(no subject)
TITLE: Over Troubled Waters
RATING: Upper PG range
FANDOMS: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel the Series & Tanz der Vampire
SPOILERS: Buffy S1-7, Angel S1-5.
SUMMARY: William's second visit to the castle has some interesting repercussions.
SERIES: Part of Carpe Noctem series.
Another flashback chapter:
In order: As Aught of Mortal Birth, THIS CHAPTER, Per Ipsum, et cum Ipso, et in Ipso, Til The Moon Is Abed, Unwritten Words, What Remains, The Gentler Sex, Visitation, After the Storm, In The Name Of, In The Air, Makes Us Stronger, Three's a Crowd, Tis The Season, Divergence, Things Fall Apart, Broken Glass, Bleed For You, Even Angels Fall, Will Set You Free and Contact.
PAIRINGS: Angelus/Darla, William/Drusilla, Herbert/William.
WORDS: 7472
NOTES: So, this was written before I went to Poland to see Taniec Wampirow and if I was gleeful before, now, I'm thoroughly bouncing about this fandom ;) And meeting the chaps who play Herbert and Von Krolock... well, let's just say I have been in a world of squee :D
But yes, this was written before I went. Silly me. I forgot to post it.
__________________________________
The Ball of 1882
Snow was whirling on the gusting winds, thick coils whipped from ground and the bleak winter sky. Dark storm clouds, black and ponderous, hung low overhead, near scraping the tips of the castle’s topmost tower.
In the yard before the castle, carriages were rattling up into the grounds, bearing guests of note, far-travelled and of high blood lines among the vampire kin. Within the graveyard, those who were rising did so with greater alacrity than usual.
Upon the stairs of the foyer, von Krolock was presiding over the most recent arrivals. With subtle inclination of his head, he granted approval and acknowledgement to those who earned it and dignified aloofness for those who had not.
By his side, Herbert was leaning lazily against the banister, examining the carvings along the edge of the ceiling as if he had never seen them before. His darling boy always did appreciate the balls, but could never enjoy the waiting nor the pomposity of some of their guests.
A large coach clattered to a halt before the grand double doors, the door on one side slamming open forcefully. Even before the guests emerged, von Krolock could hear the argument already under way.
“You’re going to behave properly, William, is that understood?”
There was a snort of laughter. “Yeah. Says you and what army?” Abruptly, Herbert was standing upright, like a hunting dog scenting prey. “Anyway, you were the one that was in trouble.”
“More reason for you to behave yourself, boy.” The growl rumbled from within the darkness of the carriage as a slim, tawny-haired young vampire hopped lightly down onto the ground, smirking.
Ah, that would explain his son’s interest.
“Just because you got your arse knocked out of shape doesn’t mean we’re all as stupid as you are,” the young vampire said, then offered his hands to a silhouette in the doorway. “Give me your hands, love.” With a gentleness that seemed to collide against his manners, he lifted his Sire down from the carriage, smiling adoringly at her until her Sire swung down and shoved him aside. “Manners, Angelus.”
With a low growl, Angelus caught the boy’s coat, pulling his face close. “Listen to me and listen well, lad,” he snarled. “You would do well to respect your elders. Call it friendly advice.”
From the staircase, von Krolock inclined his head slightly. So, in the absence of two years, Angelus’ boorish manners and crassness had rubbed off on the quiet, bookish youngster that had charmed his son so.
He slanted a glance at Herbert and could see that his son was observing the same thing, his flashing eyes on William. Though he seemed at ease, there was a subtle line of tension in his posture that von Krolock recognised.
His face less than a hand’s width from Angelus’s, William looked like he was having trouble keeping his face straight and his laughter bubbled up easily. “Sounds like you’re still a bit put out about last year,” he said, grinning far too widely. He pushed Angelus’s hands away easily. “Sorry I missed it. Bet it was a top show.”
The strike to the back of the boy’s head was merciless, but - in spite of staggering - William straightened from it, still grinning, blue eyes gleaming. “Forgot your lady, Angelus,” he noted. “Might want to hoist her down.”
In the doorway of the carriage, Darla was watching the scene with clear fury, which was only stoked when her childe turned to her, glaring. Helped from the carriage, she reached up and pulled his face down to her level, snarling a low warning that made the large, dark vampire glower all the more.
Looking towards Herbert, von Krolock arched an eyebrow. “Will you join me in greeting our guests, Herbert?” he murmured. Herbert said nothing, his arms folded on his chest, his icy gaze fixed on the group. “Very well.”
Descending the staircase, his presence was noted first by Drusilla. She had been weaving patterns in the air with her fingertips, her head rolling on her slender neck, the tip of her tongue sliding along her upper teeth, but as his foot touched the hall floor, her eyes snapped open and she smiled broadly at him.
“Lions and lambs all lie down,” she cooed. “The Master and Maker looks and sees all.”
Abruptly, Darla’s ire was smothered and she was smiling charmingly at him. “Your Excellency,” she said brightly, sweeping past Angelus, Drusilla and the snickering William to extend her hands to him.
Accepting her slim fingers, von Krolock inclined his head marginally as she sank into an appropriately humble curtsey. “Darla,” he murmured. “I was not certain if you would attend this year.”
“Oh, we wouldn’t miss it!” William’s voice rang out laughingly. “Heard it was quite the do last year.” A second blow caught William on the head, knocking him reeling and Angelus growled again.
With a hiss of her own, Darla shot an icy look over her shoulder. “Boys.”
Angelus’s expression was ugly and he directed a murderous look at William, who pushed his hands deep in his pockets, smirking and rocking on his feet. They did consent to behave, however briefly.
Ignoring the manly posturing for a moment, von Krolock allowed his attention to turn to Drusilla, who was twirling happily on the spot, her hair and skirts whirling about her beautifully.
“Drusilla.”
Stopping dead, she wove her hands over her head. “Red like a rose,” she said, her eyes half-closed. “Angry like fire...” A moan escaped her. “It burns all up, burning and ashes until there’s nothing left... nothing but ice...” She leaned closer, whispering secretively. “But the ice is hiding fire within its belly...” She ran her hand over her stomach. “And it will eat him all up.”
Gazing at her, the Graf teased through the words, seeking a meaning that was as intangible as mist. “As you say, I trust it will be,” he murmured, extending a hand to her. She rested her fingertips on the very ends of his and he lifted her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles lightly.
Gently releasing her hand, he finally acknowledged the two male vampires, his dark eyes slipping from one to the other. Angelus bowed his head at once, his lesson clearly still intact.
William, however, seemed to have lost all fear. With a polite tilt of his head, his smile was far more open and cheerful than it had been on his previous visit. And was equally just as false as this new facade he had created for himself.
Von Krolock continued to gaze at him for a moment and saw the instant the smile faltered slightly. It was barely noticeable, unless one was watching for it.
“Gentlemen,” he murmured, gesturing for them to enter with a curl of one hand. He returned to the foot of the staircase, glancing up at Herbert, who had not moved then turned to face the quartet of guests. “Your rooms are prepared. Koukol will bring your accoutrements to you shortly.”
“Your Excellency is most kind,” Darla said with a second curtsey. Here was one, at least, who knew the importance of manners and behaviour in front of one’s host. “It has been a long journey.”
With a significant glance at the two males behind her, von Krolock smiled lightly. “One might presume so,” he murmured and saw the rueful, tired smile that briefly touched her lips.
With a look over her shoulder, she caught Angelus’ attention long enough to have him follow her as she proceeded up the staircase. Von Krolock did not need to look round to know that Angelus was warily giving Herbert a wide berth, not solely for the emotionless iciness of his son’s expression.
“Drusilla,” he murmured, drawing her to one side. “Might I speak with you?”
“Little birdies,” she whispered. “Twittering away, unseen, as the hunter hunts for the little rabbit. Hop. Hop. Hop.”
He barely noted her words, watching William over her shoulder. The boy had finally noticed Herbert and that fragile mask he was wearing was shivering. He forced the smile, blue eyes uncertain in their emotion. “All right, Herbert?”
Grey eyes that were as cold as the winter snows gazed down at him. “You address me like you know me,” he said coolly. “What makes you think you have the right?”
If he had walked down the stairs and kicked William in the face, he could not have produced more surprise. “I... I thought...”
Herbert looked him up and down, his upper lip curling. “I don’t know you.”
Without saying anything further, he turned on his heel and stalked up the stairs, not even pausing to look back. He passed Angelus and Darla at the top of the staircase, and his growl echoed through the hall.
Von Krolock could sense the surprise of the elders, yet they left the boy standing where he was, staring sightlessly up the staircase. Had William’s facade been crafted from crystal, it would not have shattered quite as beautifully.
“Shot full of holes,” Drusilla whispered, lifting her hands to her mouth. “Bang, bang, the little rabbit falls down... and the hunter shall have his supper tonight...”
William seemed quite rooted to the spot, but finally managed to blink. He turned to the Graf and for a moment looked so startled, so very lost that von Krolock almost felt pity for him.
Then he forced a quivering laugh and resolutely clawed his mask back into place, though his voice still trembled. “What was that about?”
“Fire and ice all burning up,” Drusilla chanted, drawing from the Graf to approach the boy. “Oh, sweet Willy, all pricked with thorns... took the wrong end of the rose and got all prickles...”
The swiftness with which he took her in his arms, holding her fast, as if seeking some desperate reaffirming gesture made the Graf lift a brow. So Herbert’s display had hurt him so? Did Herbert suspect it would? And was William even aware of it?
