by Joy Demorra
Nathan sighed. He didn’t want to walk out of here without his boot, but it wouldn’t be his first barefoot walk through a town after spending the night in a strange place. And, if he was lucky, it wouldn’t be his last either. “Look, if I promise to come back at the end of my shift, will you let me go?”
Dr. Allan held out the boot in defeat. “Fine. I can’t keep you here by force. But—” he held up a warning finger “—nothing more laborious than paperwork.”
“Absolutely,” Nathan agreed, claiming his boot, shoving it on, and pulling his jacket on before the physician could change his mind.
“And if you start to feel faint—”
“I’ll lie down,” he said as he practically sprinted for the door.
“You’ll send for me!” Dr. Allan called after him. He followed Nathan to the foot of the tower and watched him jog down the steps two at a time. When Nathan kept going, Dr. Allan threw his hands up in the air and slammed the tower door shut.
*
The clock tower in the square was just beginning to toll a quarter to noon when Nathan staggered over the guardhouse threshold.
“Aha, there he is,” Fiddildy greeted him with a wicked grin. “Looks like Irian owes me three quid. They said you wouldn’t be in until after noon.”
“What?” Nathan leaned over, bracing his hands on his knees. The trek from the tower had mostly been downhill, but it had been quite some time since Nathan had moved at anything other than a sedentary pace. It didn’t help that his head still hurt, but a cup of tea and something to eat should fix that.
Fuck, he was suddenly starving. When was the last time he’d eaten?
“Corporal Irian saw you last night, drinking with Master Vlad,” Fiddildy carried on jovially, getting up and pouring Nathan a cup of tea from the pot left perpetually brewing on the stove. “Word of advice, lad: don’t go drinking with the dead. They’ve got nothing left to live for.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Nathan drained the cup of tea and poured himself another. “Fiddildy?”
“Yessir?”
“I don’t suppose we have any food?”
“Well, there’s the biscuit tin. But I could send Hobbes to the butcher and do you a fry up, if you like. Nothing better for a hangover than a fry up.”
Nathan helped himself to several of the gingersnaps in the tin and cradled his mug of tea like a lifeline. “Fiddildy, you are a gift.”
“I try, sir, I try. Oi!” Fiddildy whistled.
Wincing, Nathan clapped a hand over his right ear, the sound splitting through his skull. “Please, no whistles.”
“Sorry, sir. Hobbes!” The corporal poked his head around the privy door, a brush in hand. His gaze drifted over to Nathan, who was bracing himself against the counter and resisting the urge to pick the teapot up and start drinking from the spout. “Get that pinny off and head on down to the butcher. Grab everything for a fry up. We’ve got a hangover to feed.”
“Yessir. Any requests?”
“A steak?”
“Right away!” Hobbes scurried off.
“Oh, and some black pudding if they have it!” Nathan called after him, clutching his head as the sound of his own voice cut through him. It might have been his imagination, but everything sounded louder than before.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
It was just after three when Vlad sauntered on down to the guardhouse, a heavy satchel slung over one shoulder. He was just about to traipse up the steps when he caught sight of the death hounds lolling around in the side yard, their cage doors wide open.
“Well, look at you three,” the vampire murmured. He leaned over the fence to greet the excited animals as they scampered over, tails wagging. “What are you doing out of your cages, hmm? Did that nice Captain Northland let you out?” Vlad asked, ruffling the hounds around the ears and crooning at them. “I’ll just bet he did. And look at you, behaving all nice and proper.” He peered into the shadows of their pens. “Not eating anyone? What good puppies you are! Yes, you are!” He straightened. “Hello, Corporal Hobbes,” Vlad said, resuming his people voice.
“Hello, sir,” the pink-faced youth replied as he hurried past Vlad up the steps into the guardhouse, throwing a giant bone over his shoulder into the pen as he passed. The hounds lunged for it; their previous puppy-like behavior morphed into something infinitely more deadly as they scuffled and fought over their prize.
Vlad left them to it, entering the guardhouse. The vampire had not gotten to over four hundred years of age by getting between a death hound and his bone. “Goodness,” he said as he observed the mess in the guardhouse common room. “And here I’d been told this place was spotless.”
