back, the other pressed flat against his stomach. Dark golden curls fell loose from the black velvet ribbon at the nape of his neck, skimming his cheekbones. “I’m honoured to meet you.”
Behind Darla, there was a derisive but muffled snort which was stifled in the face of an ice-cold glance from von Krolock. Clearly, his merciless lessons had been quite sufficient to pacify the rabid beast for a time.
However, it appeared that Angelus had already extended his influence. The young William’s shoulders had tightened and he had frozen mid-bow. Even if he had not looked, von Krolock knew he would have felt the waves of tension.
Extending one hand, the Graf lifted the boy’s chin and those brilliant blue eyes met his fearlessly, though not without awe and respect. Very young, barely half a dozen months, if his estimate was right.
“You are welcome to my home,” von Krolock murmured, his voice mellifluous and warm. On the edge of his senses, he could feel the bewilderment and annoyance radiating from the member of this family that he had yet to fully acknowledge.
However, another presence overlapped with that of Angelus, this one agitated and giddy beyond reckoning for utterly different reasons. Herbert’s nervous energy was tugging at his mind almost as insistently as four-year-old Herbert would have tugged at his sleeve.
Drawing aside, he motioned his son forward. “Herbert, this is William, Sired by Drusilla,” he said softly, noting the surprise that registered on the youngest vampire’s face, quickly masked. “William, my son, Herbert.”
Sweeping into a low bow, his cloak flung dramatically behind him, Herbert caught the young vampire’s hand and pressed a kiss to the back of his palm. William looked too startled to draw back.
“Enchanté, William,” Herbert purred, his accented French drawing more than a couple of wistful sighs.
“Er... right...” William’s confusion was charming, his head tilted to one side, blue eyes wide. Still, his hand lay lightly in Herbert’s, cradled by his son’s fingers.
Straightening and moving forward in one smooth motion, until he was practically touching William’s slim body, William’s hand clasped between their chests, Herbert smiled a slow, feline smile.
“Welcome,” he murmured, his grey eyes holding those startled blue ones. “It has been some time since we have had such charming company.”
“Don’t I even get a look in here?”
Both Herbert and the young William tensed at the thickly-accented voice that spoke so coarsely from behind Darla. Hastily, William pulled his hand from Herbert’s and backed away a step, folding his arms over his narrow chest.
Turning slightly, Herbert’s brows arched elegantly. “I supposed you would have learned some manners since your last visit, Angelus,” he said dryly. “Alas, that all our hopes have been in vain.”
The low, bestial growl that rumbled through the dark-haired vampire’s chest was echoed by the quietest of warning snarls from von Krolock, who stepped between his son and the Irish vampire.
“The night is young, Angelus, and I am in good spirits,” he said quietly, gazing down at Angelus coolly. “Do not give me cause to lose my temper.”
Restraining himself clearly took Angelus a great deal of effort, aided only when Darla laid a cautioning hand on her pet’s arm, her pale eyes flashing as fiercely as von Krolock suspected his own were.
“He will be sure to behave himself, your Excellency,” she said sweetly. The Graf was amused to notice that Angelus was wincing, Darla’s grip on his hand leaving her knuckles white and his fingers bruised. “I will see to it.”
With an approving nod, von Krolock let his eyes drift to young William, who was feigning indifference to Herbert’s rapt gaze. His stance spoke of taut defensiveness, but beyond his eyes, there was something else, something intriguing.
Turning away with a sweeping swirl of his cloak, von Krolock motioned for his son to join him. Both of them returned to the staircase, pausing at his favoured spot on the first landing.
“An interesting boy,” he murmured, when they were once more drowned out by the music and chatter.
“Exceptionally handsome,” Herbert agreed, his eyes on the floor below them. His father had no doubts where his attention was focussed. “I felt he was not entirely himself around that lumbering brute.”
“Ill-at-ease,” von Krolock agreed mildly, laying an arm around his son’s shoulders, drawing him nearer and bringing his lips conspiratorially closer to Herbert’s ear. “This is something new, Herbert. Some... hidden betrayal.”
“The idiot?” Grey eyes dragged from the dancing guests, and von Krolock nodded slowly. “He is not afraid of him, though...” Herbert frowned briefly. “Intimidated, perhaps, but by age and experience. I do not doubt he could surpass Angelus by wit alone.”
Von Krolock chuckled softly as Herbert stepped around him, leaning back against the curved railing, one arm resting casually on the carved stone. “Sometimes, I forget how much attention you pay,” he murmured.
Herbert cast a sunny smile at him. “You should remember such pretty things are my weakness, father,” he said, eyes dancing. His eyes slid sideways to the young vampire who was hovering on the edge of the dance floor, watching. “You saw the way he bowed, the respect he accords your station.”
“Certainly not nobility.“ Von Krolock smoothed his kerchief between his fingers, his gaze roaming the hall, casually passing over the boy on occasion. “And far brighter than he feigns.”
“With Angelus as companion, would you blame him?” His son was chuckling and nodded an acknowledgement to a striking young male who had started attending the balls two decades earlier. “Better to hide your wisdom than to suffer for it.”
Von Krolock politely bowed his head towards a comely female escorted by a younger vampire, one who would clearly be losing his companion to the Graf if the she-vampire had any say in the matter. “Your intention?”
“Need you even ask?”
A steel-grey brow arched. “And already, I have lost count of possible reasons...”
Herbert lifted his eyes innocently towards the ceiling. “My chief concern was that such a pretty little creature would be molested by some unscrupulous character,” he said with a woeful sigh. “Our guests are so wretchedly rude sometimes.”
It took a great deal of restraint to stop himself from laughing aloud, but the Graf masked it by lifting his kerchief to his lips. “And where would this act of virtuous protection take place?” he asked.
Grey eyes examined the contours of the ceiling. “I thought he might be interested in the finer things...”
Von Krolock sighed, but slowly nodded. “If you must...”
“I may need your aid,” Herbert added, drawing his gaze back down to his father. “I seem to have a problem in the form of a rather hulking Irish fool. I suspect he would keep William with him simply to offend.”
Von Krolock glanced at him and smiled faintly. “My dear boy, I will gladly help,” he said, dark eyes gleaming. “Though any diversion must be your own, as I cannot and will not intercede openly.”
Pushing himself upright, Herbert caught his father’s hand and kissed his knuckles with a happy sound. “You are a kind and generous man, father,” he said with such earnestness that his father could not hide the warm smile.
“And you are a wicked, lecherous wretch,” the Graf said, lifting his son’s chin with his free hand. He leaned forward and kissed Herbert’s brow fondly. “But I find I love you all the same.”
Herbert drew back and squeezed his father’s fingers. “And I promise there will be no stains or upturned furniture this time.” He smiled broadly, then slanted a look down at the ball room, lips twitching. “You know, I think we have their attention...”
For every face in the ballroom was watching.
Von Krolock stroked his son’s cheek fondly. “I see what you mean about a host of unscrupulous characters,” he murmured. “I shall see he reaches you intact.”
Herbert laughed as his hand was released. “Thank you, father,” he said, beaming.
Arching a brow, von Krolock shook his head. “If I did not, I would never hear the end of it,” he said, then started down the staircase to mingle with his guests.
Behind him, he heard Herbert’s laughter.
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Even if he had not made it apparent, and even if it seemed he was watching all the guests with equal attentiveness, Herbert’s gaze kept wandering back to that new and charming little ruffian.
Unlike his Sire and the two elder vampires, young William haunted the sidelines of the ballroom, arms wrapped around his chest, watching the dancers with an odd, intense hunger, as if he was watching a world he could not quite touch, as much as he might wish to.
Leaning against the decorative statuary at the bottom of the banister, Herbert let his gaze drift onwards. He spotted his father amid the whirling dancers, unmissable, unmistakeable, but that was not his target of choice, not at this moment.
Pushing himself upright, the son of the Graf snared a partner, a young, charming boy with laughing eyes and wandering hands, who would have been a delightful diversion in himself, but Herbert’s focus was unshakeable and despite granting the boy a fond kiss, he caught a different partner.
Closer and closer he moved, through the pattern of the dance, moving with a deft stealth and lightness of step that would have impressed the most cunning of hunters.
His intended target was oblivious until the moment when Herbert whirled around into Darla’s place, one hand upon Angelus’ shoulder, the other clasping Angelus’ own fingers, his smile guileless and utterly charming. He heard Darla’s exclamation, but didn’t look around when it was punctuated by a less-irate and more… intrigued sound.
Cause and effect, he observed to himself with an amused smile. He had whispered to Giorgio, and Giorgio, predictable creature that he was, had reacted.
One difficulty dealt with.
Drusilla certainly didn’t come into the equation, dazzled and dizzied by the music and magic his father was kindly weaving in the air.
That left one more, which was staring at him and, surprisingly, was too startled to realise that Herbert was leading him in the rapid steps of the dance. From the middle of the dance-floor, Herbert steered him easily, beaming up sweetly at the baffled brown eyes.
Honestly, when the over-sized brute wasn’t talking, he was almost attractive.
“What are you doing?”
Alas, that such peace couldn’t last forever. If the wretched creature was going to open his mouth, he could have - at least - done something useful with it, but apparently, that was hoping for too much. Drawing on a shared knowledge of the Germanic language, however, Angelus’ accent took on a different veneer that made it grate a little less than usual
“You always make such intriguing overtures, darling,” Herbert beamed at him. “I suppose I felt dreadful for being so unkind and evading you so often.”