William looked up the stairs again and on Drusilla’s back, his hands trembled. Blue eyes darted towards the Graf and he saw William wet his lips. “Sir... did... have I done something to upset him?”
Von Krolock’s expression softened. So the boy still had some manner and care for others in him. That, at least, was deserving of Herbert’s time. “I think,” he said softly. “That is a question you should ask him yourself, William.” He inclined his head. “I think you might know where to seek him.”
William nodded and the smile that tugged his lips so weakly was far more genuine than the grin he had worn only moments earlier. “Yes, sir,” he acknowledged. “Dru, will you be...”
“I shall watch over your lady,” von Krolock murmured, approaching and extending a hand to her. Drusilla beamed and laid her hand in his. With a quiet nod towards the upper landing, the Graf smiled faintly. “You know your way?”
With a nod, William took to the stairs, running lightly and rapidly.
“See the rabbit chasing the hunter...” Drusilla whispered, snapping her fingertips at the air. “Run, rabbit, run...”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Hurrying through the quiet halls, William hastily straightened his coat, smoothing the heavy lapels. One hand self-consciously smoothed his hair back, trying to arrange his ponytail more neatly.
Whatever he had done to offend the Graf’s son, he had no idea, but seeing those eyes gazing down at him, so cold, so unfriendly…
Of all the vampires he had been forced into meeting since his last visit, Herbert and his father had been the ones he had found the best company. Most of the others were completely focused on violence and mayhem, but the Graf and his son were more than that, intelligent and willing to accept him as he was.
Of course, keeping company with Angelus meant a constant battle of personalities, and he had been forced to hide that side of himself, trying to match him, better him, keep himself high enough in the esteem of the others they ran into. It wouldn’t do to be thought of as weak or feeble.
He still remembered fighting back grief as he tossed away his books under his Sire’s Sire’s watchful and mocking gaze. That was one of the many reasons he had started to hate the wretched brute. That and because of Dru.
And then, last year, he had wanted to come back so badly, but Angelus…
He and Drusilla had been sent off to England, told that an invite hadn’t come for him or Dru, while Darla and Angelus went off together. It had been like a slap in the face for him. He had wreaked such violence on the populace that fortnight.
When the elder pair returned, Angelus scarred, bloody and limping, and Darla informed them that their absence had been most remiss, William had laughed. He wasn’t entirely sure why, but the vexation on the faces of his elders had been too much not to.
True, he had been beaten bloody afterwards himself, but it had been worth it.
Turned out Angelus had found out about his encounter with Herbert and on top of that, turned out Angelus had tried to take a slice of the cake. Looked like Herbert had not been best pleased about that. And when William wouldn’t stop laughing, shaking with hysteria, he was thrashed again.
He’d long since got used to the elder vampire’s violence, could turn the pain away without effort, using mirth to drive Angelus to greater levels of frustration. That occasion, the beating was worse than usual, but every night for a month, he promised himself he would come to the castle and kiss Herbert full on the mouth in gratitude.
After all, it wasn’t often you were given such quality material to mock your Sire’s Sire with.
Pausing outside the library, he hastily arranged the loose cravat. He was wearing the same clothes as he had on their last visit, not by choice, but in defiance of Angelus and his fancy gear. They were shabbier now, and he felt a sudden wave of uncomfortable self-consciousness.
Maybe that was it? Maybe he should have dressed better, made more of an effort, instead of determinedly trying to get up Angelus’ nose. Maybe striving for their approval instead of Angelus’ disapproval would have worked just as well.
Too late for it now.
Even if he’d had anything better to wear, he wanted to see Herbert right away, to see if he could undo whatever it was that he had done wrong.
Opening the library doors, he ignored the tremor in his hands and stepped into the huge room. The scent of leather and aged books washed over him, making him shiver with recollection, and for a moment, he couldn’t move, just revelling in it.
Somewhere in the depth of the room, lit so warmly by the fire in the grate, the distant whistle of the wind making it seem all the cosier, he heard the quiet familiar sound of a page being turned.
Closing the doors carefully behind him, he bit on his lower lip as he looked around the towering shelves. His footfalls were light, but still sounded deafening in the silence as he made his way towards the centre of the room.
Herbert was there, just as he had hoped and expected.
He was sitting at the broad table a dozen paces away from the couch, his back to the door and to William. Bent over a book, his cheek was resting against his left hand, the flicker of the flames illuminated him and stretched the shadow of his chair out behind him.
Hesitating, William stopped at the edge of the stretching shadows, the fading edge touching the toes of his boots. “Herbert…?”
Herbert’s head tilted slightly, but he didn’t look around and he made no reply.
Approaching the table, he stopped several paces from Herbert’s chair, pushing his hands into his pockets to stop himself twisting them together like a girl. “You’re angry with me.”
The only response was the turning of a page. Herbert didn’t even look up at him.
“You want to hit me?” he offered, hoping it would be accepted. He was used to that now. Physical violence was much easier to take than this silence and coldness. “You can. I won’t run off or anything.” He scuffed one foot against the floor. “Didn’t mean to annoy you.”
For a split-second, Herbert’s hand went still on the page of the book he was reading, then moved again. Words seemed impossible to achieve.
Looking away from Herbert, he started at the sight of objects that were lying on the table, placed at the seat beside Herbert’s. He hesitated again, then pulled the chair back so he could look closer.
On top of an open book, there was a pair of glasses that were so familiar that William trembled. He’d lost them, years back, he knew it. He’d left them in his coat pocket one night and had never seen them since.
“Where did you…” He reached down, picking them up and turning them over in his hands, hardly daring to believe they were truly his. But yes, there were the initials that he had painstakingly carved with a pin and filled with Indian ink, in case he lost them.
Sinking into the chair, he stared at the glasses, dazed wonder filling him.
There was a quiet thump as Herbert closed his book.
“They belonged to someone I considered a friend,” he said quietly.
“Considered?” William echoed, looking at him. “Not… not anymore?”
Rising from his chair without even looking down at him, Herbert picked up his book and examined the cover. “I do not know if he exists any longer,” he replied. “All I see is a mannerless boor, an English ruffian cut from the same cloth as one I despise.”
Lowering his eyes, words failing him, William stared at his glasses. They had been so much a part of him before he became a demon and now, he had gone without them and was becoming more and more like Angelus. Always needed them for reading, but when he’d given up books, he hadn’t missed them. Now, though, surrounded on all sides by the Graf’s library and accompanied by the one vampire he had ever seen reading…
Unfolding the spindly legs, he hesitated then slipped them on, looking down at the book they had been laid on.
It was a poetry book, opened already, and as he focused on the words, his eyes went round. Leaning forward, he touched his fingertips to the page and he remembered the last time he had heard that poem, purred against his ear by the vampire standing at the end of the table, reducing him to an incoherent jumble of quivering nerves.
“And thou art dead…” he heard himself whispering. “As young and fair as aught of mortal birth…” He almost jumped when he felt fingers sink into his hair, raking along his scalp, making him shiver. His eyes rose to Herbert who was standing above him, the ice in his grey eyes softening. “I had to,” he whispered. “They… don’t like ones like me…”
Herbert gazed at him soberly. “They may not,” he murmured. “But there are those who do, William.”
Averting his face, William pulled the glasses off and folded them carefully. “But I’m not here much,” he mumbled, trying his utmost to ignore the sensation of fingertips on the nape of his neck.
“That,” Herbert said quietly. “I had noticed.” Elegant fingers lifted William’s chin, forcing him to meet the grey eyes. “Angelus told you that you were not welcome last year, did he not?”
Lowering his eyes, William would have nodded if he could. “He sent Dru and I to Liverpool,” he admitted then laughed faintly, glancing up again. “I think he wanted us to suffer.”
Herbert leaned closer, sitting on the edge of the table. “And did you?” he asked, his eyes so close, so unreadable, that William found himself staring. His hands had long-since dropped to his lap and he drew a sharp breath as the back of Herbert’s fingers ran down the front of his throat. Herbert tilted his head minutely. “Hmm?”
“Y-yes.”
Whether it had been what he planned to say or not, that was what escaped him, only to be captured by Herbert’s kiss.
Either he rose into it or Herbert sank to meet him, but he found himself clutching at the older vampire as Herbert’s lips moved off his, touching jaw, then throat, the hand that had been sunk in William’s hair cradling the back of his head.
The other hand, the one that had brushed his throat so distractingly, tugged at his cravat, loosening it, and that made William shy back, remembering why he had actually bothered with the thing in the first place.
Apparently, it was too late for that.
The curse still somehow managed to sound quite beautiful on Herbert’s lips.
Cool fingers were laid against his throat, matching the spots where Angelus had caught him by the neck and squeezed until he had lost consciousness on the way to the castle. That was something William hadn’t known was physically possible until that moment, and he had decided he didn’t like it at all.
“Him?”
William’s smile felt crooked, but it was there at least. “Turns out I’m rather good at making him angry,” he admitted quietly, lifting his hand and pulling his collar up to hide the bruises that had been left.
Sitting back on the edge of the table, Herbert gazed at him for so long that he lowered his eyes and looked down at the hand still cradling his glasses. There was a speck of dust on one of the lenses and with a fingertip, he brushed it off.
Replacing them where he had picked them up, he was still gazing at them pensively when Herbert spoke, moments later.