Standing in front of the iron stove with a spatula in one hand, Lieutenant Fiddildy turned and gave Vlad what he could only describe as a friendly glower. “It was until you took our Captain out drinking. I dunno what you did to him, Master Vlad, but I’d appreciate it if you didn’t do it again.”
A spike of anxiety shot through his veins, and Vlad fought the urge to materialize in the shadows at the top of the stairs. That sort of thing never went down well around humans, though. And he wasn’t sure how the werewolf would feel about it either. Feigning nonchalance, Vlad asked, “Oh dear, is he awfully under the weather?”
“Under the weather?” Fiddildy snorted. He returned his attention to the pan, flipping over the sizzling meat. “I’ve never seen a man eat so much. I’ve been here all day, slaving away. I had to send the lad out twice for more supplies.” He nodded toward Hobbes, who had collapsed wearily in a chair.
Relief flooded through him; Vlad hid a smile. “My apologies. I shall endeavor to behave in the future.”
“Hmmph!” Fiddildy snorted, conveying a mountain of scorn in the sound. Apparently, formality went out the window when there was a hungry werewolf to keep satisfied.
Wise man, Vlad thought.
“You going up to see him?” Fiddildy asked, and Vlad nodded. “Here, give him this.” He handed Vlad a plate laden with so much protein that it was one precise lightning strike away from sentience.
Armed with his offering, Vlad climbed the rickety stairs. The door to Captain Northland’s office was wide open, and Vlad took a moment to examine him. Absorbed in his work, Nathan sat behind his desk, a mug of tea held loosely in one hand. Vlad wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but the other man’s overnight transformation was not it. While the werewolf still looked as though he’d been ill, he’d lost the gray gauntness of the previous day; there was a rosy flush to his cheeks. Even his eyes seemed brighter despite the dark circles beneath them. Which was saying something, because Vlad had never known eyes so blue.
He was just about to announce his presence when Captain Northland glanced up, his gaze locking onto Vlad with an intensity that made Vlad want to find a nice shadow to hide in. He wasn’t used to people paying attention to him. Oh, people noticed the Viscount all the time, but they rarely ever saw Vlad. And they certainly didn’t track his movements in a way that left him feeling exposed and vaguely hunted and wondering just what exactly was wrong with himself that he found the sensation of being prey enjoyable.
“Captain,” he greeted. “I come bearing gifts.” He held the plate up to emphasize his point.
The werewolf’s eyes moved from Vlad’s face to his hand and to the abomination of a sandwich on the plate. Vlad no longer felt like the most edible thing in the room.
“Viscount.” Nathan stood up, hurrying to relieve Vlad of the plate. “Thank you. I’m sorry, they shouldn’t have handed you that.”
“Of course they should have.” Vlad took a seat in the empty chair Nathan indicated. “They’ve known me their entire lives. Well, I’m glad to see you’re still alive. I can let Dr. Allan know you’re not dead in a gutter.”
“Did he send you to check on me?”
“He might have sent a messenger raven up to the castle.” Vlad shrugged. “Or five. He sends his apologies, but he’s been called away to help with a difficult deli
very. I’m afraid you’ll have to make do with me instead.”
“Oh no, what a hardship,” the werewolf said flatly, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“I know, a fate worse than death and all that.” Vlad was determined not to be out-quipped. “You really ought not to have left the surgery like that, you know.” Affecting what Riya liked to call his ‘school-master’ stare, he said, “You had Dr. Allan quite worried.”
“I told him I felt fine,” Nathan murmured, having the grace to look guilty.
“Yes, but considering you also said you felt ‘fine’ yesterday when you were unequivocally not fine, you can understand his concern. Still, I’m glad to see you upright. And it looks like you have your appetite back. That’s a good sign.” He glanced toward the empty plates stacked on Nathan’s desk, watching in delight as a faint blush rose under the werewolf’s collar.
“Sorry,” he said, pushing aside the plate he’d been picking at. “I can’t seem to stop eating. It feels like I haven’t eaten in months.”