And there it was, once more, blessed, startled, silent gawping.
“You’re saying you’re… interested?”
So, the silly boy wasn’t entirely idiotic, then, judging by the suspicious look on his face. Well, that was something.
“I’m saying,” Herbert pressed closer, until his body was in wickedly intimate contact with the length of Angelus’, his eyes holding the taller vampire’s. “I wish to make you an offer to recompense you for my earlier rudeness.”
“What kind of offer?” Angelus seemed to realise Herbert wasn’t about to pull away, and his broad hand pressed firmly against the base of Herbert’s back, possessive and dangerously strong.
Ah, how delightfully predictable.
Pushing against Angelus’ greater weight, Herbert slid his hand from Angelus’s shoulder to the middle of his chest, steering him easily from the dance-floor and out, into the hall and to privacy. Some standards, of course, had to be maintained, and it would hardly do to have William seeing what he was about to do in the name of diversion.
“A hunt,” he murmured, pressing Angelus back against the wall, in the shadows and out of sight of the majority of the guests in the ballroom. “These grounds are wide and extensive.”
“Free-range, eh?”
Herbert nodded with a slow smile. “I see you begin to understand.”
“The prey?”
Grey eyes glittered. “Do I have to spell it out for you?”
Angelus’ eyes raked over Herbert with a rude hunger, one side of his mouth curling up. “After all this time,” he said, one hand rising to sink into Herbert’s hair. “Thought you were just teasing, Herbie.”
Tolerating the cruel hand for a moment, Herbert’s fingers fisted into Angelus’ shirt, his eyes shadowed oddly by the light spilling from the ballroom door. “If I was,” he murmured silkily. “You would know.”
The hand in his hair tensed, those dark eyes mere inches from his own. “How do I know you’re not just doing the same this time?”
It certainly appeared that Angelus had conquered the challenge of rational thought, however briefly.
Herbert almost sighed. Alas, for the greater good, some sacrifices had to be made.
His own hand threaded through Angelus’ dark hair and he kissed the Irish vampire with all his skill and all his passion, unsurprised when he was clutched at with meaty hands that were used to taking exactly what they wished when they wished.
Greedy, grasping wretch.
Allowing it for but a moment, he broke free easily of Angelus’ grip, suddenly as aloof and ethereal as ever.
“You accept my hunt, then?” he murmured with such cloying sweetness that he wondered how Angelus could possibly be so blinded by his lust for conquest of one who had evaded him for so long.
It was a trifle flattering, admittedly, but really. The silly creature would last no time if he behaved that way.
“When?”
Walking his fingertips in a circle on Angelus’ chest, Herbert smiled. “I will take a half hour head start,” he said softly. “To make it... interesting. You must wait half an hour, cheri, else I would be forced to cancel the hunt.”
“Aye, aye... half an hour...” Angelus tried to grasp him again, but Herbert drew back a step.
“Half an hour, no less,” Herbert said, eyes flashing in warning. “Or else, you shall be at the forest’s mercy.” He lightly kissed his fingertip and touched it to Angelus’ lips, a smile tripping across his face. “Good hunting, cheri.”
Turning, Herbert walked towards the staircase, glancing back over one shoulder. “I trust you can find you way to the grounds, hmm?” The dark vampire was watching him intently and nodded. Herbert turned back and continued down the stairs, a satisfied smile on his lips. “Good.”
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Staring around the vast room, awe written on his face, William’s hands trembled by his sides. Von Krolock, though his eyes were directed ahead, watched him from beneath his lashes.
As he had suspected, this intriguing young creature was far more than his defensive appearance indicated, and in the presence of von Krolock’s library, the boy looked as if he might go into paroxysms of delight.
“I would prefer that Angelus were not informed of this room,” he murmured.
William shook his head at once, eyes travelling from shelf to shelf. “No… no, he wouldn’t know what to do with himself in a place like this,” he agreed, taking a faltering step into the room. “All this is yours?”
“A hobby,” von Krolock made a casual gesture with one hand, moving deeper into the room. “One has so much time when one will live forever.”
He could almost sense the youngster trying to pull his carefully constructed mask back in place, to hide behind the coarse little ragamuffin that Angelus seemed to prefer; someone harsh and raw and utterly without emotion, and most certainly not an educated person who looked like he might burst with delight at the sight of the grandest library in Eastern Europe.
Even so, anyone with half a mind and a single wit who saw how William treated his beloved and quite mad Sire could see that he was not the animalistic creature Angelus seemed convinced he was.
“I should go and catch up with Angelus…”
Von Krolock paused where he stood, glancing over his shoulder. “In my house, guests are at liberty to do as they choose,” he observed quietly. “Not as they feel they should choose.”
The child’s indecision was precious, his perplexed frown almost palpable on the air.
Turning to face the youth, little more than a fledgling, barely half a year beyond the touch of mortality, von Krolock smiled fleetingly, gently encouraging. “I have no doubts Angelus would be most put out, should you intrude on his choice of hunt.”
“Drusilla...” William’s voice wavered uncertainly.
“She and Darla are also otherwise occupied,” von Krolock murmured. He had seen to it, in fact, having the two women pampered by some of his most loyal and, above all, strikingly handsome companions. He was silent for a moment, then made a casual gesture with one hand. “If you would rather roam the castle until they have a little time, I will not restrain you. There is much to see.”
Though he shied back towards the door slightly, William’s blue eyes darted along the shelves that lined the walls. Chewing his lower lip, he dared to look at the door, then puffed out his chest as if he had known his decision all the time.
“Since they’re busy, might as well kill some time in here,” he said loudly. “Better to wait in one place, so they know where to find me, instead of getting myself lost.”
Lowering his eyes and hiding his smile, von Krolock inclined his head in a brief bow of acquiescent acceptance. “I trust you will leave all as you have found it, when you tire of lingering here?”
He could sense the boy’s relief. William certainly did not want to admit he was an admirer of literature, so to hide behind the facade of boredom was an excuse he was quite willing to grasp and one von Krolock was quite content to offer.
In days such as these, it was unusual to find vampires as unique as those harvested by Angelus. Drusilla on her own was quite the find, but young William, clearly so much more than he appeared, was a charming addition to the little family and one von Krolock intended to observe and - if possible - preserve.
“Of course, sir.” There was a boyish grin that was utterly charming and full of mischief. “I would rather avoid a welcome like Angelus.”
“Oh, of that, you are quite assured,” von Krolock said lightly, returning the beaming smile of the young vampire with a quieter one of his own. Truly, this boy was far too charming for his own good. “Alas, I must tend to my other guests. Will your own company suffice for the moment?”
Nodding eagerly, William bowed slightly at the waist, with just enough respect but not as fawning as some of the others had been. “Thank you for your time, Sir,” he said earnestly.
In spite of his best intention to leave the boy entirely for his son, von Krolock brushed his knuckles lightly down the curve of William’s cheek. “It has been my pleasure, William,” he murmured, admiring the colour rising in the boy’s cheeks, a mingling of confusion and delight.
Better to go, now, rather than suffer Herbert’s indignation, which could be more frustrating than most reprehensible of guests.
With a flick of his cloak, he stepped towards the door, and without so much as a backward glance, he was gone.
_____________________________
Left to his own devices, William had hesitated for a moment before rushing over to one of the bookshelves, running his fingertips along the heavy spines, caressing the indented golden names reverently.
It had been weeks, months since he had touched a book, and this place, the smell, the atmosphere, everything about it made him giddy.
As much as he wished he could deny it, as much as he wished he could be dominant enough to stand against Angelus, he knew he would always and ever be drawn in by the familiarity of the art of words. Still, it didn’t mean he was about to let the elder vampire know it.
Bad enough to be mocked for his smaller stature and lesser build, but if Angelus discovered his poetry, his secret passion that still remained, he would be even fresher meat than he already was.
Scanning the bold titles as he brushed a hand along them, he felt weak with awe. If he had the choice, he knew he would have a collection such as this, with every book he had longed to lay his hands on, but - with his minimal finances - had been unable to even manage a single page thereof.
“Good god...” he whispered in shock, pulling one of the tomes from the shelf and staring at the front of the cover, hardly daring to believe what he was looking at. In trembling hands, he was cradling a copy of Byron.
His fingertips were hovering over the edge of the cover when a sound made him whirl around, sudden worry and agitation lashing him in equal measures. If it was Angelus, he would never hear the end of it...
The library looked empty.
Further along the room, a broad fireplace contained a flickering fire. There was a chaise standing before it and under his wary stare, an arm draped casually over the back of the couch.
Whoever it was on the couch, it certainly wasn’t Angelus. With long, white fingers and an elegantly ruffled sleeve, the solitary limb moved with too much grace to be the elder vampire.
William felt his shoulders sag in relief, to the point of taking a step or two closer to the chaise, curious now.
Over the soft crackle and snap of the flames, he heard a voice speak, “Gracieux fils de Pan! Autour de ton front couronné de fleurettes et de baies, tes yeux, des boules précieuses, remuent.”
The accented French, perfectly articulated, was pure aural delight, leaving William staring in wide-eyed awe at the chaise. Such perfectly-spoken poetry more beautiful than anything he could ever imagine hearing outwith the gates of heaven itself.
The elegant hand pressed against the back of the chaise, the owner rising from his recumbent position with such grace, his gaze upon a smaller book held loosely in his other hand.