“I think,” he said. “That you should tell me about all of your adventures.” He smiled as William looked up at him. “I have been stranded here for years, cheri, while you have been traipsing around Europe.”
Pale slim hands were offered to him and William let himself be pulled upright and led towards the couch before the fireplace. “There’s really not that much to tell,” he protested faintly.
As if he had not heard, Herbert peeled William’s overcoat off and tossed it aside, his nose wrinkling slightly. He nudged William to sit, then settled beside him, draping an arm around William’s shoulders, the frostiness of his reception utterly thawed.
“I want to hear anyway, cheri,” he said firmly. He drew his legs up onto the couch, his other hand idly tweaking at the buttons of William’s shabby shirt. “And then, I may have to let you borrow something respectable to wear.”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Beneath their feet, the layer of snow lay thick on the stone walkway. William had been bundled into one of Herbert’s winter coats, despite protesting, and was presently gazing up at the sky.
After several hours of conversation in the library, Herbert had insisted that William see more of the castle. They had emerged onto the battlements to find the night sky beautifully clear, barely a cloud left, the storm blown out. The moon was a grinning crescent and the stars seemed even brighter than usual.
“How long have you been here?” William asked, approaching the balustrade and peering over. Below was a sheer drop into a distant courtyard.
“Forever,” Herbert replied, watching him. “I was born in this castle.”
Blue eyes turned towards him, bleached to silver by the moonlight. William looked surprised at that. “You were? Here? I mean, your mortal birth?”
Herbert smiled softly, lifting a hand to smooth William’s hair back from his face, so striking by the light of the night.
“My mortal birth,” he murmured. “This castle was my father’s father’s.” His brows drew together in thought. “A long time ago.” He became aware that William was still watching him, a puzzled look on his pretty little face, and smiled again. “I told you I had been stranded here for years, did I not?”
William was still gaping at him and Herbert took the opportunity to lean in and kiss his parted lips lightly.
William leaned back, his forehead wrinkling. “You mean the Graf... he’s your father? By blood?”
Herbert laughed, brushing his fingertips against William’s cheek. “You were not aware of that?” he said, looking skywards as the first flecks of snow started to fall again, catching in William’s tawny hair.
“Always thought he was your Sire...”
Touching William’s lips lightly, Herbert gazed at him. “He is my father,” he said, a glimmer of mirth in his eyes. “And not my lover, despite popular whispers.”
The relief that flooded William’s face was delightful, almost as charming as the blush that he might have thought such a thing. Herbert chuckled, then leaned closer and replaced his fingertips with his lips, his kiss gentler than any they had shared.
Perhaps that was what made William draw back, his breath shivering between their lips. Snowflakes were clinging to his eyelashes and his pale skin.
“I should find Drusilla,” he whispered, indecision etched on his face.
Grey eyes watched his, and Herbert lifted a hand to touch his cheek. “Do you have to?” he asked softly.
That was the greater mistake. He knew it the moment he said it. William stared at him for a long moment and though there was the desire in his eyes, there was also another emotion Herbert recognised from their last encounter.
So he laughed.
And in response, William laughed nervously too.
Casting aside softness and gentle touches, Herbert pulled William into his arms and smiled his broadest, wickedest smile. “I wish you could have seen the look on your face, my darling!” he exclaimed. “You looked like you were expecting me to propose marriage or some such nonsense!”
William’s smile broadened to match his. “You did look rather serious,” he said, though not without a touch of a stammer in his words.
“Oh, my sweet, silly darling.” Herbert rolled his eyes extravagantly. “Don’t you know I am never serious?”
And with that, he kissed him firmly, ravishing any protest from William’s mouth, his hands slipping under the heavy winter coat. And as hands clutched at him and William uttered sweet gasps, Herbert’s smile almost reached his eyes.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The dawn was close, the scent of coming morning filling the air as the distant hues of day touching upon the lip of the horizon. Descending into the courtyard, the Graf von Krolock crossed the snow-layered ground towards the crypt.
As a precaution against the rivals he took in as guests, he slumbered in this shelter of stone, unreachable to all but the most suicidal of vampires, the gauntlet between castle and crypt filled with sunlight from dawn until dusk.
Likewise, his son occupied a sarcophagus close to his own unless something or some misadventure distracted him and led to him spending his nights in his bed chamber within the castle.
That, it seemed, was not the case.
Against his own sarcophagus, Herbert was surveying the ceiling, an expression of utter boredom on his face. A glass of wine dangled from his fingers as an enthusiastic young vampire worked his mouth down the front of Herbert’s bared body.
Herbert’s other hand was braced against the edge of the tomb, neither encouraging nor discouraging the pale-haired youth at his feet. That itself caused von Krolock’s brow to arch, his son reputed to be the most generous of lovers.
Lifting his glass to his lips, he drained the rest of the wine, and judging by the shimmer in his eyes it was not the first. With a scowl at the treacherous vessel, as if angered by the fact it was empty, he threw it over his shoulder to shatter on the floor.
Stepping down into the crypt, von Krolock saw the slight blond boy at Herbert’s feet start, turning to stare around at him. His eyes widened and he shied back from the Graf’s son, bowing his head hastily.
That Herbert chose to ignore this slight and the presence of his father said more than words could.
Approaching them, von Krolock inclined his head towards the door and the young vampire scrambled hastily to his feet. Watching the boy scurry out, von Krolock flicked the door shut with a touch of magic, closing out the coming morning.
He turned back to the sarcophagus to find Herbert staring at him reproachfully. His hands were resting on the lip of stone, clutching it for balance, and his grey eyes were glassy. “That wasn’t very nice, father,” he mumbled. “Poor little...” He frowned more deeply. “Whatever his name was... it wasn’t nice to interrupt...”
“Whatever his name was?” Von Krolock gazed at him. “You took a lover whose name you did not know?”
“I did not say I did not know,” Herbert countered, waving a finger at his father’s face. “His name...” He paused, his words slurring as he finished confidently, “I merely cannot remember it at this moment...”
“I have little doubt there is any of this evening you will remember,” von Krolock said with quiet disapproval, gazing down at his son. “I do not think you even sought that boy’s name.”
Swaying on his feet, Herbert threw his head back with drunken pride. “He still wanted me,” he announced. He tottered unsteadily, clutching the edge of the sarcophagus again. “I shall make them all want me!”
“Oh, Herbert...” Von Krolock caught his son’s arm gently, concern in his eyes. It was rare for Herbert to imbibe alcohol at all, preferring to keep his faculties, and even rarer for him to be under the thrall of liquor. “I have no doubt that many of them do already, but you need not do such a thing.”
Herbert squinted at him, trying to focus on his father’s face. “I think I may be a little intoxo... intoxa... I think I might be drunk, father,” he observed, then tried to reach down and pull up his trousers. He slipped and would have fallen if his father’s hands hadn’t caught him. A faint giggle escaped him. “So I look like he does, then...”
“He?”
With a dramatic gesture of one hand, Herbert straightened and promptly slipped, landing in his father’s arms. “That stupid Irish brute,” he said, clutching at the front of his father’s shirt. A finger jabbed at the Graf’s chest. “He is always drunk, you know... always...”
“I expect so, Kleines,” von Krolock murmured, sinking to sit at the base of his son’s sarcophagus, gently arranging Herbert in his arms. Herbert’s head rocked against his shoulder and he could see stains of wine on the pale shirt. “Did William not find you? He sought you...”
The burst of laughter was so sharp, so violent that Herbert jerked in his arms. “Oh, he found me, yes... we read again,” he said, reaching up to tug at his father’s cravat, straightening it as best he could. “And talked. And talked and laughed and read. Then he scurried off...” Flapping a hand, he almost caught his father across the face, and von Krolock gently captured his son’s flailing hand. “Back to the silly one who made him.”
“Drusilla is his Sire, Kleines,” he murmured, watching his son’s face.
“She doesn’t love him, Vati!” Herbert exclaimed, his drink-fogged eyes glittering with manic passion. “I tell you she doesn’t! He’s a toy! She doesn’t love him at all! None of them do!” His hand jerked against his father’s grip. “And he still runs back to them...” His lips shivering, he pouted. “Away from me...”
Von Krolock felt as if a candle had been lit in a darkened room, illuminating him so suddenly. “Oh, Herbert...”
Herbert’s lower lip quivered. “Why can I not keep him, Vati?” he whispered. “Why does he not see?”
“Sometimes, we do not see what is standing before us, Kleines,” von Krolock said gently. “William admires you so, Herbert, but he is blinded by his love for Drusilla. It is she who holds his heart.”
“But she doesn’t love him,” Herbert repeated plaintively.
“I know, mein Schatz,” von Krolock said, stroking his son’s cheek with one fingertip. “But he is hers, by blood and by the ties of his heart. Sometime, those are the hardest to sever.”
Herbert made a face. “It is not fair,” he grumbled. “Why can I not take him? I want him here. He looks so pretty in the library and she would not care anyway.”
“And have him resent you for the rest of his life?” Von Krolock shook his head. “It will destroy him to lose her and I know you could not allow that.” Herbert pressed his lips together, sniffling pitifully. “Would you have him sent hence, Kleines? If you wish it, then it can be so.”
For several minutes, Herbert toyed with the ruffles of his father’s cravat, then shook his head. “No,” he whispered. “Let him come again.” A wan smile touched his pale lips. “I can still have him when he is here, Vati.”
