Bab 33: Comfort
When Damien's eyes fluttered open, he was surprised by how… comfortable… he felt. He'd expected to jerk awake, one of his shoulders asleep, to a myriad of annoyed thralls staring at him. Or maybe Grace, shaking his shoulder, telling him it was time to go to his room. But he slowly realized that he was no longer in the laundry, but rather, in his bed - not his bed at home in the forest cottage, but the bed he'd been given along with his small chambers, here in the vampire castle. He was also surprisingly comfortable. He felt refreshed, in a way he hadn't felt since the night his bond had stirred within him. He frowned, sitting up slowly, expecting the aches and pain and fatigue to fall upon him as soon as he made any efforts to move his body, but it didn't happen. There was a soft, masculine scent hovering about him, and for a moment he thought Grace must have found one of the vampire's shirts for him, again. But after lighting a candle and taking a quick look around the immediate area, Damien easily verified that no new clothing had been provided. So where had the scent come from?
…was. Was the vampire back? Had he come here? To Damien's room? The thought horrified and sickened him. He clapped a hand to his neck in a moment of horror, fully expecting to feel the indentations of sharp incisors at his nape. There was nothing there, not even a hint of tenderness. He felt fine… more fine than he had in days, even. It was both baffling and infuriating!
Damien dressed as quickly as he could, dousing the candle before hurrying to the laundry, intending to ask Ellen what, exactly, had happened, and how he'd come to acquire the scent of his mate. Not to mention his mysterious transportation from the laundry to his room. Did the vampire know where Damien's room was? But how would he know that, unless…
Grace. Had Grace told the vampire to go to Damien? But why would she do that? Was she as meddlesome as Dezzy? He supposed she rather was, in her own, more understated way. But he would never have expected her to send the vampire directly to his room to scent everything as soon as he returned from his journey or whatever it was that had taken him away from the castle.
Scowling to himself, Damien marched his way down to the laundry. He could have gone to Grace's room, but as the castle halls were kept mostly dark, he didn't really know what time it was. He was beginning to understand better why Grace kept the sand-timer with her at all times - a sundial only worked when you were allowed to see the sun. He was grateful to be working in the laundry, which at least had a sunny area for the laundry to dry. Most of the thralls who worked in the castle rarely saw the sun, unless they ran errands in town, like Grace.
Damien couldn't imagine a more pitiable existence. Except, perhaps, his own. Though he felt better now, he knew the feeling couldn't last. He would begin to weaken again soon, he could feel it in the trembles of his arms and legs. They were weak now, even though he had regained a measure of strength. They were weakened from disuse, not the sickness, and so the magic would not restore them to their former selves, because it was not strictly the sickness that had weakened them. It was frustrating that he was losing so much, and that he would just keep losing in the future. What hope was there of improvement, when he was trapped in a vampire's castle among bloodthirsty monsters and their mindless slaves? He reached up, laying a hand over the amulet he wore under his shirt. At least the good luck charm from his mother would protect him from the worst of it. He didn't think he could bear it if he ever became enthralled. It would be worse than dying.
Sighing heavily, Damien paused momentarily before the doors of the laundry, then pushed them open. To his surprise, not many people were there. At first, he worried it was because he ws so late everyone had already finished their work. Then, he heard a soft snort, and the sound of someone clucking their tongue disapprovingly.
"I sent you to your room to sleep, boy," came the brusque tones of Ellen, clearly in no mood for nonsense. "Why are you back here so soon?"
Damien blinked in surprise. "I'm sorry?" he apologized, a hint of a question in his tone.
"You're early," Ellen said. "Didn't you sleep?"
Damien nodded slowly. "I slept very well," he said. "Did I … sleep for an entire night and day?" He wasn't sure what other explanation there could be.
Ellen raised an eyebrow. "You fell asleep beside that very basin maybe twelve hours ago," she informed him, in a disbelieving tone. "Laid there for about two hours before Mister Einhardt was able to carry you back to your room."
Damien blinked. "Mister Einhardt?"
Ellen frowned slightly. "...Mister Einhardt," she repeated, a bit more firmly. "You must know him, every thrall who walks these halls knows him."
Damien thought about the scent lingering on him, and made an educated guess. "You mean… Cain Einhardt?"
Ellen gave Damien a sharp look. "You'd be wise to show respect," she said, a hint of steel in her tone.