The Graf’s son!
Silhouetted against the mantle, the buttery light playing upon the silky spill of his golden hair and the white fabric of his shirt, Herbert continued to recite from the book. His voice was soft, sensuous, as if his lips loved shaping the very words they spoke.
As if drawn in by every word, William found himself moving closer and closer to better hear, his tongue touching his suddenly-dry lower lip. Had he still had need for breath, he knew he would have been holding it.
Slowly, enticingly, dark grey eyes turned to him. “Promène-toi, la nuit,” Herbert whispered silkily, gazing up at him with a small, enigmatic smile upon his lips. “En mouvant doucement cette cuisse, cette seconde cuisse et cette jambe de gauche.”
William blinked at him and only just managed to catch the book that was slipping from his grip.
Closing his book, Herbert rested his chin on the hand of the arm draped on the back of the chaise, his grey eyes resting on William’s face. “You recognise Rimbaud?” he murmured, his intonation and accent perfection.
“I-I-I’ve heard of him,” William felt like his tongue was a rock in his mouth, his every word feeling so clumsy after the perfect purr that was Herbert’s voice, his school-room French not his strongest suit. “I-I’m afraid I didn’t have access to any of his work.”
“Oh, have no fear,” Herbert’s lips curled warmly. “Father has everything.” He tilted his head slightly. “And I see that you have discovered the Byron collection.” His eyes closed with a sigh that sounded out of place anywhere but the bedchamber, and William felt his cheeks flame at that thought. “Ah, he is exquisite.”
“Y-you’ve read him?”
“Alas,” Herbert shook his head with a sigh. “I cannot understand English, but my father has translated his words for me.” He looked as if he was listening to a beautiful music that only he could hear. “Such beautifully phrased meaning.”
William couldn’t help but stare at someone - another vampire, no less - who found poetry as pleasing as he did. He was clinging to the heavy book, a sense of the real in a world that suddenly seemed quite extraordinary.
Abruptly, grey eyes opened, looking up at him. “Will you read for me?” Herbert asked eagerly, motioning for William to join him. “I have longed to hear the language of Byron in the tongue of a native of his land.”
“But... but you said yourself that you don’t understand it,” William mumbled, shying back and clutching the book against his chest.
“Pah!” Herbert patted the chaise again, beaming. “It is all a matter of expression and emotion, cheri.” His lips curled warmly. “Come now, you do not wish to upset the son of your most generous host, do you?”
William bit his lip. Surely sitting next to the Graf’s son was harmless, even if the golden-haired vampire did seem rather overly-friendly. Sidling around the chaise, he gingerly sat down on the edge.
Grey eyes gazed at him, wounded. “Am I so terrifying?” the other vampire asked mournfully, the hurt in his eyes so heartfelt and woeful that William physically winced. Herbert patted the middle of the chaise. “Come, William. Let me read with you.”
He looked so utterly charming and genuinely interested that William wondered why he had hesitated at all and shuffled along sheepishly until there was less than a hand-span’s space between them.
“Er…”
“May I choose?” Herbert asked, grey eyes so bright and eager, and William held out the book mutely to him. Parting the pages with a reverence William would have used himself, Herbert smoothed a page and laid the book back in William’s hands. “That one, if you will.”
William looked down, then felt as if his innards had turned to ice, his hands gripping the edges of the book. On the page, the words were blurred into a mass of grey and he squinted at them uncertainly.
“I-I really am terrible at reading aloud,” he mumbled, trying to close to book. “I-I stammer and...” Herbert’s hand prevented him from shutting the book and he turned, only to find grey eyes gazing at him.
“Please,” the Graf’s son murmured, so close, so polite, so striking, so charming. “I would be delighted to hear it, regardless.”
William realised, belatedly, that he was staring again and, colouring deeply, looked back down at the traitorous page with eyes that refused to work as efficiently as the rest of his cursed body.
“Your pronunciation and diction were so...” There was no word, none that could do it justice, and William scuffed his feet against the carpet. “I would be ashamed to disappoint you.”
Herbert’s chuckle was soft, sincere and not at all patronising. “Cheri, since I have no idea what it is meant to sound like, you think I would know?” he said, sliding a little closer. He gazed down at the page and carefully articulated the first line, stumbling on the vowels, “And thou art dead, as young and fair as aught of mortal birth.”
Hopeful blue eyes turned to stare at him. By sheer chance, by sheer, breathtaking coincidence, Herbert had selected the one poem he knew by heart, the one poem he had loved since he had read it in a classroom, when the teacher had been unaware of his attention.
“Oh...” he whispered.
Grey eyes met his, so close to his it almost seemed conspiratorial. “You know this poem?” he asked softly. William nodded wordlessly. “Will you say it for me, cheri?”
“I couldn’t do it justice,” William stammered, shaking his head.
His arm draped along the back of the chaise behind William, Herbert’s chest was almost touching William’s arm. “Do not doubt yourself, William,” he whispered. “I would hear you say it... even if you must close your eyes... please?”
Even if it had been any other poem, he knew he would never have been able to resist that softly-spoken request.
Looking down at the book, as if feigning reading, he cleared his throat.
“And thou art dead, as young and fair as aught of mortal birth;” he heard his voice tremble and cursed himself inwardly, drawing a breath and forcing himself to speak all the clearer. “And form so soft, and charms so rare, too soon return'd to Earth!”
“To earth...” Herbert’s voice echoed in a breathless whisper and he felt the other vampire’s cheek close to his, the Graf’s son reading over his shoulder. He felt the hand on his shoulder toying with his drawn-back hair, forced his memory to action.
“Though Earth receiv'd them in her bed, and o'er the spot the crowd may tread in carelessness or mirth,” His fingers depressed against the page as he felt the ribbon tugged from his hair, felt curls spill against his shoulders and cheeks. “Th-there is an eye which could not brook a-a moment on that grave to look.”
Cool fingers were stroking through his hair, brushing the nape of his neck, and he swallowed hard, the blur of the page dancing even more before his blinking eyes.
The poem.
Focus on the poem.
What could be done as long as he was reciting the words?
What would happen when he ran out?
His tongue darted against his lower lip.
“I-I-I will not ask where thou liest low,” he heard the stammer in his voice, but could not find the nerve to quell it. “N-nor gaze upon the spot; there flowers or weeds at will may grow, so I behold them not...”
“Beautiful,” Herbert’s whisper was soft against his cheek. “More, William...”
It took a moment for him to forget the pleasant sensation of the elder vampire’s breath on his cheek, his unseeing eyes staring at the page.
“It... er... it...” He had to squint at the text, forcing his mind to action. “It is enough for me to prove that what I lov'd, and long must love, like common earth can rot;” He placed a finger against the text, his hand shaking when the lips that had been so close to his cheek touched the corner of his jaw, sending a peculiar flutter through him. “T-t-to me there needs no stone to tell, tis nothing that I lov'd so well!”
Those lips withdrew with a chuckle. “Is the squeal necessity?” Herbert murmured.
Blushing furiously, William stared down at the page. Those same long fingers were smoothing through his hair, drawing it back from his cheeks.
The poem. The poem. Safer to focus on that.
The words...
Oh God, what were the words?
He desperately peered down at the page, narrowing his eyes in a vain attempt to make out the letters. “Yet...” Oh yes! “Yet did I love thee to the last...” His breath caught when lips touched his earlobe, his whole body jolting as if shocked. “A-a-a-as fervently as thou,” He drew a panting gasp when the tip of a wicked tongue traced the shell of his ear. “Oh!”
He felt more than heard the warm chuckle. “So easily distracted?” the whisper was accompanied by the teasing lap, an intimate invasion, which made his thighs tense to still his wanton hips.
Not without defiance, William drew a steadying breath, his voice quivering as he made himself continue, “Wh-who didst not change through all the past and canst not alter no... oh...” The nip of fangs on his lobe made him jump.
“Oh?”
His lower lip trembling as he tried to force down the ridiculous, wicked desire that was running through him, William’s fingers gripped the book like a shield, his eyes squeezing closed.
It did, however, take all his effort and concentration to continue to recite; “The love where Death has set his seal.” He was stammering, but no longer cared, adamant to finish the poem despite the hand on his chest, caressing him through his shirt. “Nor age can chill, nor rival steal, nor falsehood disavow: And, what were worse, thou canst not see or wrong, or change, or fault in me.”
A muffled whimper escaped him when he felt bare skin against his own, a splayed hand roaming, teasing, smoothing his skin as if it were a fabric of quality, luxuriating in the texture.
“Oh, William.” Herbert’s weight had shifted, one of his legs pressed flush against William’s, and the younger vampire trembled in spite of himself. “You have no idea how lovely you are...”
Averting his face, ashamed and delighted at once by such a compliment, William whispered, “The better days of life were ours; The worst can be but mine:” He inhaled as his throat was raked by fangs. “Th-th-the sun that cheers, the storm that lowers, shall never more be thine.”
He felt the lips on his throat, felt that wandering hand drift lower and lower still, knew he should shy away, knew he should return to the ballroom, to find Drusilla, to find anyone who would not touch him just like that, who would not touch him there...
“Oh God...” He was shivering, so hard, so desperately, forcing his mind away from the physical desire, forcing himself to... to remember, to behave properly, to...