“It may only cause this desire to linger, Kleines...”
Herbert shook his head determinedly. “I won’t let it,” he said, tugging his father’s cravat between fingers made clumsy by drink. A finger prodded von Krolock’s shining tie-pin. “You shall see, Vati...” He smiled drowsily. “I shall make him mine when he is here. He will look pretty in chains. Chains and ropes...” Smacking his lips noisily, he yawned widely, then turned a vague smile to his father that reminded von Krolock of the first time he had seen his child unfortunately intoxicated. “Wine is terribly nice, Vati...”
“And I suspect you shall feel the less pleasant effects tomorrow, Kleines,” von Krolock sighed as his son nestled against him. As easily as he had when Herbert had been a child, von Krolock scooped his son up in his arms, lifting him into his ready-open sarcophagus.
Laid comfortably, Herbert lifted a hand to his mouth, blowing an exaggerated kiss at his father as von Krolock drew the lid closed over him.
Letting his hand rest on the stone of the sarcophagus lid, he allowed himself a faint, tired sigh. “Oh, Herbert,” he murmured. “What are we to do with you?”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
All in all, the ball had been uneventful by comparison to their entrance. At least, almost as uneventful, though William was rapidly learning that the Graf and his son had a peculiar way of taking charge as and when they wished.
After the hours he’d spent talking with Herbert, he had been his Sire’s constant companion, though every time he saw Herbert, there was an enigmatic grin on the elder vampire’s lips that made him think of the night of their arrival.
Though he had vowed that encounter would be the last, every time he saw that smile, it led to thoughts of the chains which he had struggled uselessly against, of Herbert’s mouth doing things that were utterly sinful, of releases so powerful that his knees shook at the memory.
And Herbert had clearly expected that response, even taking advantage of it and approaching William in public on the final night of the winter celebrations. That made colour rise in William’s cheeks. Even now, used to vampire society being what it was, he blushed at the thought.
He had been sitting in the sidelines of the ballroom, watching Drusilla dance with a large but graceful male, when an arm had slid around his waist and a hand had closed over his mouth, stifling his protest.
And in the shadows, there in plain sight but utterly unnoticed, he had been drawn so close to his climax by the low wandering hand, the teasing lips and the purr of a whisper like silk on his senses.
When a suggestion had been murmured, his resistance had been torn apart.
In moments, he had been lured from the room and pressed up against the rough wall in the hall outside of the ballroom. Arching his back and moaning like a wanton strumpet, Herbert had kissed every sound that ebbed from his lips, stifling his cries and making him moan in soft, desperate longing.
And that was where he had been found, sagged against the wall, panting, exhausted and barely able to obey Darla’s command to get to his feet.
Swaying where he stood, he refastened his trousers with fumbling fingers, wiping blood from his chin with the back of his hand. Drusilla giggled, murmuring things about pillars of salt and looking back, which made him scowl. And blush like a virgin.
Damn it.
That was the trouble with loving her so much; when you knew how to translate what she was saying and it meant she knew exactly what had been happening, what was a man to do but turn scarlet and mumble?
Rapping her fan against her palm, Darla looked around impatiently. “Where is he now?” she demanded of no one in particular.
Busy tucking his shirt in and hastily tying his cravat for some semblance of dignity, William didn’t notice the approach of their host’s son. “If you are seeking Angelus,” he said, making William jump in surprise. “He awaits you in your carriage.”
How was it, William wondered, that the vampire could look so neat, respectable and not at all like he’d just ravished William’s not-entirely-unwilling body against the very wall that was presently doing a sterling job of holding William upright?
Even smelled like he had taken the time to have a quick bath and change into fresh clothing. Not even bothered with fancy perfumes or anything. Just his own natural scent. Not that William noticed that. Not at all.
With a furious growl, he forced himself to stand upright, feigning indifference to the gaping collar of his shirt and the still loose cravat. Behave like a man. That was the better way to go.
Of course, he foolishly then chanced a glance at Herbert, intent on showing how annoyed he was. His plan went utterly to pieces there and then.
Dipping his chin just enough, that smile on his lips, Herbert’s eyes were slivers of polished silver beneath the gold threads of his lashes. One hand was toying with his cravat and he raised his brows.
“Said he would give them his daughters, not his guests,” Drusilla sing-songed, making William realise he was staring a bit too hard. He coughed, looking away. “But guests are better. Daughters cry to mama, little lambs, lost and weeping...”
With a noisy sigh, Darla snapped her fan closed against her palm. “If you would stop gaping like a stunned rabbit and finish fastening your pants,” she said irritably. “The coach is waiting.”
Forcing himself to glare at Herbert, William resolutely stormed past him, clutching the belt of his trousers, ignoring - completely and utterly - the way Herbert waved his fingers at him. Especially ignoring the way the wicked smile gave way to a grin.
Stalking out the door and stamping emphatically down the stone steps towards the carriage, his scowl gave way to a wide-eyed stare when he pulled the door open. Inside, Angelus was waiting. He was also trussed up with cords and was bleeding from one nostril, his face swollen and bruised.
“What the...”
Pushed aside by Darla, William saw her eyes flash gold at the sight of him. “What did you do this time?” she hissed, reaching into the carriage and tearing away the strip of cloth that was serving as a gag.
“That bastard broke his word,” Angelus snarled. His head jerked sideways when she struck him in a vicious backhand, then growled at her.
“You did something,” Darla’s growl matched his, her eyes blazing.
“If I did,” Angelus snapped. “Then I don’t know what it was and he didn’t tell me.”
Knowing the argument could go on for a bit, William took the time to quickly fasten up his trousers. Drusilla was weaving her way down the staircase, painting patterns in the air with her fingertips.
Idly, as he fastened his belt, William wondered who would have the nerve to take on Angelus, and as light dawned, he saw the guilty party silhouetted in the doorway, backlit by torches.
Inclining his head, Herbert smiled. Not the usual broad grin, but a genuine little smile. He lifted his hand to his throat, curling his fingers around his neck, then nodded towards the carriage and William understood.
Despite himself, he felt a grin creep onto his lips.
With an elegant gentleman’s bow, Herbert turned and walked back into the castle, leaving William staring after him, wondering what he’d done that meant Herbert was so ready and willing to give Angelus another pasting on his behalf.
Inside the carriage, it sounded like Darla was rivalling whatever had been done to her Irish plaything. When she snarled at them to get in, William looked around at Drusilla, who was watching the stars.
“Ready to go, love?” he asked, offering her a hand.
Her gloved fingers slid into his and she looked at him, a mischievous glint in her grey-blue eyes. “Two pillars of salt,” she whispered, leaning close until her lips almost brushed his. “Splashing all over, sweet Willy...”
He felt the colour edging up his face again. “You’re not going to let me forget it, are you love?” he inquired, as he helped her up into the carriage, ignoring the wounded yelp from Angelus.
Apparently, whatever Darla had done meant he was now curled in a tight knot on the floor of the carriage, not speaking and definitely not moving. On one of the seats, Darla was slapping her closed fan rapidly against her palm, glaring at the grounds with a viciousness usually only reserved for hunters.
A kiss touched William’s lips, distracting him from the elders. “Now I know why my Willy won’t dance with me,” she said, her teeth flashing by the moonlight then patted the seat beside her. “Playing on his whistle, isn’t it, my darling?”
“Love, if you want me to dance, you only have to ask,” he promised, slipping onto the seat and clasping her hands.
Looking up at the roof of the carriage as if she could see the sky beyond, Drusilla frowned thoughtfully. “Not time yet,” she murmured. “You have to learn all the steps before you can dance to a different tune.”
“Next year, then...”
Those beautiful feline eyes returned to his, and she smiled and kissed him lightly again. “I won’t need to ask, sweet Willy,” she whispered. “Someone else will and you will know.”
Lifting a hand to press his palm to her brow, William gazed at her adoringly. “You, love, are mad as a hatter,” he murmured. She pouted at him and he kissed the pout. “But I love you for it.”
As the carriage creaked and rattled, starting to move, Drusilla touched his cheek with a fingertip. “You’re not his wife,” she murmured. “You can look.”
And despite himself, William glanced out of the window. Framed in one of the tall windows that lined the ballroom, he saw a golden-haired figure clad in blue and he was almost sure he saw a hand raised in fare well.
His own hand rose in response, then dropped into the darkness of the carriage.
“Well,” he said, turning a jovial smile on his elders. “Wasn’t that fun?”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The number of guests had diminished, less than a dozen remaining.
Herbert had taken advantage of the open ballroom at once.
To the tune of a single violin, he was twirling a pretty young boy in his arms. It took von Krolock less than a moment to recognise the boy as the youth Herbert had been involved with three nights earlier.
Though he had been subtle in his observation, he had watched Herbert watching William throughout the ball, until they had slipped from the room. He had not needed to ask why, nor had he needed to say anything when Herbert had sauntered back into the hall after seeing their guests off.
His son had been smiling, and in a way that suggested he had a plot in motion. The Graf had seen that devious, thoughtful expression on his son’s face more times than he cared to recollect, and every time he saw it, Herbert had succeeded in getting precisely what he wanted.
He had watched Herbert approach one of the windows, seen him raise a hand in salutation, and when his son returned to the dance floor, there was a notable bounce in his step.
As Herbert twirled the young man, by the name of Pyotr if Herbert’s exuberant exclamations were anything to judge upon, into his arms and kissed him, he laughed and von Krolock smiled.