Damien swallowed hard, and corrected himself despite the way it irked him to show respect for the likes of that vampire. "You mean mister Cain Einhardt?"
"I do indeed," Ellen answered, giving him a sharp nod of approval.
He couldn't help but wonder why the vampire would have been the one to carry him out. "Why… did he help me?" he asked.
He could see from the sympathetic look in Ellen's eyes that she thought he was asking because he was a thrall who had been rejected by vampires because of his wasting disease. But actually, Damien was asking because he couldn't understand why that vampire would bother helping a lowly thrall. And why he would help Damien, particularly when he knew very well that Damien was not actually a thrall but was, in fact, lying to everyone here and merely pretending to be enthralled. Why hadn't the vampire - Cain - given him up immediately, and told everyone that he was pretending to be a thrall? Though, he supposed, the vampire had let him take his clothes, too. It seemed so strange, that Cain would be a cold-blooded killer, and yet also show such compassion and consideration for someone that he barely knew. It couldn't be guilt, because the vampire hadn't seemed the slightest bit sorry when he'd been confronted by Damien. He'd been smug and smarmy and rude. But how could that same cruel creature turn around and perform acts of kindness so notable that all the thralls in the damn castle seemed to worship him?
It didn't make sense to Damien. But then, precious little about the vampire made sense to Damien, even though the man was meant to be his fated mate. A small part of him wanted to know more, wanted to try and understand. But a much larger part of him was utterly uninterested in having that man be a part of his life, and that was the part of Damien that was currently informing most of his decisions here in the castle.
"He helped because I asked him to," Ellen said, as if it were that simple. As if asking a vampire, any vampire, for anything, would actually mean something.
"And that… works?"
Ellen gave Damien a hard look. "Mister Einhardt," she said primly, "is one of the good ones. And you would do well to cultivate a stronger bond with him. He will not take advantage, nor will he turn you away for your affliction. There are not many vampires who would stand up for a sickly or weak thrall - he is one of the few, and perhaps the only vampire with enough power and sway within these walls for his opinion to matter."
Damien hated that she'd used the word bond when speaking about a relationship with a vampire. He supposed, technically, that enthrallment was a type of bond. But it seemed all wrong to him, and he hated to think that these thralls thought of the bond between a vampire and thrall as a typical sort of bond. He wasn't a religious person by any means (though perhaps he was questioning his stance on deities a bit more after his recent run-in with the moon goddess' magic in the dead of night), but even he felt disgusted by the perversion of bond magic that gave vampires such total control over their thralls. A bond of light and life was difficult to break, and the eyes and blood were such symbolic parts of those magic. Damien's own magic drew on the moon's magic, and as such, was more attuned to transformation and connection, in the way that the moon shifted and changed but never forsook the earth or its tides. The moon was constant and yet always changing, and so were werewolves, always changing but made steady by the bonds between their mates and packs. Damien wished he had that, instead of whatever bond his vampire mate would likely dream up.
As long as he wasn't enthralled, though, Damien thought he would be able to endure it. But he didn't think he could endure it without at least trying to make his vampire mate understand exactly how unhappy he was, and try and at least pay back a bit of misery in kind.
So he had very little interest in 'cultivating' a better 'bond' with Cain, no matter what Ellen said. Clearly, the laundress could see his hesitation in his gaze, because she sighed and waved him off, saying, "You'll see what I mean soon enough, foolish boy."
Damien knew better than to argue, and instead made his way over to where a pile of lace and other delicate fabrics were waiting to be washed, and began to gently scrub them under the lightly-warmed water.
He was still scrubbing a few minutes later, when he heard the door creak open again. He didn't think much of it, as he was still working, until he heard soft footfalls coming up from behind him. Still, he assumed it was just another thrall, here early for work.
Whoever it was paused directly behind him and stood there for a long moment. Damien ignored them, until a hint of something nigh addictive curled into his nose, and he knew. He knew exactly who was standing behind him. Once he realized who was there, he focused even more intently on washing the lace in his hands, pretending it needed more attention than it really did.
Cain - because of course it was him, who else would smell like that - cleared his throat gently. "Do you have some time to spare, Damien?" he asked.