“Th-the silence of that dreamless sleep,” he gasped out as his hips twitched towards that unfamiliar touch. “I-I-I-I envy now too much to weep...”
Suddenly, the book was gone from his hands and the touches vanished.
His eyes snapped open wide, hands hovering over empty air, and he stared down at Herbert, his mind fogged with the most carnal of thoughts. Grey eyes gazed up at him with such powerful captivation that he half-sighed, half-whimpered in longing.
Then the son of the Graf lowered his head, his golden head, his mouth...
“OH!” Grabbing the Rimbaud book, William remorselessly struck the other vampire on the head with the small tome, startling Herbert so much that he pulled back. With a panicked yelp, William scrambled back and along the chaise, falling off the end.
Sitting on the hearthrug, a surprised look on his face, Herbert stared at him, then slowly started to grin. He rolled onto his feet, light as a cat, approaching the fallen and stumbling William. “Cheri, that was silly...”
Tottering to his feet, William tried to hold his trousers and his shirt closed with some of the human modesty that remained. “I-I... you shouldn’t do that!” he mumbled, backing away.
“Why not, cheri?” As he prowled closer, Herbert’s smile was far from innocent. “I think you were enjoying it.”
William backed around the chaise, trying to put a little distance between them, his wide eyes on Herbert’s face. “It’s not natural!” he exclaimed, his cheeks flushing as he remembered just how pleasant that unnatural sensation was.
Abruptly, a firm body was against his back, an arm around his waist and lips at his throat. “Neither are we, my beautiful, cherubic darling,” Herbert’s voice was like silk and William felt his legs - already unsteady - trembling. The light kiss against his throat was innocent, chaste. The hand moving on him... wasn’t. “We are damned already, William... why not enjoy a little debauchery as well?”
Still clutching convulsively at the front of his shirt, William pressed his eyes shut, biting his lower lip. When his hips jerked up against Herbert’s palm, he gasped aloud, “Dru! I-I...”
A cool fingertip turned William’s head, and he found grey eyes gazing at him. “She has her playthings, William,” Herbert murmured, brushing a kiss against the protesting lips. “Why should you not have the same?”
William tried to exclaim that it wasn’t true, that they were destined and that she did love him, in spite of it, in spite of Angelus, in spite of... in spite of the fact that he found himself returning Herbert’s kiss, tentatively, uncertainly, as if expecting to be struck by a bolt of lightning from above.
Drawn around to face Herbert, William felt his shirt pushed from his shoulders, felt hands roaming him, found his own hands moving. He was pushed back, gently, with kisses and caresses, onto the chaise, breeches lost somewhere in the half-dozen paces, and this time when lips touched him, he allowed himself to succumb, shivering and twining his hands into Herbert’s golden hair.
Herbert played his body as a master musician would his instrument, making him tremble, making him gasp, drawing the most rare and illusive notes from him, until he was drawn as tight as a bow-string, plucked until his body resonated with pleasure and he collapsed back with a half-cry, half-moan.
Those wicked, sinful lips pressed to his bare thigh and he uttered a sigh at the pleasant sting of a bite.
His eyes half-closed, his body still trembling, William slid his tongue along his dry lips, drawing his hands up to rest on his chest. Why he was panting, he could not say, nor could he think, but his breath was stolen afresh when Herbert leaned over him and kissed him easily, so naturally, so comfortably.
“Now, you are a shirtlifter too, cheri.” The cheerful murmur made his eyes open wide and he started to rise, dismay on his face. After everything his mum had told him, he had fallen on his back for one of the worst kinds...
Angelus would find that hilarious too. Not just a soft poet-loving sap, but a shirtlifter as well.
Apparently his anxiety was clearly marked on his face, for Herbert kissed him hard, and all at once he found himself on his back on the carpet in front of the fire, the other vampire sliding between his thighs.
With a sound of protest, he tried to pull away, to squirm free, but Herbert caught his wrists and pinned him to the floor with a slow and thoroughly wicked smile. “If you are to regret your new taste,” he purred, rolling his hips against William’s, “I suggest we give you something more memorable to regret...”
“No...” William whispered, arching with a helpless whimper as those wicked lips touched his throat again and, flesh-to-flesh, he felt something stirring within him, beyond primal, beyond control, beyond thought. “Oh…”
“Oui, cheri.” His voice and touch sensual weapons, Herbert started to murmur that wonderful, beautiful, damned, bloody poem to him, all the while kissing him, touching him, caressing him, making him writhe and pant and beg for more.
__________________________
A light snow was falling in whirling coils, and by the flickering torchlight the figures standing in the doorway of the castle seemed oddly silhouetted by the blackness of the night beyond.
Their carriage was awaiting them and the sound of uneasy horses echoed in the grand lobby as the quartet bid their farewells to old acquaintances and to the Master of the house and his son.
After kissing the hands of the ladies, Herbert had grinned devilishly before planting ferocious kisses on both Angelus and William, leaving both of the exhausted-looking vampires staggering slightly, as he turned and ran lightly up the staircase, into the heart of the castle.
His father found him a short while later, standing on the balcony overlooking the palace grounds, as the carriage bumped and rocked its way towards the gates. A tawny-haired head poked momentarily out of the window, gleaming by the misted moonlight, then pulled back in.
“It seems that all of our guests were quite satisfied,” von Krolock murmured, approaching his son. His cloak lifted and shifted against the wind, light flakes of snow clinging to his eyelashes.
Herbert folded his arms over his chest, rocking on his feet, and hummed happily in agreement. “So it seemed.”
“Even Angelus seemed quite satisfied.”
The grin that crossed his son’s face was wickedly gleeful. “He genuinely believed I was in the forest with him all night,” he noted, looking at his father. “I don’t suppose you had anything to do with that?”
With a brief gesture of one hand, little more than a twitch of his fingers, von Krolock dismissed such a concept. “I cannot imagine how he found your scent repeatedly,” he said in all innocence. “Especially in the vicinity of the wolf pack…”
“Oh, you didn’t…”
“Then there was that stumble along the ravine by the river…” Dark eyes turned gravely to grey. “I expect you granted him half an hour?” Herbert nodded. “I saw him slip out less than twenty minutes after you.” He clicked his tongue. “I could not abide such flagrant disobedience of the rules.”
Herbert was grinning widely. “You are a noble and honourable man, father,” he said, trying to feign a virtuous look.
“And, as you are in such high spirits, I am assured that you are not.”
Nibbling on his thumbnail, Herbert’s eyes were round with innocence. “We had a poetry reading,” he said, fluttering wickedly long golden lashes. “Young William has quite a tongue for it.”
Von Krolock said nothing in response, merely arching a brow, though not without a touch of amusement.
His lips twitching, Herbert tried to maintain a straight face, but it faltered and his grin broke across his features, his eyes dancing. “I think it suffices to say that the dear boy appreciates Byron all the more thanks to my lesson,” he said, then bit his lower lip, his expression impish.
“Is that so?”
Herbert tangled his fingers together in front of his chest in a parody of demureness, his smile far from innocent. “Well, he didn’t say he wouldn’t visit again,” he said. “I would say that was positive.”
“And no doubt, you will continue his education?”
Despite the mirth in his father’s eyes, Herbert nodded gravely. “If I must, I will tie him down and teach him everything I know,” he said. “After all, it is my duty to teach those less fortunate than myself.”
Von Krolock chuckled. “That poor boy,” he murmured.
RATING: 18-ish.
FANDOMS: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel the Series & Tanz der Vampire
SPOILERS: Buffy S1-7, Angel S1-5.
SUMMARY: William the Bloody is presented at the Graf von Krolock's Ball for the first time.
SERIES: Part of Carpe Noctem series.
And just to confuse matters, in sequence, this is the first chapter.
In order, after this one: Til The Moon Is Abed, Unwritten Words, What Remains, The Gentler Sex, Visitation, After the Storm, In The Name Of and In The Air
PAIRINGS: Darla/Angelus, William/Drusilla, Herbert/William
WORDS: 7673
NOTES: This chapter has been in the semi-finished stages for so long. I thought it would never be done, but apparently, flu gives me motivation.
Also, yes, there is quoting from Rimbaud's Illuminations and Byron's "And Thou Art Dead". What can I say? I love William ;)
__________________________________
Despite the early hour, the ball appeared to be a success.
Hundreds of guests from half a dozen generations were gathered in the grandiose ballroom of the Graf von Krolock’s castle, dancing and laughing.
Admittedly, some of the guests were more rustic, their funereal garb dispersing dust across the polished floors, but for one’s reputation, one had to tolerate those who had lesser manners but great esteem nonetheless.
And, how delightful, the embodiment of those characteristics had just swaggered into the ballroom.
Of course, he had his lady with him and the second was accompanied by...
“Who is that?” He felt his son move closer behind him. Ah, Herbert would be the first to notice the new arrivals and their unexpected addition.
“I trust you do not mean Angelus,” he replied, smiling slightly at the expression that crossed his son’s face. He gazed at the newest visitor, unfamiliar and drinking in the surroundings with wide-eyes. “My, this is... interesting.”
“Oh? You can see who he is, then?” Sometimes, Herbert could be so refreshingly excitable and predictable. “So...?”
Dark eyes gleamed. “More than simply a pretty face, Herbert,” he murmured, then descended the staircase with a measured tread, his cloak whispering behind him.
At once, there was a reverential silence, the crowd parting before him to allow him to greet these newest arrivals. It was not done out of a mutual liking, but as a sign of respect towards the Order of Aurelius.
