He watched attentively, hiding in the shadows cast by the sunrise. The medic of the castle was setting a stand near the storage’s door, upon which he placed many instruments and a lot of flasks. There were needles and small scalpels.

Bastian leaned there at the arcs, contemplating how the vampire prepared everything to be used, unbothered by the sun above. Most of the clan went to sleep at dawn, but the physician seemed to intend to stay awake all day.

He knew what this was all about: blood. In the afternoon, humans were more active, a period between dawn and dusk. They would attend to their tasks, and a different one this time. Today, like in every month, they bled for their so-called superiors. They did so willfully, not only because law dictated so. He was sure that all the villages in her domain were arranging this as well, to keep all bloodsuckers sated.

Wonderful…

He stood there against the arcs and pillars, biting his lip as he pondered, eyeing the stall angrily. It was a fairly easy procedure, in which a vein would be punctured, to let the blood pour into a flask. There were bandages and small cups, which contained balms or tea, for when everything was said and done.

The sight of the stall did not please him, but his mind could not avoid but compare the procedure with others that were much more brutal and vile. Some lords would call for a few thralls to be gathered, and command their throats to be sliced, to let the blood flow freely. Others would just allow massacres to occur at any time, no tribute ever scheduled. There were worse things than those, and he had to stop himself from recalling them.

Bastian huffed and pulled at his tied hair slightly, feeling torn. The acts of vampires were horrible, inhumane and revolting. Yet he could not bring himself to think that of her ways or rules, even if he considered he should.

He had never been asked or commanded to pay tribute. When he had bled, it was because she would bite him, something that was efficient for vampires. This procedure supposed a small loss of blood due to the instruments used, and the lower quantity taken could only be preserved for some days.

She could have kept biting him, but she didn’t. In fact, she was not feeding at all. This was a humane way in which to attain what they needed, but she was ignoring it too.

The medic kept working calmly, unaware of the human that snarled by the arcs, glaring angrily at his own hands.

———-

Her claws twitched, shakily and feebly. A silent sob escaped her as she let go of yet another cask, which was not worth her time either. The blood inside was all dried up, unable to sate the hunger anymore. The fresher it was, the more it would quench their thirst.

Nerys sighed and raised a claw to her eyes, weakly. She stood there, in the middle of the storage room, surrounded by countless empty or insufficient casks. It was a troubling sight, and she could only blame herself for it.

She had ignored her hunger for a long time, but she could not keep on doing it. It hurt, more than her guilt, something that tore her inside out already. She was willing to feed and acknowledge her needs now, because she would be able to keep it down and not retch, thanks to her starved instincts.

The will was there, she wanted to drink. But she couldn’t, it was all gone. It had been like that for multiple days. Her brethren knew that blood could not be preserved for long, so they fed as soon as it was available.

Vampires could endure their hunger for a whole month; human blood would sustain them for that long. But she needed to feed more than any other, being a lord. Her affliction was more volatile, and she suffered more alterations for it.

I know I should be careful, yet I still…

There was no blood today. All could wait, everyone did. Her entire domain fed the days after the humans paid tribute, as the law dictated. There was always more blood given than needed, and all surpluses from any village would be shipped here. The castle was the safest location where to keep it, and anyone could ask for aid when in need.

She had ignored her thirst when there was plenty of blood to sate it. And now she would have to wait. Not for long, however. Tonight she could feed, for the servants of the castle would have paid tribute. She would be able to take some. Only some, for all other vampires had to have their share. In two days, or three, a cart would arrive, full of casks collected in every town and village. She just needed to wait, just a little longer. It was possible, she could do it.

Nerys took deep breaths, cursing it all. She did not regret not feeding, and her conscience still did not wish to do it. Yet the ache was unbearable, even if it could be more painful. Physical and emotional torment… she did not know what was worse.

She could bite someone, with extreme ease, but she preferred to suffer the wait. She would not bite again if she could avoid it, even if it would never threaten the life of one of her subjects. Her heart could not take the shame that it would bring her.

Her feet dragged away from the casks, the cold air of the room not helping her any, her own body lacking warmth. A shiver ran down her back, because she found herself glancing back, her instincts recalling how there was always blood in the storage.

She pushed herself forward to leave, closing the door slowly behind her. All ever tiredly, she ascended the long stairs that led to the courtyard, bowing her head as her frame trembled. She clenched her teeth, noting their sharpness.

Her claw loomed hesitantly over the door, because she had seen the medic begin to set the stall for tribute. The mere sight of the flasks made her veins burn, and they would not begin to be filled with blood until the afternoon.