RATING: Upper PG range
FANDOMS: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel the Series & Tanz der Vampire
SPOILERS: Buffy S1-7, Angel S1-5.
SUMMARY: William's second visit to the castle has some interesting repercussions.
SERIES: Part of Carpe Noctem series.
Another flashback chapter:
In order: As Aught of Mortal Birth, THIS CHAPTER, Per Ipsum, et cum Ipso, et in Ipso, Til The Moon Is Abed, Unwritten Words, What Remains, The Gentler Sex, Visitation, After the Storm, In The Name Of, In The Air, Makes Us Stronger, Three's a Crowd, Tis The Season, Divergence, Things Fall Apart, Broken Glass, Bleed For You, Even Angels Fall, Will Set You Free and Contact.
PAIRINGS: Angelus/Darla, William/Drusilla, Herbert/William.
WORDS: 7472
NOTES: So, this was written before I went to Poland to see Taniec Wampirow and if I was gleeful before, now, I'm thoroughly bouncing about this fandom ;) And meeting the chaps who play Herbert and Von Krolock... well, let's just say I have been in a world of squee :D
But yes, this was written before I went. Silly me. I forgot to post it.
__________________________________
The Ball of 1882
Snow was whirling on the gusting winds, thick coils whipped from ground and the bleak winter sky. Dark storm clouds, black and ponderous, hung low overhead, near scraping the tips of the castle’s topmost tower.
In the yard before the castle, carriages were rattling up into the grounds, bearing guests of note, far-travelled and of high blood lines among the vampire kin. Within the graveyard, those who were rising did so with greater alacrity than usual.
Upon the stairs of the foyer, von Krolock was presiding over the most recent arrivals. With subtle inclination of his head, he granted approval and acknowledgement to those who earned it and dignified aloofness for those who had not.
By his side, Herbert was leaning lazily against the banister, examining the carvings along the edge of the ceiling as if he had never seen them before. His darling boy always did appreciate the balls, but could never enjoy the waiting nor the pomposity of some of their guests.
A large coach clattered to a halt before the grand double doors, the door on one side slamming open forcefully. Even before the guests emerged, von Krolock could hear the argument already under way.
“You’re going to behave properly, William, is that understood?”
There was a snort of laughter. “Yeah. Says you and what army?” Abruptly, Herbert was standing upright, like a hunting dog scenting prey. “Anyway, you were the one that was in trouble.”
“More reason for you to behave yourself, boy.” The growl rumbled from within the darkness of the carriage as a slim, tawny-haired young vampire hopped lightly down onto the ground, smirking.
Ah, that would explain his son’s interest.
“Just because you got your arse knocked out of shape doesn’t mean we’re all as stupid as you are,” the young vampire said, then offered his hands to a silhouette in the doorway. “Give me your hands, love.” With a gentleness that seemed to collide against his manners, he lifted his Sire down from the carriage, smiling adoringly at her until her Sire swung down and shoved him aside. “Manners, Angelus.”
With a low growl, Angelus caught the boy’s coat, pulling his face close. “Listen to me and listen well, lad,” he snarled. “You would do well to respect your elders. Call it friendly advice.”
From the staircase, von Krolock inclined his head slightly. So, in the absence of two years, Angelus’ boorish manners and crassness had rubbed off on the quiet, bookish youngster that had charmed his son so.
He slanted a glance at Herbert and could see that his son was observing the same thing, his flashing eyes on William. Though he seemed at ease, there was a subtle line of tension in his posture that von Krolock recognised.
His face less than a hand’s width from Angelus’s, William looked like he was having trouble keeping his face straight and his laughter bubbled up easily. “Sounds like you’re still a bit put out about last year,” he said, grinning far too widely. He pushed Angelus’s hands away easily. “Sorry I missed it. Bet it was a top show.”
The strike to the back of the boy’s head was merciless, but - in spite of staggering - William straightened from it, still grinning, blue eyes gleaming. “Forgot your lady, Angelus,” he noted. “Might want to hoist her down.”
In the doorway of the carriage, Darla was watching the scene with clear fury, which was only stoked when her childe turned to her, glaring. Helped from the carriage, she reached up and pulled his face down to her level, snarling a low warning that made the large, dark vampire glower all the more.
Looking towards Herbert, von Krolock arched an eyebrow. “Will you join me in greeting our guests, Herbert?” he murmured. Herbert said nothing, his arms folded on his chest, his icy gaze fixed on the group. “Very well.”
Descending the staircase, his presence was noted first by Drusilla. She had been weaving patterns in the air with her fingertips, her head rolling on her slender neck, the tip of her tongue sliding along her upper teeth, but as his foot touched the hall floor, her eyes snapped open and she smiled broadly at him.
“Lions and lambs all lie down,” she cooed. “The Master and Maker looks and sees all.”
Abruptly, Darla’s ire was smothered and she was smiling charmingly at him. “Your Excellency,” she said brightly, sweeping past Angelus, Drusilla and the snickering William to extend her hands to him.
Accepting her slim fingers, von Krolock inclined his head marginally as she sank into an appropriately humble curtsey. “Darla,” he murmured. “I was not certain if you would attend this year.”
“Oh, we wouldn’t miss it!” William’s voice rang out laughingly. “Heard it was quite the do last year.” A second blow caught William on the head, knocking him reeling and Angelus growled again.
With a hiss of her own, Darla shot an icy look over her shoulder. “Boys.”
Angelus’s expression was ugly and he directed a murderous look at William, who pushed his hands deep in his pockets, smirking and rocking on his feet. They did consent to behave, however briefly.
Ignoring the manly posturing for a moment, von Krolock allowed his attention to turn to Drusilla, who was twirling happily on the spot, her hair and skirts whirling about her beautifully.
“Drusilla.”
Stopping dead, she wove her hands over her head. “Red like a rose,” she said, her eyes half-closed. “Angry like fire...” A moan escaped her. “It burns all up, burning and ashes until there’s nothing left... nothing but ice...” She leaned closer, whispering secretively. “But the ice is hiding fire within its belly...” She ran her hand over her stomach. “And it will eat him all up.”
Gazing at her, the Graf teased through the words, seeking a meaning that was as intangible as mist. “As you say, I trust it will be,” he murmured, extending a hand to her. She rested her fingertips on the very ends of his and he lifted her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles lightly.
Gently releasing her hand, he finally acknowledged the two male vampires, his dark eyes slipping from one to the other. Angelus bowed his head at once, his lesson clearly still intact.
William, however, seemed to have lost all fear. With a polite tilt of his head, his smile was far more open and cheerful than it had been on his previous visit. And was equally just as false as this new facade he had created for himself.
Von Krolock continued to gaze at him for a moment and saw the instant the smile faltered slightly. It was barely noticeable, unless one was watching for it.
“Gentlemen,” he murmured, gesturing for them to enter with a curl of one hand. He returned to the foot of the staircase, glancing up at Herbert, who had not moved then turned to face the quartet of guests. “Your rooms are prepared. Koukol will bring your accoutrements to you shortly.”
“Your Excellency is most kind,” Darla said with a second curtsey. Here was one, at least, who knew the importance of manners and behaviour in front of one’s host. “It has been a long journey.”
With a significant glance at the two males behind her, von Krolock smiled lightly. “One might presume so,” he murmured and saw the rueful, tired smile that briefly touched her lips.
With a look over her shoulder, she caught Angelus’ attention long enough to have him follow her as she proceeded up the staircase. Von Krolock did not need to look round to know that Angelus was warily giving Herbert a wide berth, not solely for the emotionless iciness of his son’s expression.
“Drusilla,” he murmured, drawing her to one side. “Might I speak with you?”
“Little birdies,” she whispered. “Twittering away, unseen, as the hunter hunts for the little rabbit. Hop. Hop. Hop.”
He barely noted her words, watching William over her shoulder. The boy had finally noticed Herbert and that fragile mask he was wearing was shivering. He forced the smile, blue eyes uncertain in their emotion. “All right, Herbert?”
Grey eyes that were as cold as the winter snows gazed down at him. “You address me like you know me,” he said coolly. “What makes you think you have the right?”
If he had walked down the stairs and kicked William in the face, he could not have produced more surprise. “I... I thought...”
Herbert looked him up and down, his upper lip curling. “I don’t know you.”
Without saying anything further, he turned on his heel and stalked up the stairs, not even pausing to look back. He passed Angelus and Darla at the top of the staircase, and his growl echoed through the hall.
Von Krolock could sense the surprise of the elders, yet they left the boy standing where he was, staring sightlessly up the staircase. Had William’s facade been crafted from crystal, it would not have shattered quite as beautifully.
“Shot full of holes,” Drusilla whispered, lifting her hands to her mouth. “Bang, bang, the little rabbit falls down... and the hunter shall have his supper tonight...”
William seemed quite rooted to the spot, but finally managed to blink. He turned to the Graf and for a moment looked so startled, so very lost that von Krolock almost felt pity for him.
Then he forced a quivering laugh and resolutely clawed his mask back into place, though his voice still trembled. “What was that about?”
“Fire and ice all burning up,” Drusilla chanted, drawing from the Graf to approach the boy. “Oh, sweet Willy, all pricked with thorns... took the wrong end of the rose and got all prickles...”
The swiftness with which he took her in his arms, holding her fast, as if seeking some desperate reaffirming gesture made the Graf lift a brow. So Herbert’s display had hurt him so? Did Herbert suspect it would? And was William even aware of it?