In truth, he had never met any vampires with an exaggerated sense of self-worth as grand as those of that bloodline, but it seemed fitting to be... associated with them, mutually beneficial, although he would rather shear off his own hand than spend time readily with Angelus.
Loosing her arm from her pet’s, the eldest of the quartet moved forward with a broad smile, extending her hands to him. “Your Excellency,” she murmured, sinking into a well-practised curtsey, her deep purple gown spreading around her.
“Darla,” he acknowledged, clasping her fingertips lightly and inclining his head. “It has been some time since you have graced our halls.”
And of the reason, there was no doubt. He could see Angelus scowling already. Such a charming creature. It seemed, however, that his previous lesson in manners had taken, because this time, he had restraint enough to stay behind his Sire and hold his tongue until spoken to.
“Had to show a fallen angel the best places to dance and play,” the dreamy voice drifted from Darla’s right, and von Krolock turned his most charming smile to the third - and until now - the youngest member of the group.
“You flatter, Drusilla,” he said, claiming her slender hands and lifting it to kiss her knuckles softly. “It is a mere trifle, this ball.”
Grey-blue eyes gazed at him, deep red lips curling in a knowing smile. “Bad boy, telling such fibs,” she cooed.
“As always,” von Krolock gazed at her fondly. “You see to the truth of the matter.”
“Hide and seek and there it will be.” Drusilla tilted her head back with a quiet, contented sigh.
“And I see you have brought a new guest, my dear.” Releasing her hands, he glanced to her right, to the youngest vampire in the group. He met ice-blue eyes that were staring with no small measure of bewilderment, a faint smile touching his lips.
Pulling the tawny-haired youth forward, Drusilla beamed in delight. “I found the sweetest, bravest knight in all the land,” she said in a sing-song voice. “Willy, this is the one I told you about.”
The boy was staring at him with wide, reverent eyes and the Graf could barely mask the smile that crept upon his lips.
“William, I trust?” von Krolock murmured.
“Yes, Sir.” The bow the boy executed was flawless, one hand at the base of his back, the other pressed flat against his stomach. Dark golden curls fell loose from the black velvet ribbon at the nape of his neck, skimming his cheekbones. “I’m honoured to meet you.”
Behind Darla, there was a derisive but muffled snort which was stifled in the face of an ice-cold glance from von Krolock. Clearly, his merciless lessons had been quite sufficient to pacify the rabid beast for a time.
However, it appeared that Angelus had already extended his influence. The young William’s shoulders had tightened and he had frozen mid-bow. Even if he had not looked, von Krolock knew he would have felt the waves of tension.
Extending one hand, the Graf lifted the boy’s chin and those brilliant blue eyes met his fearlessly, though not without awe and respect. Very young, barely half a dozen months, if his estimate was right.
“You are welcome to my home,” von Krolock murmured, his voice mellifluous and warm. On the edge of his senses, he could feel the bewilderment and annoyance radiating from the member of this family that he had yet to fully acknowledge.
However, another presence overlapped with that of Angelus, this one agitated and giddy beyond reckoning for utterly different reasons. Herbert’s nervous energy was tugging at his mind almost as insistently as four-year-old Herbert would have tugged at his sleeve.
Drawing aside, he motioned his son forward. “Herbert, this is William, Sired by Drusilla,” he said softly, noting the surprise that registered on the youngest vampire’s face, quickly masked. “William, my son, Herbert.”
Sweeping into a low bow, his cloak flung dramatically behind him, Herbert caught the young vampire’s hand and pressed a kiss to the back of his palm. William looked too startled to draw back.
“Enchanté, William,” Herbert purred, his accented French drawing more than a couple of wistful sighs.
“Er... right...” William’s confusion was charming, his head tilted to one side, blue eyes wide. Still, his hand lay lightly in Herbert’s, cradled by his son’s fingers.
Straightening and moving forward in one smooth motion, until he was practically touching William’s slim body, William’s hand clasped between their chests, Herbert smiled a slow, feline smile.
“Welcome,” he murmured, his grey eyes holding those startled blue ones. “It has been some time since we have had such charming company.”
“Don’t I even get a look in here?”
Both Herbert and the young William tensed at the thickly-accented voice that spoke so coarsely from behind Darla. Hastily, William pulled his hand from Herbert’s and backed away a step, folding his arms over his narrow chest.
Turning slightly, Herbert’s brows arched elegantly. “I supposed you would have learned some manners since your last visit, Angelus,” he said dryly. “Alas, that all our hopes have been in vain.”
The low, bestial growl that rumbled through the dark-haired vampire’s chest was echoed by the quietest of warning snarls from von Krolock, who stepped between his son and the Irish vampire.
“The night is young, Angelus, and I am in good spirits,” he said quietly, gazing down at Angelus coolly. “Do not give me cause to lose my temper.”
Restraining himself clearly took Angelus a great deal of effort, aided only when Darla laid a cautioning hand on her pet’s arm, her pale eyes flashing as fiercely as von Krolock suspected his own were.
“He will be sure to behave himself, your Excellency,” she said sweetly. The Graf was amused to notice that Angelus was wincing, Darla’s grip on his hand leaving her knuckles white and his fingers bruised. “I will see to it.”
With an approving nod, von Krolock let his eyes drift to young William, who was feigning indifference to Herbert’s rapt gaze. His stance spoke of taut defensiveness, but beyond his eyes, there was something else, something intriguing.
Turning away with a sweeping swirl of his cloak, von Krolock motioned for his son to join him. Both of them returned to the staircase, pausing at his favoured spot on the first landing.
“An interesting boy,” he murmured, when they were once more drowned out by the music and chatter.
“Exceptionally handsome,” Herbert agreed, his eyes on the floor below them. His father had no doubts where his attention was focussed. “I felt he was not entirely himself around that lumbering brute.”
“Ill-at-ease,” von Krolock agreed mildly, laying an arm around his son’s shoulders, drawing him nearer and bringing his lips conspiratorially closer to Herbert’s ear. “This is something new, Herbert. Some... hidden betrayal.”
“The idiot?” Grey eyes dragged from the dancing guests, and von Krolock nodded slowly. “He is not afraid of him, though...” Herbert frowned briefly. “Intimidated, perhaps, but by age and experience. I do not doubt he could surpass Angelus by wit alone.”
Von Krolock chuckled softly as Herbert stepped around him, leaning back against the curved railing, one arm resting casually on the carved stone. “Sometimes, I forget how much attention you pay,” he murmured.
Herbert cast a sunny smile at him. “You should remember such pretty things are my weakness, father,” he said, eyes dancing. His eyes slid sideways to the young vampire who was hovering on the edge of the dance floor, watching. “You saw the way he bowed, the respect he accords your station.”
“Certainly not nobility.“ Von Krolock smoothed his kerchief between his fingers, his gaze roaming the hall, casually passing over the boy on occasion. “And far brighter than he feigns.”
“With Angelus as companion, would you blame him?” His son was chuckling and nodded an acknowledgement to a striking young male who had started attending the balls two decades earlier. “Better to hide your wisdom than to suffer for it.”
Von Krolock politely bowed his head towards a comely female escorted by a younger vampire, one who would clearly be losing his companion to the Graf if the she-vampire had any say in the matter. “Your intention?”
“Need you even ask?”
A steel-grey brow arched. “And already, I have lost count of possible reasons...”
Herbert lifted his eyes innocently towards the ceiling. “My chief concern was that such a pretty little creature would be molested by some unscrupulous character,” he said with a woeful sigh. “Our guests are so wretchedly rude sometimes.”
It took a great deal of restraint to stop himself from laughing aloud, but the Graf masked it by lifting his kerchief to his lips. “And where would this act of virtuous protection take place?” he asked.
Grey eyes examined the contours of the ceiling. “I thought he might be interested in the finer things...”
Von Krolock sighed, but slowly nodded. “If you must...”
“I may need your aid,” Herbert added, drawing his gaze back down to his father. “I seem to have a problem in the form of a rather hulking Irish fool. I suspect he would keep William with him simply to offend.”
Von Krolock glanced at him and smiled faintly. “My dear boy, I will gladly help,” he said, dark eyes gleaming. “Though any diversion must be your own, as I cannot and will not intercede openly.”
Pushing himself upright, Herbert caught his father’s hand and kissed his knuckles with a happy sound. “You are a kind and generous man, father,” he said with such earnestness that his father could not hide the warm smile.
“And you are a wicked, lecherous wretch,” the Graf said, lifting his son’s chin with his free hand. He leaned forward and kissed Herbert’s brow fondly. “But I find I love you all the same.”
Herbert drew back and squeezed his father’s fingers. “And I promise there will be no stains or upturned furniture this time.” He smiled broadly, then slanted a look down at the ball room, lips twitching. “You know, I think we have their attention...”
For every face in the ballroom was watching.
Von Krolock stroked his son’s cheek fondly. “I see what you mean about a host of unscrupulous characters,” he murmured. “I shall see he reaches you intact.”
Herbert laughed as his hand was released. “Thank you, father,” he said, beaming.
Arching a brow, von Krolock shook his head. “If I did not, I would never hear the end of it,” he said, then started down the staircase to mingle with his guests.
Behind him, he heard Herbert’s laughter.
_____________________________
Even if he had not made it apparent, and even if it seemed he was watching all the guests with equal attentiveness, Herbert’s gaze kept wandering back to that new and charming little ruffian.