Who had told the man his name? He certainly hadn't introduced himself! (It was probably Grace. Or perhaps Ellen.) He felt irrationally angry at how good his name sounded, being caressed by his mate's soft baritone. He didn't want to like the man's voice, any more than he liked his scent. And yet…
"I'm working," Damien answered shortly, not looking at the vampire as he shook out the water from the lace fabric and stood to lay it out on the drying board a few steps away. As he moved, the vampire moved with him. Damien wanted to growl, but knew that he was likely being watched by Ellen. He knew he shouldn't be acting like this, that a thrall wouldn't behave this way towards a vampire, but he also couldn't bear to look at the vampire who had done this to him. He knew it wasn't intentional, that there was nothing this creature could have done to induce a mate-bond in Damien, but it didn't change the fact that he was furious about the situation. He didn't want to talk to Cain. He wanted to inhale his scent and pretend the vampire didn't exist, and that was difficult to do when the vampire was standing right behind him and demanding his attention.
"I can see that," Cain said, sounding, of all things, amused. This only made Damien more angry, because clearly the vampire wasn't taking any of this seriously. "But if you wouldn't mind giving me a bit of your time-"
"I've given you more than enough of my time already," Damien growled, thinking of how many days he'd wasted on this stupid mate-sickness, and how much more time he would be forced to spend in this awful castle, locked away from the sun, unable to see his mother or Dezzy.
"Damien," the vampire said, a bit more sharply. "If you won't speak to me in private, we'll have the conversation here, in front of everyone."
Damien gritted his teeth and ignored the vampire, moving back to the basin and picking up the next piece of lace, dunking it in the wash water and beginning to lightly swish it in the water.
"I assumed you didn't want to talk about your mate-sickness in front of everyone, but if you won't come with me, you leave me no choice," the vampire said in a low undertone.
Damien's hands stilled beneath the water. He wouldn't.
"I don't know why you've come here, and how much of that is due to your mate-sickness," Cain began, his voice gradually getting louder as he spoke, "nor, I do confess, am I very informed as to what exactly mate-sickness is, or how it affects werewolves."
This was just cruel. He knew that Damien was trying to keep his ancestry and his delicate situation a secret. He couldn't just announce all of this to everyone in the room! Damien stood abruptly, marched over to the drying table, laid out the second bit of lace, then turned around to fix an irritated glare on the vampire, planning on spitting out his words of agreement in a harsh growl. The words died on his tongue as he took in the haggard appearance of the vampire before him. If possible, the creature looked even worse for wear than he had when he'd landed on mother's doorstep. His hair was less unkempt, and he wasn't convulsing or clutching his chest the way he'd been at the cottage. But there were dark circles under his eyes, a sort of hollowness to his cheeks, a sheen of what might be muted terror, glinting in his gaze. The man was in pain, too. Damien could smell it, as soon as he turned to face him. He was also trembling, the tiniest bit. It was such a mild tremor Damien doubted any human would recognize it as a shiver, but to him, it looked like weakness. The vampire was a wreck, and holding himself together through sheer force of will, as if his body were a carpet wrapped tightly with a bundle of increasingly flimsy threads, and they were about to break apart, springing the whole thing loose and causing it to spill across the ground in a disordered mess.
"You look terrible," Damien said, not at all what he'd intended to say. The words sprang to his lips without a conscious thought on his part. "Have you had any time to rest or eat recently? You seem like you're going to waste away at any moment."
The vampire, who had, moments earlier, appeared unbearably smug, took a half-step back, as if Damien had physically struck him. His eyes, which had held only the barest hint of fear, widened slightly. He really was afraid of something. Not Damien, per se, but something that Damien's pointless ramble had touched on. Still, the vampire recovered quickly, his expression shifting to something less smug, but also a bit less… vulnerable. "May we step away for a moment?" Cain asked, his blood red eyes peering into Damien's as he asked. "Just down the hall."
Damien immediately dropped his eyes to the ground, chiding himself for his stupidity. How could he have met the man's eyes? Did he want to be enthralled? Was he that stupid? "Fine," Damien grumbled, still keeping his eyes on the floor.
"Stop it," Cain murmured, reaching out and curling a finger under Damien's chin, lifting it until their eyes met once more. "I'm not using my eyes for anything but looking at you."
I'd rather you not even go that far, Damien thought irritably.
"Follow me," Cain said then, an aloof arrogance to his tone that set Damien's teeth to grinding. He turned, and began walking across the laundry again.