William looked up the stairs again and on Drusilla’s back, his hands trembled. Blue eyes darted towards the Graf and he saw William wet his lips. “Sir... did... have I done something to upset him?”
Von Krolock’s expression softened. So the boy still had some manner and care for others in him. That, at least, was deserving of Herbert’s time. “I think,” he said softly. “That is a question you should ask him yourself, William.” He inclined his head. “I think you might know where to seek him.”
William nodded and the smile that tugged his lips so weakly was far more genuine than the grin he had worn only moments earlier. “Yes, sir,” he acknowledged. “Dru, will you be...”
“I shall watch over your lady,” von Krolock murmured, approaching and extending a hand to her. Drusilla beamed and laid her hand in his. With a quiet nod towards the upper landing, the Graf smiled faintly. “You know your way?”
With a nod, William took to the stairs, running lightly and rapidly.
“See the rabbit chasing the hunter...” Drusilla whispered, snapping her fingertips at the air. “Run, rabbit, run...”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Hurrying through the quiet halls, William hastily straightened his coat, smoothing the heavy lapels. One hand self-consciously smoothed his hair back, trying to arrange his ponytail more neatly.
Whatever he had done to offend the Graf’s son, he had no idea, but seeing those eyes gazing down at him, so cold, so unfriendly…
Of all the vampires he had been forced into meeting since his last visit, Herbert and his father had been the ones he had found the best company. Most of the others were completely focused on violence and mayhem, but the Graf and his son were more than that, intelligent and willing to accept him as he was.
Of course, keeping company with Angelus meant a constant battle of personalities, and he had been forced to hide that side of himself, trying to match him, better him, keep himself high enough in the esteem of the others they ran into. It wouldn’t do to be thought of as weak or feeble.
He still remembered fighting back grief as he tossed away his books under his Sire’s Sire’s watchful and mocking gaze. That was one of the many reasons he had started to hate the wretched brute. That and because of Dru.
And then, last year, he had wanted to come back so badly, but Angelus…
He and Drusilla had been sent off to England, told that an invite hadn’t come for him or Dru, while Darla and Angelus went off together. It had been like a slap in the face for him. He had wreaked such violence on the populace that fortnight.
When the elder pair returned, Angelus scarred, bloody and limping, and Darla informed them that their absence had been most remiss, William had laughed. He wasn’t entirely sure why, but the vexation on the faces of his elders had been too much not to.
True, he had been beaten bloody afterwards himself, but it had been worth it.
Turned out Angelus had found out about his encounter with Herbert and on top of that, turned out Angelus had tried to take a slice of the cake. Looked like Herbert had not been best pleased about that. And when William wouldn’t stop laughing, shaking with hysteria, he was thrashed again.
He’d long since got used to the elder vampire’s violence, could turn the pain away without effort, using mirth to drive Angelus to greater levels of frustration. That occasion, the beating was worse than usual, but every night for a month, he promised himself he would come to the castle and kiss Herbert full on the mouth in gratitude.
After all, it wasn’t often you were given such quality material to mock your Sire’s Sire with.
Pausing outside the library, he hastily arranged the loose cravat. He was wearing the same clothes as he had on their last visit, not by choice, but in defiance of Angelus and his fancy gear. They were shabbier now, and he felt a sudden wave of uncomfortable self-consciousness.
Maybe that was it? Maybe he should have dressed better, made more of an effort, instead of determinedly trying to get up Angelus’ nose. Maybe striving for their approval instead of Angelus’ disapproval would have worked just as well.
Too late for it now.
Even if he’d had anything better to wear, he wanted to see Herbert right away, to see if he could undo whatever it was that he had done wrong.
Opening the library doors, he ignored the tremor in his hands and stepped into the huge room. The scent of leather and aged books washed over him, making him shiver with recollection, and for a moment, he couldn’t move, just revelling in it.
Somewhere in the depth of the room, lit so warmly by the fire in the grate, the distant whistle of the wind making it seem all the cosier, he heard the quiet familiar sound of a page being turned.
Closing the doors carefully behind him, he bit on his lower lip as he looked around the towering shelves. His footfalls were light, but still sounded deafening in the silence as he made his way towards the centre of the room.
Herbert was there, just as he had hoped and expected.
He was sitting at the broad table a dozen paces away from the couch, his back to the door and to William. Bent over a book, his cheek was resting against his left hand, the flicker of the flames illuminated him and stretched the shadow of his chair out behind him.
Hesitating, William stopped at the edge of the stretching shadows, the fading edge touching the toes of his boots. “Herbert…?”
Herbert’s head tilted slightly, but he didn’t look around and he made no reply.
Approaching the table, he stopped several paces from Herbert’s chair, pushing his hands into his pockets to stop himself twisting them together like a girl. “You’re angry with me.”
The only response was the turning of a page. Herbert didn’t even look up at him.
“You want to hit me?” he offered, hoping it would be accepted. He was used to that now. Physical violence was much easier to take than this silence and coldness. “You can. I won’t run off or anything.” He scuffed one foot against the floor. “Didn’t mean to annoy you.”
For a split-second, Herbert’s hand went still on the page of the book he was reading, then moved again. Words seemed impossible to achieve.
Looking away from Herbert, he started at the sight of objects that were lying on the table, placed at the seat beside Herbert’s. He hesitated again, then pulled the chair back so he could look closer.
On top of an open book, there was a pair of glasses that were so familiar that William trembled. He’d lost them, years back, he knew it. He’d left them in his coat pocket one night and had never seen them since.
“Where did you…” He reached down, picking them up and turning them over in his hands, hardly daring to believe they were truly his. But yes, there were the initials that he had painstakingly carved with a pin and filled with Indian ink, in case he lost them.
Sinking into the chair, he stared at the glasses, dazed wonder filling him.
There was a quiet thump as Herbert closed his book.
“They belonged to someone I considered a friend,” he said quietly.
“Considered?” William echoed, looking at him. “Not… not anymore?”
Rising from his chair without even looking down at him, Herbert picked up his book and examined the cover. “I do not know if he exists any longer,” he replied. “All I see is a mannerless boor, an English ruffian cut from the same cloth as one I despise.”
Lowering his eyes, words failing him, William stared at his glasses. They had been so much a part of him before he became a demon and now, he had gone without them and was becoming more and more like Angelus. Always needed them for reading, but when he’d given up books, he hadn’t missed them. Now, though, surrounded on all sides by the Graf’s library and accompanied by the one vampire he had ever seen reading…
Unfolding the spindly legs, he hesitated then slipped them on, looking down at the book they had been laid on.
It was a poetry book, opened already, and as he focused on the words, his eyes went round. Leaning forward, he touched his fingertips to the page and he remembered the last time he had heard that poem, purred against his ear by the vampire standing at the end of the table, reducing him to an incoherent jumble of quivering nerves.
“And thou art dead…” he heard himself whispering. “As young and fair as aught of mortal birth…” He almost jumped when he felt fingers sink into his hair, raking along his scalp, making him shiver. His eyes rose to Herbert who was standing above him, the ice in his grey eyes softening. “I had to,” he whispered. “They… don’t like ones like me…”
Herbert gazed at him soberly. “They may not,” he murmured. “But there are those who do, William.”
Averting his face, William pulled the glasses off and folded them carefully. “But I’m not here much,” he mumbled, trying his utmost to ignore the sensation of fingertips on the nape of his neck.
“That,” Herbert said quietly. “I had noticed.” Elegant fingers lifted William’s chin, forcing him to meet the grey eyes. “Angelus told you that you were not welcome last year, did he not?”
Lowering his eyes, William would have nodded if he could. “He sent Dru and I to Liverpool,” he admitted then laughed faintly, glancing up again. “I think he wanted us to suffer.”
Herbert leaned closer, sitting on the edge of the table. “And did you?” he asked, his eyes so close, so unreadable, that William found himself staring. His hands had long-since dropped to his lap and he drew a sharp breath as the back of Herbert’s fingers ran down the front of his throat. Herbert tilted his head minutely. “Hmm?”
“Y-yes.”
Whether it had been what he planned to say or not, that was what escaped him, only to be captured by Herbert’s kiss.
Either he rose into it or Herbert sank to meet him, but he found himself clutching at the older vampire as Herbert’s lips moved off his, touching jaw, then throat, the hand that had been sunk in William’s hair cradling the back of his head.
The other hand, the one that had brushed his throat so distractingly, tugged at his cravat, loosening it, and that made William shy back, remembering why he had actually bothered with the thing in the first place.
Apparently, it was too late for that.
The curse still somehow managed to sound quite beautiful on Herbert’s lips.
Cool fingers were laid against his throat, matching the spots where Angelus had caught him by the neck and squeezed until he had lost consciousness on the way to the castle. That was something William hadn’t known was physically possible until that moment, and he had decided he didn’t like it at all.
“Him?”
William’s smile felt crooked, but it was there at least. “Turns out I’m rather good at making him angry,” he admitted quietly, lifting his hand and pulling his collar up to hide the bruises that had been left.
Sitting back on the edge of the table, Herbert gazed at him for so long that he lowered his eyes and looked down at the hand still cradling his glasses. There was a speck of dust on one of the lenses and with a fingertip, he brushed it off.
Replacing them where he had picked them up, he was still gazing at them pensively when Herbert spoke, moments later.