Unlike his Sire and the two elder vampires, young William haunted the sidelines of the ballroom, arms wrapped around his chest, watching the dancers with an odd, intense hunger, as if he was watching a world he could not quite touch, as much as he might wish to.
Leaning against the decorative statuary at the bottom of the banister, Herbert let his gaze drift onwards. He spotted his father amid the whirling dancers, unmissable, unmistakeable, but that was not his target of choice, not at this moment.
Pushing himself upright, the son of the Graf snared a partner, a young, charming boy with laughing eyes and wandering hands, who would have been a delightful diversion in himself, but Herbert’s focus was unshakeable and despite granting the boy a fond kiss, he caught a different partner.
Closer and closer he moved, through the pattern of the dance, moving with a deft stealth and lightness of step that would have impressed the most cunning of hunters.
His intended target was oblivious until the moment when Herbert whirled around into Darla’s place, one hand upon Angelus’ shoulder, the other clasping Angelus’ own fingers, his smile guileless and utterly charming. He heard Darla’s exclamation, but didn’t look around when it was punctuated by a less-irate and more… intrigued sound.
Cause and effect, he observed to himself with an amused smile. He had whispered to Giorgio, and Giorgio, predictable creature that he was, had reacted.
One difficulty dealt with.
Drusilla certainly didn’t come into the equation, dazzled and dizzied by the music and magic his father was kindly weaving in the air.
That left one more, which was staring at him and, surprisingly, was too startled to realise that Herbert was leading him in the rapid steps of the dance. From the middle of the dance-floor, Herbert steered him easily, beaming up sweetly at the baffled brown eyes.
Honestly, when the over-sized brute wasn’t talking, he was almost attractive.
“What are you doing?”
Alas, that such peace couldn’t last forever. If the wretched creature was going to open his mouth, he could have - at least - done something useful with it, but apparently, that was hoping for too much. Drawing on a shared knowledge of the Germanic language, however, Angelus’ accent took on a different veneer that made it grate a little less than usual
“You always make such intriguing overtures, darling,” Herbert beamed at him. “I suppose I felt dreadful for being so unkind and evading you so often.”
And there it was, once more, blessed, startled, silent gawping.
“You’re saying you’re… interested?”
So, the silly boy wasn’t entirely idiotic, then, judging by the suspicious look on his face. Well, that was something.
“I’m saying,” Herbert pressed closer, until his body was in wickedly intimate contact with the length of Angelus’, his eyes holding the taller vampire’s. “I wish to make you an offer to recompense you for my earlier rudeness.”
“What kind of offer?” Angelus seemed to realise Herbert wasn’t about to pull away, and his broad hand pressed firmly against the base of Herbert’s back, possessive and dangerously strong.
Ah, how delightfully predictable.
Pushing against Angelus’ greater weight, Herbert slid his hand from Angelus’s shoulder to the middle of his chest, steering him easily from the dance-floor and out, into the hall and to privacy. Some standards, of course, had to be maintained, and it would hardly do to have William seeing what he was about to do in the name of diversion.
“A hunt,” he murmured, pressing Angelus back against the wall, in the shadows and out of sight of the majority of the guests in the ballroom. “These grounds are wide and extensive.”
“Free-range, eh?”
Herbert nodded with a slow smile. “I see you begin to understand.”
“The prey?”
Grey eyes glittered. “Do I have to spell it out for you?”
Angelus’ eyes raked over Herbert with a rude hunger, one side of his mouth curling up. “After all this time,” he said, one hand rising to sink into Herbert’s hair. “Thought you were just teasing, Herbie.”
Tolerating the cruel hand for a moment, Herbert’s fingers fisted into Angelus’ shirt, his eyes shadowed oddly by the light spilling from the ballroom door. “If I was,” he murmured silkily. “You would know.”
The hand in his hair tensed, those dark eyes mere inches from his own. “How do I know you’re not just doing the same this time?”
It certainly appeared that Angelus had conquered the challenge of rational thought, however briefly.
Herbert almost sighed. Alas, for the greater good, some sacrifices had to be made.
His own hand threaded through Angelus’ dark hair and he kissed the Irish vampire with all his skill and all his passion, unsurprised when he was clutched at with meaty hands that were used to taking exactly what they wished when they wished.
Greedy, grasping wretch.
Allowing it for but a moment, he broke free easily of Angelus’ grip, suddenly as aloof and ethereal as ever.
“You accept my hunt, then?” he murmured with such cloying sweetness that he wondered how Angelus could possibly be so blinded by his lust for conquest of one who had evaded him for so long.
It was a trifle flattering, admittedly, but really. The silly creature would last no time if he behaved that way.
“When?”
Walking his fingertips in a circle on Angelus’ chest, Herbert smiled. “I will take a half hour head start,” he said softly. “To make it... interesting. You must wait half an hour, cheri, else I would be forced to cancel the hunt.”
“Aye, aye... half an hour...” Angelus tried to grasp him again, but Herbert drew back a step.
“Half an hour, no less,” Herbert said, eyes flashing in warning. “Or else, you shall be at the forest’s mercy.” He lightly kissed his fingertip and touched it to Angelus’ lips, a smile tripping across his face. “Good hunting, cheri.”
Turning, Herbert walked towards the staircase, glancing back over one shoulder. “I trust you can find you way to the grounds, hmm?” The dark vampire was watching him intently and nodded. Herbert turned back and continued down the stairs, a satisfied smile on his lips. “Good.”
___________________________
Staring around the vast room, awe written on his face, William’s hands trembled by his sides. Von Krolock, though his eyes were directed ahead, watched him from beneath his lashes.
As he had suspected, this intriguing young creature was far more than his defensive appearance indicated, and in the presence of von Krolock’s library, the boy looked as if he might go into paroxysms of delight.
“I would prefer that Angelus were not informed of this room,” he murmured.
William shook his head at once, eyes travelling from shelf to shelf. “No… no, he wouldn’t know what to do with himself in a place like this,” he agreed, taking a faltering step into the room. “All this is yours?”
“A hobby,” von Krolock made a casual gesture with one hand, moving deeper into the room. “One has so much time when one will live forever.”
He could almost sense the youngster trying to pull his carefully constructed mask back in place, to hide behind the coarse little ragamuffin that Angelus seemed to prefer; someone harsh and raw and utterly without emotion, and most certainly not an educated person who looked like he might burst with delight at the sight of the grandest library in Eastern Europe.
Even so, anyone with half a mind and a single wit who saw how William treated his beloved and quite mad Sire could see that he was not the animalistic creature Angelus seemed convinced he was.
“I should go and catch up with Angelus…”
Von Krolock paused where he stood, glancing over his shoulder. “In my house, guests are at liberty to do as they choose,” he observed quietly. “Not as they feel they should choose.”
The child’s indecision was precious, his perplexed frown almost palpable on the air.
Turning to face the youth, little more than a fledgling, barely half a year beyond the touch of mortality, von Krolock smiled fleetingly, gently encouraging. “I have no doubts Angelus would be most put out, should you intrude on his choice of hunt.”
“Drusilla...” William’s voice wavered uncertainly.
“She and Darla are also otherwise occupied,” von Krolock murmured. He had seen to it, in fact, having the two women pampered by some of his most loyal and, above all, strikingly handsome companions. He was silent for a moment, then made a casual gesture with one hand. “If you would rather roam the castle until they have a little time, I will not restrain you. There is much to see.”
Though he shied back towards the door slightly, William’s blue eyes darted along the shelves that lined the walls. Chewing his lower lip, he dared to look at the door, then puffed out his chest as if he had known his decision all the time.
“Since they’re busy, might as well kill some time in here,” he said loudly. “Better to wait in one place, so they know where to find me, instead of getting myself lost.”
Lowering his eyes and hiding his smile, von Krolock inclined his head in a brief bow of acquiescent acceptance. “I trust you will leave all as you have found it, when you tire of lingering here?”
He could sense the boy’s relief. William certainly did not want to admit he was an admirer of literature, so to hide behind the facade of boredom was an excuse he was quite willing to grasp and one von Krolock was quite content to offer.
In days such as these, it was unusual to find vampires as unique as those harvested by Angelus. Drusilla on her own was quite the find, but young William, clearly so much more than he appeared, was a charming addition to the little family and one von Krolock intended to observe and - if possible - preserve.
“Of course, sir.” There was a boyish grin that was utterly charming and full of mischief. “I would rather avoid a welcome like Angelus.”
“Oh, of that, you are quite assured,” von Krolock said lightly, returning the beaming smile of the young vampire with a quieter one of his own. Truly, this boy was far too charming for his own good. “Alas, I must tend to my other guests. Will your own company suffice for the moment?”
Nodding eagerly, William bowed slightly at the waist, with just enough respect but not as fawning as some of the others had been. “Thank you for your time, Sir,” he said earnestly.
In spite of his best intention to leave the boy entirely for his son, von Krolock brushed his knuckles lightly down the curve of William’s cheek. “It has been my pleasure, William,” he murmured, admiring the colour rising in the boy’s cheeks, a mingling of confusion and delight.
Better to go, now, rather than suffer Herbert’s indignation, which could be more frustrating than most reprehensible of guests.
With a flick of his cloak, he stepped towards the door, and without so much as a backward glance, he was gone.