Damien followed, sparing a glance in Ellen's direction. The woman gave him an exaggerated wink and a thumbs up. He wondered if she thought Cain was going to drink his blood or just wanted to encourage Damien to be more… friendly with the vampire. Either way, he wrinkled his nose back at her, which prompted an exasperated eyeroll. Then he was through the door, and the nonverbal conversation was abruptly ended by the door being pulled shut by Cain.
Saying nothing, the vampire turned and began walking in the opposite direction of Damien's room, clearly expecting Damien to follow. He considered not going, simply because it annoyed him that the vampire assumed Damien would follow him merely because he commanded it. But he also didn't want the vampire broadcasting the information about Damien's precarious situation to the thralls at large, so he grudgingly chose to follow the taller man, having to jog a bit in order to keep up with the vampire's long strides and rapid gait.
Damien had thought he was feeling much better, but he was very unused to exertion, since Dezzy had carried him for a decent portion of their journey, and all he'd been doing lately is wandering from his room to the laundry and back again. It took barely any time at all for him to begin feeling winded, and as he struggled to catch his breath, he began flagging, unable to keep pace with the vampire striding ahead of him. He was too proud to call after the vampire, to ask him to slow down, and so he almost missed the last turn, and by the time he stumbled around the corner, the vampire had settled against one wall, a disapproving smirk on his face, his arms folded across his broad chest as he stared down at Damien, who had to brace himself on his knees and hang his head for a moment to try and catch his breath.
"We won't be overheard here," Cain said, when Damien had managed to stop his wheezing and was able to straighten up, meeting the vampire's cold gaze once more. "So I'd like to discuss a few matters," he said, and took a step closer to Damien, reaching out to tap a finger against the outline of Damien's vampire-repelling amulet. "Starting with this."
Damien glanced down at where the vampire's finger rested against the amulet, and tried not to sceam with rage and disbelief. How could something his mother was so confident about still fail to keep away the one vampire he most wanted to stay away?
He should have realized it when Cain had touched his chin - a vampire shouldn't have been able to touch him at all, not while wearing the amulet. So what was wrong with it? Why was it letting Cain near him? He was so confused!
When his eyes lifted to meet Cain's again, the vampire stared back, and then carefully removed his finger from where it rested against Damien's chest. "Do you know how it works?" he asked.
Damien shook his head slowly. "I just know it's… it's supposed to keep…"
"It works through the power of invitations," Cain said. "But, as with most vampire powers, there are loopholes. This one appears to require only patience," he added, stepping even closer, his body crowding against Damien's, forcing Damien to take a step backwards. His heel hit the wall, and he realized he had nowhere to go. His breathing quickened as the vampire reached out, this time trailing one sharp claw along the side of Damien's throat. "You see?"
Damien didn't see. He had no idea what point the vampire was trying to prove, beyond the fact that he was more powerful than Damien and capable of killing. None of which was really news to him. "I don't understand," he whispered, growing a bit more afraid every time his throat bobbed under the sharp point of the vampire's cruel caress.
"The amulet mimics a vampire's sense of revoked invitation," Cain said, lifting his finger away from Damien's throat and taking a step back to give him a bit more space. "It doesn't last very long, though, so a patient vampire will be able to see through the ruse. It will only work for certain vampires."
Damien nodded. "Why are you telling me this?" he asked.
"Because I don't want you to get cocky," Cain answered sharply. "It will get you killed."
Now Damien felt even more confused. "But… why do you care?"
Cain shrugged. "I don't like seeing thralls get killed needlessly," he explained. "It's hard enough finding good help with the usual attrition rate, much less losing perfectly decent thralls to a vampire's pique of temper."
Damien scowled. "I'm not a thrall," he argued.
"And you'd be wise to keep that between us," Cain said, pushing forward again with a threatening snarl. "Because that? That's the sort of information that will definitely get you killed - and probably Grace, too," he added.
Damien felt his eyes widen involuntarily. "Grace?" he repeated. He knew that he would be in trouble if anyone found out that he wasn't a real thrall. But he hadn't realized it would put anyone else in danger!
Cain nodded. "That's why we needed to talk. There are a few… situations… that Grace may or may not be aware of."
Damien didn't want to listen, but he knew that he had to. So, leaning back against the wall for a bit of stability, he folded his arms over his chest and glared up at the vampire.
"I'm listening."
Status Power Mingguan
-- Peringkat
Power 
-- Power
stone