She could not just stay in the storage, so she closed her eyes and finally stepped out, determined to stride and ignore it all. A breeze brushed her pale skin and long hair, and with it, she lost what little focus she had. Her green eyes saw indeed the stall, bothersome all on itself. But there was something, or more like someone, who was making the sight all the more awful.

Nerys frowned deeply, seeing Bastian there, holding his arm with a scowl while the medic smiled complacently. She could see the small bandage tied around his wrist, and she had picked on the smell of blood as soon as she stepped out of the door. She clenched her teeth and claws in contained anger, hearing him try to excuse his actions with a snarky tone, unaware of how she was glaring holes through him.

“You better not think much of this…” The medic really could not care any less, but Bastian still scoffed and dismissed what he had done. “I don’t do this out of submission or devotion to your stupid rule. This is not a tribute, but a sympathetic favour. I know she needs this.”

The doctor leaned on the stand, cleaning the needles and scalpels attentively, commenting rather bluntly.

“We do not keep a record of who bleeds and drinks, so you may have very well gifted your blood to a common soldier or simple civilian. Good luck getting our sire to drink yours specifically.”

Bastian closed his eyes with a faint snarl, which was slightly sad. He speculated the fate of his donation, unaware of how she was approaching behind him, darkly and silently.

“She may drink it. I know there is no blood left. She went in there a few hours ago, surely wanting some. With me having been the first one to bleed, she will see this flask when she gets out and-“

“What have you done?”

He tensed and shut up, hearing a soft growl behind him, her voice. The medic did not bother to greet his sire, keeping his focus on his work, truly uncaring of how the two glared at each other.

Bastian had by now gotten used to seeing Nerys tower over him, inquire with her sharp eyes. He answered her angry question with a small nod, motioning at the small flask that contained his blood, not yet sealed.

“Can’t you see?” He rolled his eyes and raised his bandaged wrist. “I’ve done what everybody does. If I remember correctly, you said I was to become a giver, right?”

Nerys shook her head, raising a fist at her side in anger. It did not even make him blink, however.

“I told you I don’t want your blood! I forbid you from-!”

“It’s a little too late for that, don’t you think?” She could only stammer, because he shrugged calmly, defiant of her authority. “The blood is right there, what are you going to do about it? Don’t tell me you’ll throw it away and waste it.”

She clenched her teeth again, her eyes narrowing as she tried to think of a viable retort. Bastian was giving her a raise of eyebrow, letting her ponder, quite tauntingly.

“It is-! I will-!” The words just flowed out, all she could say. “I don’t want it!”

He scoffed, as exasperated as her.

“Fine, be that way. Refuse it and keep hurting, just because it’s my blood. I should have done it sooner, before you got out of there. You might have taken it if you had not seen me, dammit.”

Bastian was slightly surprised when Nerys stuttered, letting out a truth blindly.

“No, I would have recognized it anyway! It is-“

He stared blankly, because she slammed a claw onto her mouth. She took a step back and snarled, closing her eyes in a vain attempt to hide her embarrassment. The scent of blood was almost insufferable, and it was taking her a lot of will to not reach for the flask. Soon, she took a deep breath and glared again, meeting his inquisitive eyes. Even if there were still hints of shame in her expression, she managed to compose herself somewhat, standing tall.

“I won’t drink your blood, Bastian.”

There was a tense silence. Nerys could only frown, because Bastian sighed suddenly and looked away, whispering in disappointment.

“Alright, wait in pain for another flask to be available, because you won’t swallow your stupid pride and ask them to hurry.” He did not bother to argue that it made no difference if she drank his or another’s, for he had tried to before, without result. “I guess another vampire will have mine instead. They better enjoy it, because I would gladly let them starve. It’s clear you really find my blood repulsive.”

Bastian glared down at his wrist, resentfully. The slight puncture did not hurt enough to be a bother, but he despised the fact that he had bled for someone he did not wish to help. He made a move to walk away from her, tired of trying to reason. To his surprise, she spoke up reticently, making him stop and look back.

“I don’t hate your blood.” She averted her gaze and tugged at her hair, struggling to find words under his questioning stare. “F-forget I ever said it’s repulsive. I don’t reject it to make you think it is. It’s just…”

“Just what?”

Bastian leaned his head, listening intently as she spoke slowly, trying to make things clear with a caring tone.

“I hate that it is your blood, Bastian.” She met his eyes firmly, but there was dread in her voice. “You should not have to bleed, and I don’t want you to. Not again.”