_____________________________
Left to his own devices, William had hesitated for a moment before rushing over to one of the bookshelves, running his fingertips along the heavy spines, caressing the indented golden names reverently.
It had been weeks, months since he had touched a book, and this place, the smell, the atmosphere, everything about it made him giddy.
As much as he wished he could deny it, as much as he wished he could be dominant enough to stand against Angelus, he knew he would always and ever be drawn in by the familiarity of the art of words. Still, it didn’t mean he was about to let the elder vampire know it.
Bad enough to be mocked for his smaller stature and lesser build, but if Angelus discovered his poetry, his secret passion that still remained, he would be even fresher meat than he already was.
Scanning the bold titles as he brushed a hand along them, he felt weak with awe. If he had the choice, he knew he would have a collection such as this, with every book he had longed to lay his hands on, but - with his minimal finances - had been unable to even manage a single page thereof.
“Good god...” he whispered in shock, pulling one of the tomes from the shelf and staring at the front of the cover, hardly daring to believe what he was looking at. In trembling hands, he was cradling a copy of Byron.
His fingertips were hovering over the edge of the cover when a sound made him whirl around, sudden worry and agitation lashing him in equal measures. If it was Angelus, he would never hear the end of it...
The library looked empty.
Further along the room, a broad fireplace contained a flickering fire. There was a chaise standing before it and under his wary stare, an arm draped casually over the back of the couch.
Whoever it was on the couch, it certainly wasn’t Angelus. With long, white fingers and an elegantly ruffled sleeve, the solitary limb moved with too much grace to be the elder vampire.
William felt his shoulders sag in relief, to the point of taking a step or two closer to the chaise, curious now.
Over the soft crackle and snap of the flames, he heard a voice speak, “Gracieux fils de Pan! Autour de ton front couronné de fleurettes et de baies, tes yeux, des boules précieuses, remuent.”
The accented French, perfectly articulated, was pure aural delight, leaving William staring in wide-eyed awe at the chaise. Such perfectly-spoken poetry more beautiful than anything he could ever imagine hearing outwith the gates of heaven itself.
The elegant hand pressed against the back of the chaise, the owner rising from his recumbent position with such grace, his gaze upon a smaller book held loosely in his other hand.
The Graf’s son!
Silhouetted against the mantle, the buttery light playing upon the silky spill of his golden hair and the white fabric of his shirt, Herbert continued to recite from the book. His voice was soft, sensuous, as if his lips loved shaping the very words they spoke.
As if drawn in by every word, William found himself moving closer and closer to better hear, his tongue touching his suddenly-dry lower lip. Had he still had need for breath, he knew he would have been holding it.
Slowly, enticingly, dark grey eyes turned to him. “Promène-toi, la nuit,” Herbert whispered silkily, gazing up at him with a small, enigmatic smile upon his lips. “En mouvant doucement cette cuisse, cette seconde cuisse et cette jambe de gauche.”
William blinked at him and only just managed to catch the book that was slipping from his grip.
Closing his book, Herbert rested his chin on the hand of the arm draped on the back of the chaise, his grey eyes resting on William’s face. “You recognise Rimbaud?” he murmured, his intonation and accent perfection.
“I-I-I’ve heard of him,” William felt like his tongue was a rock in his mouth, his every word feeling so clumsy after the perfect purr that was Herbert’s voice, his school-room French not his strongest suit. “I-I’m afraid I didn’t have access to any of his work.”
“Oh, have no fear,” Herbert’s lips curled warmly. “Father has everything.” He tilted his head slightly. “And I see that you have discovered the Byron collection.” His eyes closed with a sigh that sounded out of place anywhere but the bedchamber, and William felt his cheeks flame at that thought. “Ah, he is exquisite.”
“Y-you’ve read him?”
“Alas,” Herbert shook his head with a sigh. “I cannot understand English, but my father has translated his words for me.” He looked as if he was listening to a beautiful music that only he could hear. “Such beautifully phrased meaning.”
William couldn’t help but stare at someone - another vampire, no less - who found poetry as pleasing as he did. He was clinging to the heavy book, a sense of the real in a world that suddenly seemed quite extraordinary.
Abruptly, grey eyes opened, looking up at him. “Will you read for me?” Herbert asked eagerly, motioning for William to join him. “I have longed to hear the language of Byron in the tongue of a native of his land.”
“But... but you said yourself that you don’t understand it,” William mumbled, shying back and clutching the book against his chest.
“Pah!” Herbert patted the chaise again, beaming. “It is all a matter of expression and emotion, cheri.” His lips curled warmly. “Come now, you do not wish to upset the son of your most generous host, do you?”
William bit his lip. Surely sitting next to the Graf’s son was harmless, even if the golden-haired vampire did seem rather overly-friendly. Sidling around the chaise, he gingerly sat down on the edge.
Grey eyes gazed at him, wounded. “Am I so terrifying?” the other vampire asked mournfully, the hurt in his eyes so heartfelt and woeful that William physically winced. Herbert patted the middle of the chaise. “Come, William. Let me read with you.”
He looked so utterly charming and genuinely interested that William wondered why he had hesitated at all and shuffled along sheepishly until there was less than a hand-span’s space between them.
“Er…”
“May I choose?” Herbert asked, grey eyes so bright and eager, and William held out the book mutely to him. Parting the pages with a reverence William would have used himself, Herbert smoothed a page and laid the book back in William’s hands. “That one, if you will.”
William looked down, then felt as if his innards had turned to ice, his hands gripping the edges of the book. On the page, the words were blurred into a mass of grey and he squinted at them uncertainly.
“I-I really am terrible at reading aloud,” he mumbled, trying to close to book. “I-I stammer and...” Herbert’s hand prevented him from shutting the book and he turned, only to find grey eyes gazing at him.
“Please,” the Graf’s son murmured, so close, so polite, so striking, so charming. “I would be delighted to hear it, regardless.”
William realised, belatedly, that he was staring again and, colouring deeply, looked back down at the traitorous page with eyes that refused to work as efficiently as the rest of his cursed body.
“Your pronunciation and diction were so...” There was no word, none that could do it justice, and William scuffed his feet against the carpet. “I would be ashamed to disappoint you.”
Herbert’s chuckle was soft, sincere and not at all patronising. “Cheri, since I have no idea what it is meant to sound like, you think I would know?” he said, sliding a little closer. He gazed down at the page and carefully articulated the first line, stumbling on the vowels, “And thou art dead, as young and fair as aught of mortal birth.”
Hopeful blue eyes turned to stare at him. By sheer chance, by sheer, breathtaking coincidence, Herbert had selected the one poem he knew by heart, the one poem he had loved since he had read it in a classroom, when the teacher had been unaware of his attention.
“Oh...” he whispered.
Grey eyes met his, so close to his it almost seemed conspiratorial. “You know this poem?” he asked softly. William nodded wordlessly. “Will you say it for me, cheri?”
“I couldn’t do it justice,” William stammered, shaking his head.
His arm draped along the back of the chaise behind William, Herbert’s chest was almost touching William’s arm. “Do not doubt yourself, William,” he whispered. “I would hear you say it... even if you must close your eyes... please?”
Even if it had been any other poem, he knew he would never have been able to resist that softly-spoken request.
Looking down at the book, as if feigning reading, he cleared his throat.
“And thou art dead, as young and fair as aught of mortal birth;” he heard his voice tremble and cursed himself inwardly, drawing a breath and forcing himself to speak all the clearer. “And form so soft, and charms so rare, too soon return'd to Earth!”
“To earth...” Herbert’s voice echoed in a breathless whisper and he felt the other vampire’s cheek close to his, the Graf’s son reading over his shoulder. He felt the hand on his shoulder toying with his drawn-back hair, forced his memory to action.
“Though Earth receiv'd them in her bed, and o'er the spot the crowd may tread in carelessness or mirth,” His fingers depressed against the page as he felt the ribbon tugged from his hair, felt curls spill against his shoulders and cheeks. “Th-there is an eye which could not brook a-a moment on that grave to look.”
Cool fingers were stroking through his hair, brushing the nape of his neck, and he swallowed hard, the blur of the page dancing even more before his blinking eyes.
The poem.
Focus on the poem.
What could be done as long as he was reciting the words?
What would happen when he ran out?
His tongue darted against his lower lip.
“I-I-I will not ask where thou liest low,” he heard the stammer in his voice, but could not find the nerve to quell it. “N-nor gaze upon the spot; there flowers or weeds at will may grow, so I behold them not...”
“Beautiful,” Herbert’s whisper was soft against his cheek. “More, William...”
It took a moment for him to forget the pleasant sensation of the elder vampire’s breath on his cheek, his unseeing eyes staring at the page.
“It... er... it...” He had to squint at the text, forcing his mind to action. “It is enough for me to prove that what I lov'd, and long must love, like common earth can rot;” He placed a finger against the text, his hand shaking when the lips that had been so close to his cheek touched the corner of his jaw, sending a peculiar flutter through him. “T-t-to me there needs no stone to tell, tis nothing that I lov'd so well!”
Those lips withdrew with a chuckle. “Is the squeal necessity?” Herbert murmured.
Blushing furiously, William stared down at the page. Those same long fingers were smoothing through his hair, drawing it back from his cheeks.
The poem. The poem. Safer to focus on that.
The words...
Oh God, what were the words?