“You likely haven’t.” Vlad reached over the table and nudged the plate back under his nose. If humans could smile and nod at parties while vampires drank blood from pewter goblets, then he could stand to watch a starving werewolf devour a venison steak sandwich. “You’ve probably been too nauseous to eat enough. That can happen with metal poisoning.”
Covering his mouth self-consciously as he chewed, Nathan murmured, “I still can’t believe I was right.”
Vlad rolled his neck and glanced up to the ceiling so he wouldn’t have to keep meeting the intensity of that gaze. “I can. Modern medicine has improved leaps and bounds in the last few decades. But it’s woefully behind with the supernatural. It always has been. That’s why we need people like Dr. Allan.”
Nathan lowered his voice. “You mean necromancers.”
Vlad shrugged mildly. He’d known Nathan wasn’t stupid, and it had been a calculated risk to bring him to Dr. Allan. Vlad just hoped he was smart enough to see beyond his ingrained prejudices. “There’s remarkably little difference between the arts of healing and raising the dead,” Vlad replied, meeting Nathan’s calculating stare. “Sometimes the two skills even coincide. It’s how you use them that matters. Though there are those who beg to differ.” He smiled thinly. “Usually with torches and pitchforks.”
The other man maintained his stare for a second longer, then shook his head. “I’m not going to tell anyone, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“Hmm. Only moderately.” Vlad held his hand up, moving it slightly from side to side. Nathan huffed with laughter. It was a remarkably pleasant sound, Vlad decided, all low and grumbly in his chest like thunder. It suited the husky nature of his voice, which was also far too distractingly pleasant, especially when he insisted on gazing at Vlad with a softness which caused his undead heart to skip a beat.
“Well, I’m not going to,” he said again. “It’d be a poor show of gratitude if I did. And besides, I’m sure we all have skeletons in our closet we’d rather keep hidden.”
“Four.”
“What?”
“Oh, you meant figuratively.” Vlad grinned when the werewolf narrowed his eyes. “Oh. Here, before I forget.” Reaching into his other pocket, he pulled out a sealed glass vial with a thin sliver of metal glinting at the bottom. “They say every soldier has a bullet with his name on it. I figured you might want to keep an eye on this one. Or throw it away yourself. Either way.”
Nathan didn’t move for several long seconds. Vlad was about to regret the gesture when the other man moved, his fingers brushing against Vlad’s as he took it. Teensy tiny tingles danced up Vlad’s hand, causing a tightening in his heart as well as… other places. He desperately wanted to feel the sensation again, and again, and again, preferably all over his body. But now was not the time to be lusting after a certain werewolf; the man had just had life-saving surgery, after all.
“It’s so small,” Nathan said at last, trailing a finger close to the glass but not actually touching it. “How can something so small do so much damage?”
“Persistence.” He wasn’t sure if the other man wanted an actual answer or not. “Even the smallest drip of water will wear a mountain down with time. You’re very lucky to be alive, Captain.”
“Nathan,” the werewolf reminded him, his gaze flicking back to Vlad with overwhelming sincerity. “And I know. Thank you.”
“Oh, pfft.” Vlad waved a hand in the air. “It’s Dr. Allan you should be thanking. I didn’t do anything.”
“But you did.” Nathan lowered the vial to give Vlad the full measure of his attention. “You realized something was wrong, and you went out of your way to help even though you didn’t have to. You saved my life.”
“Anyone would have done the same.”
Nathan shook his head, spearing Vlad into place with another of those soul-searing looks. “No. They didn’t. Fiddildy tried, but even he wasn’t willing to risk a werewolf’s wrath. You were. Thank you.”
“Well,” Vlad cleared his throat, awkwardly aware that his ears were glowing. “I’m just glad I was able to help. Although I would like to look you over, if you have no objections? Dr. Allan was frightfully adamant about making sure you’re all right.”
He’d expected some sort of protest given how Nathan had reacted to being in the infirmary, but the other man nodded and pushed his chair back from his desk. “No, go right ahead. Where do you want me?”
Everywhere, Vlad thought before shoving his desire down as far as he could. “Where you are is fine. How are you feeling?” he asked as he tilted Nathan’s head up toward the light and gently pulled down one eyelid. He stepped closer to get a better look, keenly aware of Nathan’s knees parting to admit him.
