Chapter Seven #11
It must still be daytime. He sleeps during the day, Victor held back a laugh, ignoring how quick the thought—the knowledge—of Erik’s daily habits had come to him.
The two of them had fallen into a routine and Victor found it strangely confronting; the mundanity of the whole affair, as though they had been doing it for years, not a day out of sync, not a day lost.
He was about to reach for the book when something caught his eye.
A big tray with covered plates and a pitcher with juice was placed on his bedside table.
A coffee pot with two cups patiently waited for him.
He was too famished to think about Erik scurrying around the room as Victor slept undisturbed, to arrange for the breakfast tray.
The next time Victor woke up, the sun had set. Erik was sitting by the desk, a book in his lap, his right hand idly spinning a lighter across the top. He was back in his dark green suit and looked ready to go out.
“I have to tell the pack you’re here,” Victor said disgruntled, foregoing any greeting. He had been stalling long enough.
Erik lifted his eyes from the book and cocked his head to one side. A muscle in his cheek twitched, fighting back a smile.
“They will ask why you’re here; what your purpose is. Really.” Victor dreaded the answer. What if there really was a purpose to this visit?
“I am here for you, Mein Freund,” Erik whispered, eyes aglow with wonder. “There is so much you are yet to tell me, of how you spent your time while I was gone. How it is to live as a wolf. And besides, you have some of my blood, I feel I am responsible for you.”
The conversation felt strangely familiar, as if they had had it only moments ago, even argued over it. Victor sipped the leftover coffee desperate to rid his mouth of the sandy taste. There were far more things he wished to forget and erase, than remember.
“I…” Victor started to speak and stopped.
He played with the empty cup, rolling it between his palms like the words he could not bring himself to utter. He was willing to share his blood with a vampire, but Erik had taken far more liberties than simply tapping into Victor’s veins.
“You are reading my mind, aren’t you?” he finally asked and his friend nodded. “And you have been doing something with my memories? Erasing…rearranging them.” When Erik did not speak, Victor sighed and left the cup on the floor. “Why? Do you trust me so little?”
Are you hiding something—or is there something you don’t want me to remember?
Erik smiled apologetically but there was a wicked spark in his eyes, as he spoke:
“Mind reading is a habit and a vice. I prefer my affairs handled in a certain manner. I am afraid I have grown accustomed to living only among my peers. I seem to have lost my ability to be patient with human companions. Sometimes I might…give you a push in the right direction. Cut away the mundanity so that you may devote your attention to what matters.”
“Do all vampires do that, scramble and puppeteer their friends?”
You did not answer my question.
Trust... Erik’s voice slithered in and out of Victor’s skull. Yes, I do trust you, Victor. Why wouldn’t I?
“As for other vampires,” Erik said out loud and Victor’s head suddenly felt lighter, “you need not worry about them. I am the only one here, in this territory. The nearest immortal is in Athens, and I do not anticipate us having a reason to visit them.”
Victor chewed on the inside of his cheek. There was still the matter of bringing Erik to Stefan and the pack, before they came looking for him.
“Before we go to the pack, I have conditions of my own.”
Erik blinked and ever so slightly raised his eyebrows, eager to listen.
“One: you do not speak of my past and when we met. Two: you do not tell anyone that you are drinking my blood.”
Casting the book aside, Erik stood up and brushed down his clothes. His shirt hung open, buttons undone, as if he had put it on as an afterthought, to merely have something between him and the jacket. Victor hoped it was the result of a limited wardrobe rather than habit.
“And three?” Erik straightened the lapels of his coat, obscuring his naked chest for a blissful moment.
“Three: you drink only my blood while you are here.” Victor’s voice was hoarse. He kicked the covers aside, finally getting out of bed, and crossed to Erik.
“I fear you will have to enlighten me, then, as to why I have to go through the formality of meeting your pack leader. Why do I need his approval for hunting on his grounds, if I am to continue drinking only from you? Besides,” he cut Victor off before he could interject.
“As much as I enjoy our little arrangement, it is not enough to sustain me. I need more than a few sips of blood.”
“I forbid it,” Victor hissed, narrowing his eyes. That damn shirt, how he wanted to do the buttons up.
And I don’t want to share. He could not stop the thought from forming. It betrayed a hunger he had been trying to escape ever since their paths crossed.
“What was that?” Erik grinned and leaned closer, playing the fool.
“I said I do not want to share.” Victor uttered through gritted teeth. “And that brings us to my last and final condition: you will stop screening and scrambling my mind.”
“Hmmm, that might prove a challenge. Your thoughts are, oh, so…. loud. But for now—” Erik chuckled, but he was already there, beside him, taking Victor’s hand and lifting it as if to kiss his wrist. He turned the palm up and took another step closer, making Victor stiffen at the forced proximity.
I should be used to this by now, he tried to remind himself and school his expression.
Erik’s lips lightly brushed the skin before his fangs bit the flesh and, like a ripe summer peach nectar, the blood spilled into his mouth, his jaws closed on the wrist, holding Victor in place.
A gurgling sound came from Erik’s throat as it strained and he swallowed.
Relax. If you do not relax it will hurt.
Erik’s voice spilled in Victor’s mind, already breaking the barely given promise.
His muscles tensed anyway, causing another sound, a moan, to escape from Erik’s mouth.
The sound sparked a memory in Victor, a fragment from long ago, buried under so many layers of sand, the memory of the vampire feeding off him in Berlin under the watchful green eyes of a man whose face Victor could not see but whose voice was like a stalactite cutting through the membrane of the past. Is that who you are running away from, mein Freund?
Using me as your distraction before he catches up with you?
It was quick, barely a mouthful, as it had been the night before, and the night before it. Erik lifted his head, eyes darkened with hunger, and ran his tongue over his sharp teeth, cutting the flesh. He licked the wound on Victor’s hand, their blood mingling, and watched the wound heal.
“Thank you,” he said, overflowing with gratitude, breathy, tongue licking at his lips.
Victor held back a growl, eyes fixed on Erik’s mouth. He really did not want to bring and reveal him to the pack.
“I promise not to share anything you do not want them to know. I will be your well-kept secret—yours alone.”
“In exchange for blood.”
“Blood, yes.” Erik sucked on his lip, still running the tips of his fingers over Victor’s forearm.
There was no trace of the bite marks, only the ghost of teeth and a tongue lapping.
Victor flexed his fingers and Erik looked up, meeting his gaze.
He clicked his tongue and let go of Victor.
“But come, there is a city to explore first. Let us indulge in the pleasure of each other’s company while we still can!
I want to see that little bakery of yours. ”