He desperately peered down at the page, narrowing his eyes in a vain attempt to make out the letters. “Yet...” Oh yes! “Yet did I love thee to the last...” His breath caught when lips touched his earlobe, his whole body jolting as if shocked. “A-a-a-as fervently as thou,” He drew a panting gasp when the tip of a wicked tongue traced the shell of his ear. “Oh!”
He felt more than heard the warm chuckle. “So easily distracted?” the whisper was accompanied by the teasing lap, an intimate invasion, which made his thighs tense to still his wanton hips.
Not without defiance, William drew a steadying breath, his voice quivering as he made himself continue, “Wh-who didst not change through all the past and canst not alter no... oh...” The nip of fangs on his lobe made him jump.
“Oh?”
His lower lip trembling as he tried to force down the ridiculous, wicked desire that was running through him, William’s fingers gripped the book like a shield, his eyes squeezing closed.
It did, however, take all his effort and concentration to continue to recite; “The love where Death has set his seal.” He was stammering, but no longer cared, adamant to finish the poem despite the hand on his chest, caressing him through his shirt. “Nor age can chill, nor rival steal, nor falsehood disavow: And, what were worse, thou canst not see or wrong, or change, or fault in me.”
A muffled whimper escaped him when he felt bare skin against his own, a splayed hand roaming, teasing, smoothing his skin as if it were a fabric of quality, luxuriating in the texture.
“Oh, William.” Herbert’s weight had shifted, one of his legs pressed flush against William’s, and the younger vampire trembled in spite of himself. “You have no idea how lovely you are...”
Averting his face, ashamed and delighted at once by such a compliment, William whispered, “The better days of life were ours; The worst can be but mine:” He inhaled as his throat was raked by fangs. “Th-th-the sun that cheers, the storm that lowers, shall never more be thine.”
He felt the lips on his throat, felt that wandering hand drift lower and lower still, knew he should shy away, knew he should return to the ballroom, to find Drusilla, to find anyone who would not touch him just like that, who would not touch him there...
“Oh God...” He was shivering, so hard, so desperately, forcing his mind away from the physical desire, forcing himself to... to remember, to behave properly, to...
“Th-the silence of that dreamless sleep,” he gasped out as his hips twitched towards that unfamiliar touch. “I-I-I-I envy now too much to weep...”
Suddenly, the book was gone from his hands and the touches vanished.
His eyes snapped open wide, hands hovering over empty air, and he stared down at Herbert, his mind fogged with the most carnal of thoughts. Grey eyes gazed up at him with such powerful captivation that he half-sighed, half-whimpered in longing.
Then the son of the Graf lowered his head, his golden head, his mouth...
“OH!” Grabbing the Rimbaud book, William remorselessly struck the other vampire on the head with the small tome, startling Herbert so much that he pulled back. With a panicked yelp, William scrambled back and along the chaise, falling off the end.
Sitting on the hearthrug, a surprised look on his face, Herbert stared at him, then slowly started to grin. He rolled onto his feet, light as a cat, approaching the fallen and stumbling William. “Cheri, that was silly...”
Tottering to his feet, William tried to hold his trousers and his shirt closed with some of the human modesty that remained. “I-I... you shouldn’t do that!” he mumbled, backing away.
“Why not, cheri?” As he prowled closer, Herbert’s smile was far from innocent. “I think you were enjoying it.”
William backed around the chaise, trying to put a little distance between them, his wide eyes on Herbert’s face. “It’s not natural!” he exclaimed, his cheeks flushing as he remembered just how pleasant that unnatural sensation was.
Abruptly, a firm body was against his back, an arm around his waist and lips at his throat. “Neither are we, my beautiful, cherubic darling,” Herbert’s voice was like silk and William felt his legs - already unsteady - trembling. The light kiss against his throat was innocent, chaste. The hand moving on him... wasn’t. “We are damned already, William... why not enjoy a little debauchery as well?”
Still clutching convulsively at the front of his shirt, William pressed his eyes shut, biting his lower lip. When his hips jerked up against Herbert’s palm, he gasped aloud, “Dru! I-I...”
A cool fingertip turned William’s head, and he found grey eyes gazing at him. “She has her playthings, William,” Herbert murmured, brushing a kiss against the protesting lips. “Why should you not have the same?”
William tried to exclaim that it wasn’t true, that they were destined and that she did love him, in spite of it, in spite of Angelus, in spite of... in spite of the fact that he found himself returning Herbert’s kiss, tentatively, uncertainly, as if expecting to be struck by a bolt of lightning from above.
Drawn around to face Herbert, William felt his shirt pushed from his shoulders, felt hands roaming him, found his own hands moving. He was pushed back, gently, with kisses and caresses, onto the chaise, breeches lost somewhere in the half-dozen paces, and this time when lips touched him, he allowed himself to succumb, shivering and twining his hands into Herbert’s golden hair.
Herbert played his body as a master musician would his instrument, making him tremble, making him gasp, drawing the most rare and illusive notes from him, until he was drawn as tight as a bow-string, plucked until his body resonated with pleasure and he collapsed back with a half-cry, half-moan.
Those wicked, sinful lips pressed to his bare thigh and he uttered a sigh at the pleasant sting of a bite.
His eyes half-closed, his body still trembling, William slid his tongue along his dry lips, drawing his hands up to rest on his chest. Why he was panting, he could not say, nor could he think, but his breath was stolen afresh when Herbert leaned over him and kissed him easily, so naturally, so comfortably.
“Now, you are a shirtlifter too, cheri.” The cheerful murmur made his eyes open wide and he started to rise, dismay on his face. After everything his mum had told him, he had fallen on his back for one of the worst kinds...
Angelus would find that hilarious too. Not just a soft poet-loving sap, but a shirtlifter as well.
Apparently his anxiety was clearly marked on his face, for Herbert kissed him hard, and all at once he found himself on his back on the carpet in front of the fire, the other vampire sliding between his thighs.
With a sound of protest, he tried to pull away, to squirm free, but Herbert caught his wrists and pinned him to the floor with a slow and thoroughly wicked smile. “If you are to regret your new taste,” he purred, rolling his hips against William’s, “I suggest we give you something more memorable to regret...”
“No...” William whispered, arching with a helpless whimper as those wicked lips touched his throat again and, flesh-to-flesh, he felt something stirring within him, beyond primal, beyond control, beyond thought. “Oh…”
“Oui, cheri.” His voice and touch sensual weapons, Herbert started to murmur that wonderful, beautiful, damned, bloody poem to him, all the while kissing him, touching him, caressing him, making him writhe and pant and beg for more.
__________________________
A light snow was falling in whirling coils, and by the flickering torchlight the figures standing in the doorway of the castle seemed oddly silhouetted by the blackness of the night beyond.
Their carriage was awaiting them and the sound of uneasy horses echoed in the grand lobby as the quartet bid their farewells to old acquaintances and to the Master of the house and his son.
After kissing the hands of the ladies, Herbert had grinned devilishly before planting ferocious kisses on both Angelus and William, leaving both of the exhausted-looking vampires staggering slightly, as he turned and ran lightly up the staircase, into the heart of the castle.
His father found him a short while later, standing on the balcony overlooking the palace grounds, as the carriage bumped and rocked its way towards the gates. A tawny-haired head poked momentarily out of the window, gleaming by the misted moonlight, then pulled back in.
“It seems that all of our guests were quite satisfied,” von Krolock murmured, approaching his son. His cloak lifted and shifted against the wind, light flakes of snow clinging to his eyelashes.
Herbert folded his arms over his chest, rocking on his feet, and hummed happily in agreement. “So it seemed.”
“Even Angelus seemed quite satisfied.”
The grin that crossed his son’s face was wickedly gleeful. “He genuinely believed I was in the forest with him all night,” he noted, looking at his father. “I don’t suppose you had anything to do with that?”
With a brief gesture of one hand, little more than a twitch of his fingers, von Krolock dismissed such a concept. “I cannot imagine how he found your scent repeatedly,” he said in all innocence. “Especially in the vicinity of the wolf pack…”
“Oh, you didn’t…”
“Then there was that stumble along the ravine by the river…” Dark eyes turned gravely to grey. “I expect you granted him half an hour?” Herbert nodded. “I saw him slip out less than twenty minutes after you.” He clicked his tongue. “I could not abide such flagrant disobedience of the rules.”
Herbert was grinning widely. “You are a noble and honourable man, father,” he said, trying to feign a virtuous look.
“And, as you are in such high spirits, I am assured that you are not.”
Nibbling on his thumbnail, Herbert’s eyes were round with innocence. “We had a poetry reading,” he said, fluttering wickedly long golden lashes. “Young William has quite a tongue for it.”
Von Krolock said nothing in response, merely arching a brow, though not without a touch of amusement.
His lips twitching, Herbert tried to maintain a straight face, but it faltered and his grin broke across his features, his eyes dancing. “I think it suffices to say that the dear boy appreciates Byron all the more thanks to my lesson,” he said, then bit his lower lip, his expression impish.
“Is that so?”
Herbert tangled his fingers together in front of his chest in a parody of demureness, his smile far from innocent. “Well, he didn’t say he wouldn’t visit again,” he said. “I would say that was positive.”
“And no doubt, you will continue his education?”
Despite the mirth in his father’s eyes, Herbert nodded gravely. “If I must, I will tie him down and teach him everything I know,” he said. “After all, it is my duty to teach those less fortunate than myself.”
Von Krolock chuckled. “That poor boy,” he murmured.