Loving the Vampire King

Angus swore under his breath when thunder cracked across the cloudy sky. A strong wind buffeted the mountain path he was on, threatening to send him over the edge. He pulled his heavy deerskin cloak over his head as he ducked into a small crevasse. Colorful lichens, slick with the previous rain, taunted him. Clouds raced high above him as the wind picked up. Angus thought he heard wolves howling in the distance, but he wasn't sure. If there were wolves, he had no way of fighting them off. Bandits had stolen his horse days ago and he lost his sword in the same river he lost his boots.

He sunk down the slick rock wall and grabbed a pebble. It glistened in the half light, like it was made of quartz. Angus hurled it away from him. Then he turned so he couldn't see the yawning void a few feet in front of him.

A ruined forest filled the valley below. Ash fouled once healthy streams and splintering, dried bones haunted the knolls. He didn't think anything lived there anymore. Dark magic had stolen it, the same dark magic that probably conjured up this storm.

Angus ground his teeth as he waited. There was a time he didn't believe in magic. He was younger then, a far cry from the older and wiser man he was now. Angus turned his wrist over, keen brown eyes taking in the scars that branded it. The same dark magic that killed this mountain had tried to kill him. Unlike a tree, though, Angus could run. He tried to avoid this place and the ruins that branded it, though he had little choice in the matter this time. There was a lord who needed his services as a knight errant the next village over and the only way to get there was through the mountain pass.

Rain splattered him, drawing him from his thoughts. After a moment, water doused him from head to toe. Angus stood up. He turned around, cursing when he saw a little waterfall forming where he'd been sitting. Well then. He probably needed to move on. There was a castle up at the next level spot. He could probably reach it if he was quick enough. It hadn't been inhabited in years. Even the bandits avoided it. They said it was haunted, though Angus wondered if it was their own guilty feelings.

He grabbed dry, splintering tree roots as he hauled himself up. Water mixed with ashes beside him. It streamed down the mountainside, revealing streaks of gold ore and delicate things that might be gems. Another time, Angus would have picked them up. Now, though, the wind tugged at his arms and rain flew in his face. He picked his way around boulders and broken branches. Wild vultures flew overhead and filled the air with their harsh cries. If he looked up - something he didn't want to do because of the rain - he could see the castle's towers poking through the gloom.

Ribbons of lightning flashed through the sky. Thunder, louder than any war drum, followed it. The rain picked up, crashing into the rocks and soaking Angus to the bone. He forced his way through it, not even stopped when rocks cut his feet.

The castle in the clearing didn't look like much. It was an old thing, from times long past, and half the towers had fallen in on themselves. Rotting timbers poked through the roof. The great iron doors hung open at an odd angle. Reeds grew around the castle's foundations. Clinging vines - the only green things in this hellscape - pulled the castle apart at the seams. Lightning reflected in the broken glass windows.

Angus ran toward it. He raced through the mud, cursing when he slipped. It soaked his trousers and ruined them even more. Sharp rocks stabbed his feet. Angus stepped around the larger bits of broken glass as cold rain soaked him to the bone. He feared he'd never get warm at this rate. He ducked inside quickly and sagged against the bare stone wall.

Yawning darkness greeted him, but Angus felt eyes watching him. He stepped back, hands going to his dagger, as he looked around. He only saw shadows. Rain dripped from holes in the roof. It pooled on the swept earth floor and made a little trail toward a hall at the end of the room. Angus swallowed. Against his better judgement, he sheathed his dagger and went to investigate. Unease wrapped around him. His breathing was ragged, labored from his run. His cold, wet clothes stuck to him. Angus resisted the urge to fling them off and walk around naked until he was dry. He did pull off his cape, though, and tossed it over a broken chair.

An odd looking door, plated with tarnished silver, hung open on its hinges. It screamed when Angus pushed it open.

Something groaned. It was a pale groan, weak and pitiful, but something groaned.

Angus froze. "Who's there?" he called. "Show yourself!"

No one answered.

Lightning flashed behind him. Angus saw only a hint of pale skin, red wounds, and chains stretching white deer hide over a table. Dread pooled in his belly. Angus crept forward, moving as quietly as he could.

There was a window set high on the wall. Only intermittent flashes of light pierced the filthy glass. Angus's eyes could hardly make out anything, but he knew something was there. He stumbled against the wall, then reared back when a single torch flared to life.

Golden eyes, exhausted and broken, met brown ones.

Angus stared at him. "What the hell?"

The white deerhide wasn't white skin. A man, chained over the table, locked in darkness. His head lolled to the side and his arms struggled weakly. Angus paled when he saw red, ugly infection seared into once pristine skin. He smelled it, too. Along with something darker and sickly sweet. He swore under his breath when he came closer. He reached out and touched the man, careful of his wounds, and frowned when he saw how brown his skin looked when it touched the deathly pale man. Whoever he was, he was weak. His hair - or what was left of it - was a pale, ashy blond color.

