He starts to tremble as soon as Noct leaves.
It takes a moment for him to move. There’s something in him that nearly forces him after the prince, forces him to burst through the door and bite and tear into the human’s throat to access all the sweet, sweet blood within because only then would this ache in his jaw, this burning in his veins, be satiated, only by ripping into his prey can he even begin to quench this—
Ignis gasps and clenches his fists. He digs the nails of his fingers into his palm hard. No. Focus. Focus.
His gaze flickers towards the blood packs provided on the bedside table. Right. He should—yes.
He doesn’t quite remember appearing next to the bags. He doesn’t even remember tearing into it. The next moment of awareness comes quite abruptly with the slick spill of cool blood down his top, dribbling from his lips, and a burst of disgust and anger abruptly rises in him at the lack of control. Gods, he blanked out so easily and—
He can imagine, suddenly, moving towards Noct. The next moment would be a blur but the next time his mind is given back he’d see Noct, dead. Noct, with his throat torn out. Himself, mouth full of royal blood.
He snarls, loud and angry and feral. He throws the bloodied, torn pack against the opposite wall and it lands with a wet smack. Even this… even this is horrifying, it’s terrifying. His emotions were out of control. He doesn’t even know if he can keep in control. The thirst is there, still, despite the attempt to quench it with donated blood. It’s not quite as strong as before but it’s strong. It can overtake him.
Well. That only brings him back to his initial idea.
Carefully, he sits down on the bed. He looks at his white shirt and suspenders. Clean before. Now it was stained with blood. He hadn’t even felt the initial spill.
Gods, he’s an animal now. He can’t do this. He can’t control himself around Noct.
Without thinking further on it, he summons a dagger; he vaguely realizes that that would’ve alerted Noct. He doesn’t care. He can’t do this.
His breaths quicken. He lifts the tip of the blade to his throat. An upward thrust through the jaw and up into the brain should be enough. It will be enough.
“I’m so sorry, Noct,” he whispers, and pulls back the blade to gain the momentum he needs to drive it through his head——
If he learns anything from this circumstance, it’s that he definitely still doesn’t like vampires. He hadn’t gone far-- just outside the room, close enough to be nearby for... for whatever. If Ignis needs him. But Ignis doesn’t need him; all Ignis needs is his blood and Noctis is far too aware of that. Still, something keeps him close enough to the room, and it’s the complete opposite of the thing that makes him flinch when something solid hits against one of the walls in the bedroom.
It’s definitely the complete opposite to the way he practically throws himself away from said wall when he hears Ignis growl-- Gods, that’s the kind of sound that puts ice into his veins. He’s never been a very active hunter, himself. He’s been trained in the lifestyle and he’s fought vamps before, but it’s a little different when your closest friend has been turned and you’re standing in the same house as them.
When your closest friend wants to kill you, that is. Noct feels sick.
Still, he only gets a few steps before he feels the disturbance in the armiger-- unsurprising, really, part of the reason he hadn’t gone anywhere. It’s easier to feel the closer that he is, even though every time something is plucked from his arsenal, he can feel like. Like a tickle beneath his skin. This close he can feel exactly which blade’s gone, visualize it, and summon it into his own hand before Ignis can hurt himself.
He doesn’t even have to go into the room to do it. Actually, he doesn’t dare.
“Cor...” he mumbles, and the Marshal sighs and pushes away from the wall.
“I make no promises, Prince.” He brushes past him, catching a hand at his shoulder and pushing him a step towards the door. “Go.”
Noct dematerializes the blade, heavy in his hand and sticky from the blood that must have been on Ignis’s fingers, and goes.
Cor goes into the bedroom, making for the remaining bags of blood. “What you do with your life from now on remains your choice,” he says shortly. “But don’t be so naive in thinking the only person you will hurt is yourself if you so choose that path.” Ignis wouldn’t be the first vampire to kill themselves. He wouldn’t be the last. Cor couldn’t decide for him, but they both knew how it would affect Noctis if he did.
He had lifted the mug from the table, emptying one of the bags of blood into it. Now he holds it out to Ignis, expression impassive. “A friendly reminder.”
Outside, Noct had gone to throw up in the bushes.
jacobvanloon
dededos
dailybridgerton
baratheonpilled