“I think,” he said. “That you should tell me about all of your adventures.” He smiled as William looked up at him. “I have been stranded here for years, cheri, while you have been traipsing around Europe.”
Pale slim hands were offered to him and William let himself be pulled upright and led towards the couch before the fireplace. “There’s really not that much to tell,” he protested faintly.
As if he had not heard, Herbert peeled William’s overcoat off and tossed it aside, his nose wrinkling slightly. He nudged William to sit, then settled beside him, draping an arm around William’s shoulders, the frostiness of his reception utterly thawed.
“I want to hear anyway, cheri,” he said firmly. He drew his legs up onto the couch, his other hand idly tweaking at the buttons of William’s shabby shirt. “And then, I may have to let you borrow something respectable to wear.”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Beneath their feet, the layer of snow lay thick on the stone walkway. William had been bundled into one of Herbert’s winter coats, despite protesting, and was presently gazing up at the sky.
After several hours of conversation in the library, Herbert had insisted that William see more of the castle. They had emerged onto the battlements to find the night sky beautifully clear, barely a cloud left, the storm blown out. The moon was a grinning crescent and the stars seemed even brighter than usual.
“How long have you been here?” William asked, approaching the balustrade and peering over. Below was a sheer drop into a distant courtyard.
“Forever,” Herbert replied, watching him. “I was born in this castle.”
Blue eyes turned towards him, bleached to silver by the moonlight. William looked surprised at that. “You were? Here? I mean, your mortal birth?”
Herbert smiled softly, lifting a hand to smooth William’s hair back from his face, so striking by the light of the night.
“My mortal birth,” he murmured. “This castle was my father’s father’s.” His brows drew together in thought. “A long time ago.” He became aware that William was still watching him, a puzzled look on his pretty little face, and smiled again. “I told you I had been stranded here for years, did I not?”
William was still gaping at him and Herbert took the opportunity to lean in and kiss his parted lips lightly.
William leaned back, his forehead wrinkling. “You mean the Graf... he’s your father? By blood?”
Herbert laughed, brushing his fingertips against William’s cheek. “You were not aware of that?” he said, looking skywards as the first flecks of snow started to fall again, catching in William’s tawny hair.
“Always thought he was your Sire...”
Touching William’s lips lightly, Herbert gazed at him. “He is my father,” he said, a glimmer of mirth in his eyes. “And not my lover, despite popular whispers.”
The relief that flooded William’s face was delightful, almost as charming as the blush that he might have thought such a thing. Herbert chuckled, then leaned closer and replaced his fingertips with his lips, his kiss gentler than any they had shared.
Perhaps that was what made William draw back, his breath shivering between their lips. Snowflakes were clinging to his eyelashes and his pale skin.
“I should find Drusilla,” he whispered, indecision etched on his face.
Grey eyes watched his, and Herbert lifted a hand to touch his cheek. “Do you have to?” he asked softly.
That was the greater mistake. He knew it the moment he said it. William stared at him for a long moment and though there was the desire in his eyes, there was also another emotion Herbert recognised from their last encounter.
So he laughed.
And in response, William laughed nervously too.
Casting aside softness and gentle touches, Herbert pulled William into his arms and smiled his broadest, wickedest smile. “I wish you could have seen the look on your face, my darling!” he exclaimed. “You looked like you were expecting me to propose marriage or some such nonsense!”
William’s smile broadened to match his. “You did look rather serious,” he said, though not without a touch of a stammer in his words.
“Oh, my sweet, silly darling.” Herbert rolled his eyes extravagantly. “Don’t you know I am never serious?”
And with that, he kissed him firmly, ravishing any protest from William’s mouth, his hands slipping under the heavy winter coat. And as hands clutched at him and William uttered sweet gasps, Herbert’s smile almost reached his eyes.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The dawn was close, the scent of coming morning filling the air as the distant hues of day touching upon the lip of the horizon. Descending into the courtyard, the Graf von Krolock crossed the snow-layered ground towards the crypt.
As a precaution against the rivals he took in as guests, he slumbered in this shelter of stone, unreachable to all but the most suicidal of vampires, the gauntlet between castle and crypt filled with sunlight from dawn until dusk.
Likewise, his son occupied a sarcophagus close to his own unless something or some misadventure distracted him and led to him spending his nights in his bed chamber within the castle.
That, it seemed, was not the case.
Against his own sarcophagus, Herbert was surveying the ceiling, an expression of utter boredom on his face. A glass of wine dangled from his fingers as an enthusiastic young vampire worked his mouth down the front of Herbert’s bared body.
Herbert’s other hand was braced against the edge of the tomb, neither encouraging nor discouraging the pale-haired youth at his feet. That itself caused von Krolock’s brow to arch, his son reputed to be the most generous of lovers.
Lifting his glass to his lips, he drained the rest of the wine, and judging by the shimmer in his eyes it was not the first. With a scowl at the treacherous vessel, as if angered by the fact it was empty, he threw it over his shoulder to shatter on the floor.
Stepping down into the crypt, von Krolock saw the slight blond boy at Herbert’s feet start, turning to stare around at him. His eyes widened and he shied back from the Graf’s son, bowing his head hastily.
That Herbert chose to ignore this slight and the presence of his father said more than words could.
Approaching them, von Krolock inclined his head towards the door and the young vampire scrambled hastily to his feet. Watching the boy scurry out, von Krolock flicked the door shut with a touch of magic, closing out the coming morning.
He turned back to the sarcophagus to find Herbert staring at him reproachfully. His hands were resting on the lip of stone, clutching it for balance, and his grey eyes were glassy. “That wasn’t very nice, father,” he mumbled. “Poor little...” He frowned more deeply. “Whatever his name was... it wasn’t nice to interrupt...”
“Whatever his name was?” Von Krolock gazed at him. “You took a lover whose name you did not know?”
“I did not say I did not know,” Herbert countered, waving a finger at his father’s face. “His name...” He paused, his words slurring as he finished confidently, “I merely cannot remember it at this moment...”
“I have little doubt there is any of this evening you will remember,” von Krolock said with quiet disapproval, gazing down at his son. “I do not think you even sought that boy’s name.”
Swaying on his feet, Herbert threw his head back with drunken pride. “He still wanted me,” he announced. He tottered unsteadily, clutching the edge of the sarcophagus again. “I shall make them all want me!”
“Oh, Herbert...” Von Krolock caught his son’s arm gently, concern in his eyes. It was rare for Herbert to imbibe alcohol at all, preferring to keep his faculties, and even rarer for him to be under the thrall of liquor. “I have no doubt that many of them do already, but you need not do such a thing.”
Herbert squinted at him, trying to focus on his father’s face. “I think I may be a little intoxo... intoxa... I think I might be drunk, father,” he observed, then tried to reach down and pull up his trousers. He slipped and would have fallen if his father’s hands hadn’t caught him. A faint giggle escaped him. “So I look like he does, then...”
“He?”
With a dramatic gesture of one hand, Herbert straightened and promptly slipped, landing in his father’s arms. “That stupid Irish brute,” he said, clutching at the front of his father’s shirt. A finger jabbed at the Graf’s chest. “He is always drunk, you know... always...”
“I expect so, Kleines,” von Krolock murmured, sinking to sit at the base of his son’s sarcophagus, gently arranging Herbert in his arms. Herbert’s head rocked against his shoulder and he could see stains of wine on the pale shirt. “Did William not find you? He sought you...”
The burst of laughter was so sharp, so violent that Herbert jerked in his arms. “Oh, he found me, yes... we read again,” he said, reaching up to tug at his father’s cravat, straightening it as best he could. “And talked. And talked and laughed and read. Then he scurried off...” Flapping a hand, he almost caught his father across the face, and von Krolock gently captured his son’s flailing hand. “Back to the silly one who made him.”
“Drusilla is his Sire, Kleines,” he murmured, watching his son’s face.
“She doesn’t love him, Vati!” Herbert exclaimed, his drink-fogged eyes glittering with manic passion. “I tell you she doesn’t! He’s a toy! She doesn’t love him at all! None of them do!” His hand jerked against his father’s grip. “And he still runs back to them...” His lips shivering, he pouted. “Away from me...”
Von Krolock felt as if a candle had been lit in a darkened room, illuminating him so suddenly. “Oh, Herbert...”
Herbert’s lower lip quivered. “Why can I not keep him, Vati?” he whispered. “Why does he not see?”
“Sometimes, we do not see what is standing before us, Kleines,” von Krolock said gently. “William admires you so, Herbert, but he is blinded by his love for Drusilla. It is she who holds his heart.”
“But she doesn’t love him,” Herbert repeated plaintively.
“I know, mein Schatz,” von Krolock said, stroking his son’s cheek with one fingertip. “But he is hers, by blood and by the ties of his heart. Sometime, those are the hardest to sever.”
Herbert made a face. “It is not fair,” he grumbled. “Why can I not take him? I want him here. He looks so pretty in the library and she would not care anyway.”
“And have him resent you for the rest of his life?” Von Krolock shook his head. “It will destroy him to lose her and I know you could not allow that.” Herbert pressed his lips together, sniffling pitifully. “Would you have him sent hence, Kleines? If you wish it, then it can be so.”
For several minutes, Herbert toyed with the ruffles of his father’s cravat, then shook his head. “No,” he whispered. “Let him come again.” A wan smile touched his pale lips. “I can still have him when he is here, Vati.”
“It may only cause this desire to linger, Kleines...”