Angus didn't want to ask what he was doing here. He had a nasty feeling about it.

The man was cold to the touch. As cold as ice, even, and he pushed his body against Angus's.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Angus said. He walked loudly around him so he wouldn't startle him. "I don't know if I can save you, but I'm going to try."

The man didn't respond. Angus feared he was dying. His breathing was labored and ragged, like he was fighting to stay alive.

"I'm going to have to hurt you to get these off," Angus said. He circled around his other side and touched his shoulder. "I'm sorry in advance. And I hope that you can understand what I'm saying. Otherwise, you're going to hate me."

He looked around, then his eyes settled on a glass bowl in the corner.

"I think you need water first." Angus stepped back. "I'm not going to leave you, okay? I'm going to get you something to drink."

His heart fluttered in his chest as he grabbed the bowl. He dumped it upside down, getting rid of most of the dirt, and raced toward the hall. He stuck the bowl under a water spout, filled it as much as he could, and carried it back. Angus fished out the bigger bits of filth before he came back.

The man weakly raised his head. His golden eyes were glassy, like he was out of it, and he opened his mouth. Angus froze. He had fangs. Not teeth like a human. Fangs.

"Oh, dear god," he whispered. Still, he held up the bowl so the man could drink. "Please don't kill me."

The man ignored him. He was a greedy thing, strong despite his wasted body, and he didn't seem to mind the murky water. Angus supposed he was thirsty enough. He trembled as he stood there. On instinct, he reached out to steady the man's head so he wouldn't drown himself. Bones ground together under his touch. Angus didn't want to think about how he got that way.

The man pulled back and coughed. "Yvan."

"I'm sorry?"

"I'm... called Yvan." Yvan blinked then sagged back.

He had a soft voice, accented if Angus listened to it, and he seemed exhausted.

"I'm called Angus." Angus crouched beside his arms. "I didn't know your kind still existed."

Yvan didn't answer. When Angus looked up, his eyes were closed and his head lolled to the side.

"You're going to die, aren't you?" Angus asked. "Someone did this to you."

Yvan coughed. This close, Angus saw the bones pressing against delicate skin and the sweat covering his body. Angus shivered. He didn't know much about vampires. That he was even thinking about freeing Yvan was crazy. He should back up, close the door, and let nature take its course. Yvan was close to death anyways. Angus straightened up, then looked back at the thin, sharp face resting on splintered wood.

No one deserved to die like that. Not even a vampire.

Angus crouched beside his arms. He crawled under the table and lay on his back so he could look at the lock. It was simple enough - it looked like he needed both hands to depress a lever - so he grabbed it and jerked. Yvan recoiled when the chain dropped to the ground. Angus did the same - he hadn't expected it to be so loud. Then he turned around and repeated the process three more times.

Yvan didn't move, except to curl up in a fetal position. Angus tried not to look at the reddened spots where wood had driven itself into his flesh or just how thin his waist was. Angus walked around him and stroked Yvan's hair.

"I'm sorry." He closed his eyes for a second. "I know it sounds stupid, but I am. You're dying, aren't you?"

It was funny. Angus had seen death a thousand times before, even held the dying, but this had him close to tears. He swallowed past the lump in his throat and decided to ignore how his voice broke.

He pulled Yvan into his arms. He was so light, so fragile. He didn't stir, not even when Angus brushed his bloody hand on his cheek.

"I'm sorry." Angus carried him toward the door. "It's not perfect, but I think this is better. At least you're not in that room."

Yvan's breath barely brushed his cheek. Angus sat down, keeping Yvan's head angled so he could see through the cracks in the door, and stroked his shoulder. Yvan's eyes fluttered open. He rolled over, like he sought out Angus's warmth, and buried his face in Angus's neck. Angus didn't fight him. Yvan was dying - there wasn't much he could do.

He thought he felt something odd scrape him. It felt like the rocks around him, not the searing pain that came from a vampire feeding, so he ignored it. Angus sat there, listening to the thunder, as Yvan pressed against him. His skin was still slippery with sweat, but it slowly grew warmer.

Angus groaned. He lolled his head back against the wall and swallowed. He felt... strange. Light headed, almost. Not terrible, but not like he could go climb a mountain in a thunderstorm. His heart fluttered for a second and he swallowed. Maybe he needed to rest for a few minutes. He'd overdone it, probably, in his mad dash to get up here.

Yes, that was it. He'd overdone it. He just needed to rest a bit, so he could get stronger and give Yvan a proper burial.