“Honestly? Like I had the shit kicked out of me,” Nathan replied with a sigh, and Vlad winced in sympathy. “But it feels… different. Almost, cleaner, somehow? I don’t know. It’s easier to breathe, I know that much.”
“Good.” Vlad repeated the same examination on the other eye. They were even more unfathomably blue up close, but they were flecked with yellow too, like flakes of gold reflecting light at the bottom of a crystalline river. “Being able to breathe is what we like to hear.”
“Are you really a physician? Like, a qualified one?”
“No.” Vlad stepped to the side, pulled a quartz pen from his pocket, and slipped it delicately into Nathan’s ear. “I’m just someone with personal space issues.” At Nathan’s sideways glance, Vlad chuckled. “A joke, of course. You’ll soon find I’m rarely serious if I can help it. I first graduated in 1627.”
“Isn’t that when the Royal College of Medicine was founded?”
“It was.” Stepping back, he pressed his fingers lightly under the square cut of Nathan’s jaw. “I helped found it. Any tenderness there? No. Good. What about your headache?” he asked as he lifted one of Nathan’s hands and examined the fingernails. There was still some gray, of course, but it was much reduced. Habit made him slide his fingers over Nathan’s pulse point, and Vlad felt it jump then settle. Even without looking at his watch he knew it was running fast, but perhaps that was just how werewolves were. He wouldn’t know; he’d never gotten this close to one before. But Gods if he didn’t want to get closer to this one now. Oh Gods, how he wanted to.
Focus, Vlad, he admonished as he forcibly willed himself to pay attention to his patient.
“It’s mostly gone.” Nathan shrugged seemingly unaware of the vampire’s inappropriate thoughts. Or maybe not so unaware, Vlad surmised when Nathan’s glorious blue eyes swiveled to meet Vlad’s with a mischievous glint. “Though that might just be the hangover everyone seems to think I have.”
“Yes, I did catch that implication from Fiddildy.”
“I’m sorry about that, I didn’t know what to tell them.”
Vlad snorted. “Oh, don’t worry about it. My reputation as a bad influence is well-earned. Although I’m not sure Fiddildy will let you out to play again an
y time soon. He was quite cross with me.”
“Did you really spend a century in an opium den?” Nathan asked, more curious than judgmental.
Vlad shrugged. “Give or take a few decades.”
“Why?”
“It was a horrible time to be sober. How’s your hearing?” Vlad clicked his fingers on either side of Nathan’s head.
“Still can’t hear on this side,” Nathan gestured to his left. “But the right seems… clearer. Less echoey.”
“Good,” Vlad replied, stepping back and pocketing his tools again. “I must say, Captain Northland—”
“Nathan.”
“Nathan. I must say, you’re looking remarkably well, all things considered. Your eyes aren’t as dark… though I suspect it will take a while longer for the silver to fully leave your system.”
“How long?”
“Well, with humans it can take several weeks. If it were lead or mercury, we might be able to speed the process up, but I’m afraid there’s no such method for silver.”
“Why not?” Nathan asked with a frown.
Vlad realized they had got to the part he’d been dreading. “Because silver isn’t fatal to humans.”
“What does that have to do with—oh…” Nathan’s expression shuttered, his look of confusion turning into one of weary cynicism. “Of course. It’s not fatal to humans, so there’s no research on it. Is there?”
“Afraid not,” Vlad said apologetically. “It makes them ill, but it won’t kill them. If it makes you feel any better, however, it does turn them irrevocably blue.”
Nathan quirked an eyebrow at him. “How did they figure that out?”
“Silver elixir used to be touted as a cure for pox.”
“Did it work?”
Vlad laughed. “Not even remotely. Turned a lot of the aristocracy blue. At least you always knew who not to go home with at the end of a dance. I did find something interesting in my research last night, though,” Vlad said, reaching into his satchel and pulling out a heavy tome. “I was looking up werewolf lore, and I found this.” He handed the book over to Nathan, who took it with a frown. “As it happens, Eyrie used to be regarded as sacred by some of the werewolf clans before, uhm…” He coughed delicately.