Herbert shook his head determinedly. “I won’t let it,” he said, tugging his father’s cravat between fingers made clumsy by drink. A finger prodded von Krolock’s shining tie-pin. “You shall see, Vati...” He smiled drowsily. “I shall make him mine when he is here. He will look pretty in chains. Chains and ropes...” Smacking his lips noisily, he yawned widely, then turned a vague smile to his father that reminded von Krolock of the first time he had seen his child unfortunately intoxicated. “Wine is terribly nice, Vati...”
“And I suspect you shall feel the less pleasant effects tomorrow, Kleines,” von Krolock sighed as his son nestled against him. As easily as he had when Herbert had been a child, von Krolock scooped his son up in his arms, lifting him into his ready-open sarcophagus.
Laid comfortably, Herbert lifted a hand to his mouth, blowing an exaggerated kiss at his father as von Krolock drew the lid closed over him.
Letting his hand rest on the stone of the sarcophagus lid, he allowed himself a faint, tired sigh. “Oh, Herbert,” he murmured. “What are we to do with you?”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
All in all, the ball had been uneventful by comparison to their entrance. At least, almost as uneventful, though William was rapidly learning that the Graf and his son had a peculiar way of taking charge as and when they wished.
After the hours he’d spent talking with Herbert, he had been his Sire’s constant companion, though every time he saw Herbert, there was an enigmatic grin on the elder vampire’s lips that made him think of the night of their arrival.
Though he had vowed that encounter would be the last, every time he saw that smile, it led to thoughts of the chains which he had struggled uselessly against, of Herbert’s mouth doing things that were utterly sinful, of releases so powerful that his knees shook at the memory.
And Herbert had clearly expected that response, even taking advantage of it and approaching William in public on the final night of the winter celebrations. That made colour rise in William’s cheeks. Even now, used to vampire society being what it was, he blushed at the thought.
He had been sitting in the sidelines of the ballroom, watching Drusilla dance with a large but graceful male, when an arm had slid around his waist and a hand had closed over his mouth, stifling his protest.
And in the shadows, there in plain sight but utterly unnoticed, he had been drawn so close to his climax by the low wandering hand, the teasing lips and the purr of a whisper like silk on his senses.
When a suggestion had been murmured, his resistance had been torn apart.
In moments, he had been lured from the room and pressed up against the rough wall in the hall outside of the ballroom. Arching his back and moaning like a wanton strumpet, Herbert had kissed every sound that ebbed from his lips, stifling his cries and making him moan in soft, desperate longing.
And that was where he had been found, sagged against the wall, panting, exhausted and barely able to obey Darla’s command to get to his feet.
Swaying where he stood, he refastened his trousers with fumbling fingers, wiping blood from his chin with the back of his hand. Drusilla giggled, murmuring things about pillars of salt and looking back, which made him scowl. And blush like a virgin.
Damn it.
That was the trouble with loving her so much; when you knew how to translate what she was saying and it meant she knew exactly what had been happening, what was a man to do but turn scarlet and mumble?
Rapping her fan against her palm, Darla looked around impatiently. “Where is he now?” she demanded of no one in particular.
Busy tucking his shirt in and hastily tying his cravat for some semblance of dignity, William didn’t notice the approach of their host’s son. “If you are seeking Angelus,” he said, making William jump in surprise. “He awaits you in your carriage.”
How was it, William wondered, that the vampire could look so neat, respectable and not at all like he’d just ravished William’s not-entirely-unwilling body against the very wall that was presently doing a sterling job of holding William upright?
Even smelled like he had taken the time to have a quick bath and change into fresh clothing. Not even bothered with fancy perfumes or anything. Just his own natural scent. Not that William noticed that. Not at all.
With a furious growl, he forced himself to stand upright, feigning indifference to the gaping collar of his shirt and the still loose cravat. Behave like a man. That was the better way to go.
Of course, he foolishly then chanced a glance at Herbert, intent on showing how annoyed he was. His plan went utterly to pieces there and then.
Dipping his chin just enough, that smile on his lips, Herbert’s eyes were slivers of polished silver beneath the gold threads of his lashes. One hand was toying with his cravat and he raised his brows.
“Said he would give them his daughters, not his guests,” Drusilla sing-songed, making William realise he was staring a bit too hard. He coughed, looking away. “But guests are better. Daughters cry to mama, little lambs, lost and weeping...”
With a noisy sigh, Darla snapped her fan closed against her palm. “If you would stop gaping like a stunned rabbit and finish fastening your pants,” she said irritably. “The coach is waiting.”
Forcing himself to glare at Herbert, William resolutely stormed past him, clutching the belt of his trousers, ignoring - completely and utterly - the way Herbert waved his fingers at him. Especially ignoring the way the wicked smile gave way to a grin.
Stalking out the door and stamping emphatically down the stone steps towards the carriage, his scowl gave way to a wide-eyed stare when he pulled the door open. Inside, Angelus was waiting. He was also trussed up with cords and was bleeding from one nostril, his face swollen and bruised.
“What the...”
Pushed aside by Darla, William saw her eyes flash gold at the sight of him. “What did you do this time?” she hissed, reaching into the carriage and tearing away the strip of cloth that was serving as a gag.
“That bastard broke his word,” Angelus snarled. His head jerked sideways when she struck him in a vicious backhand, then growled at her.
“You did something,” Darla’s growl matched his, her eyes blazing.
“If I did,” Angelus snapped. “Then I don’t know what it was and he didn’t tell me.”
Knowing the argument could go on for a bit, William took the time to quickly fasten up his trousers. Drusilla was weaving her way down the staircase, painting patterns in the air with her fingertips.
Idly, as he fastened his belt, William wondered who would have the nerve to take on Angelus, and as light dawned, he saw the guilty party silhouetted in the doorway, backlit by torches.
Inclining his head, Herbert smiled. Not the usual broad grin, but a genuine little smile. He lifted his hand to his throat, curling his fingers around his neck, then nodded towards the carriage and William understood.
Despite himself, he felt a grin creep onto his lips.
With an elegant gentleman’s bow, Herbert turned and walked back into the castle, leaving William staring after him, wondering what he’d done that meant Herbert was so ready and willing to give Angelus another pasting on his behalf.
Inside the carriage, it sounded like Darla was rivalling whatever had been done to her Irish plaything. When she snarled at them to get in, William looked around at Drusilla, who was watching the stars.
“Ready to go, love?” he asked, offering her a hand.
Her gloved fingers slid into his and she looked at him, a mischievous glint in her grey-blue eyes. “Two pillars of salt,” she whispered, leaning close until her lips almost brushed his. “Splashing all over, sweet Willy...”
He felt the colour edging up his face again. “You’re not going to let me forget it, are you love?” he inquired, as he helped her up into the carriage, ignoring the wounded yelp from Angelus.
Apparently, whatever Darla had done meant he was now curled in a tight knot on the floor of the carriage, not speaking and definitely not moving. On one of the seats, Darla was slapping her closed fan rapidly against her palm, glaring at the grounds with a viciousness usually only reserved for hunters.
A kiss touched William’s lips, distracting him from the elders. “Now I know why my Willy won’t dance with me,” she said, her teeth flashing by the moonlight then patted the seat beside her. “Playing on his whistle, isn’t it, my darling?”
“Love, if you want me to dance, you only have to ask,” he promised, slipping onto the seat and clasping her hands.
Looking up at the roof of the carriage as if she could see the sky beyond, Drusilla frowned thoughtfully. “Not time yet,” she murmured. “You have to learn all the steps before you can dance to a different tune.”
“Next year, then...”
Those beautiful feline eyes returned to his, and she smiled and kissed him lightly again. “I won’t need to ask, sweet Willy,” she whispered. “Someone else will and you will know.”
Lifting a hand to press his palm to her brow, William gazed at her adoringly. “You, love, are mad as a hatter,” he murmured. She pouted at him and he kissed the pout. “But I love you for it.”
As the carriage creaked and rattled, starting to move, Drusilla touched his cheek with a fingertip. “You’re not his wife,” she murmured. “You can look.”
And despite himself, William glanced out of the window. Framed in one of the tall windows that lined the ballroom, he saw a golden-haired figure clad in blue and he was almost sure he saw a hand raised in fare well.
His own hand rose in response, then dropped into the darkness of the carriage.
“Well,” he said, turning a jovial smile on his elders. “Wasn’t that fun?”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The number of guests had diminished, less than a dozen remaining.
Herbert had taken advantage of the open ballroom at once.
To the tune of a single violin, he was twirling a pretty young boy in his arms. It took von Krolock less than a moment to recognise the boy as the youth Herbert had been involved with three nights earlier.
Though he had been subtle in his observation, he had watched Herbert watching William throughout the ball, until they had slipped from the room. He had not needed to ask why, nor had he needed to say anything when Herbert had sauntered back into the hall after seeing their guests off.
His son had been smiling, and in a way that suggested he had a plot in motion. The Graf had seen that devious, thoughtful expression on his son’s face more times than he cared to recollect, and every time he saw it, Herbert had succeeded in getting precisely what he wanted.
He had watched Herbert approach one of the windows, seen him raise a hand in salutation, and when his son returned to the dance floor, there was a notable bounce in his step.
As Herbert twirled the young man, by the name of Pyotr if Herbert’s exuberant exclamations were anything to judge upon, into his arms and kissed him, he laughed and von Krolock smiled.