They both fell silent. He debated her words, once more considering her blind and obstinate. Meanwhile, she crossed her arms with a frown, all ever critical of her past actions. She closed her eyes after a minute, readying herself for whatever he would say, because he took a deep breath. She expected harsh words, perhaps mockery, a taunting retort. He only spoke softly, however, trying to sound cordial.

“Nerys, I honestly don’t mind bleeding to help you. It does not hurt me.”

Her eyes opened sharply, in order to give him a serious baffled look.

“Have you gone mad?” He let out a sigh, because she pointed at the marks on his neck. “It is harmful! You can’t-“

“First, I haven’t. Second, it is not. And lastly, I can.” He brushed the scars, trailing them to show they had healed well. “Look, perhaps it did hurt before, but it wouldn’t now. If I keep being a giver as you would say, I would not have to offer much, and I can take that little sting. Even if you bit me again, it would not be like those times; there would be no comparison, I bet my eye on it. Now, I have always been rather spineless, and you know it. While you two spent years sparring and training, I hid to read or write like a coward. If this really hurt me, I would avoid it. I wouldn’t have this bandage around my wrist if I feared to bleed!”

“Maybe you don’t mind, but it is not fair! You-“

“Seeing you like this is unfair, Nerys!” She let out a trembling sigh, because he motioned at the flask, whispering next. “You keep on trying to elude my hurt, not realizing you cause it anyway. I truly want to help you, and you don’t let me, obsessed with shouldering all accountability. If you are that concerned about me, you will give meaning to the blood I spilt. You said you cared…”

His eyes were narrowed, not with anger, but tiredness. He was not sure if he could take her misguided abstinence for much longer, because the pain she felt could soon worsen. She could not see that he wanted to share her pain, gladly. Neither of them would feel much hurt if they just worked together.

He could see her tremble, and not only because of her conflicted thoughts, which surely were sympathetic towards him. Her fangs showed in her breaths, her skin was pale due to the burning in her veins, and there was fear in her sharp irises. He could hear the sorrow and doubt in her voice.

“I do care.” She averted her gaze, afraid of how her vision and insides were twisting, due to the scent in the air. “Every time I think of blood, I feel like I’m failing in doing so. I’m afraid I could… harm you again.”

She blinked, hearing a faint snort. He dared chuckle a little after she said those heartfelt words, which prompted her to give him an incredulous look.

“If you keep yourself sane, you won’t have to worry about that.” He took a step closer, and he was not offended when she took one away, apprehensive of his serious stare. “Take the flask, Nerys. We will both stop feeling hurt. I’m worried sick…”

Perhaps she hated the sight of his blood, but he did not care. She wished to endure the thirst to reach some kind of penitence, yet it was not doing any good. Although he despised the disease, her defiance towards it did not make him feel better, because it could not amend what happened. There was only one way to move forward, equally fair for the two.

“Just drink already.”

He held his breath, because her eyes narrowed. After a minute, in which he feared she would walk away, she did reach for the flask. She did it with doubt, glancing at him intensely, like if she wanted to question if he really wanted her to do this.

His firm nod was the answer to her silent interrogation. He said nothing, all his thoughts already voiced, in hopes of her finally understanding. She needed this, both knew. And so, her nails clutched the flask painfully. As she raised it, the sight of the blood was almost mocking, for she felt both shame and desire. The sweet scent grew stronger every second, even if she stayed still for a minute.

She could only fall prey of her yearning, all her surroundings fading for a moment. As the blood brushed her fangs and dripped down her throat, she was in a trance. The horrible dryness faded, and the burning coldness was soothed, drowned by the warmth that flowed.

The sensation was familiar, and she was horrified of having missed it, remembering well how much she had sought it once. The moment did not last for long, and most of her regretted that fact. The flask had just enough to allure her, leaving her craving more.

Bastian frowned, seeing her quiver, pant while she held the empty flask strongly. Her eyes still hinted hunger, but there was nothing left. She stared at the flask intensely, her thoughts clear, her thirst no longer painful. After one last sigh, she looked back, to see him nod with a small sad smile.

“In a few hours, there will be more blood. You won’t have to wait for it in pain, thanks to mine.”

Sorrow overwhelmed her, because he turned around, in order to walk away. He would have headed towards his chambers without further comment, if not for her next question, much more mournful than the ones before it.

“How can you care after all I have done?”

He looked up for a moment, without turning to face her. In the end, he decided to be honest and blunt.

“I simply do.”

He had always felt that way, and nothing could change it. Logic governed most of his life, except when two elements came into play, which he could not confront with the same principle.

Nerys stood there, watching as her friend walked away. There was a faint smile on his face, while she could only frown, still entranced by the taste of his blood. It was given wholeheartedly, and she could not understand it.