caediscruorvampirebutcher:
The window was open and the air coming in was crisp with a hint of a bite, a warning that winter was coming onwards quickly. The sound of laughter grew louder outside, the giggles of several young voices at play. The door flew open and the source of the exuberant sounds flew in, bringing more than a few leaves with them, clinging to hair, and the bottoms of shoes.
“Stella! Be careful please, I just broomed the entryway after you went to play.” Caedis called out, his voice patient but stern with the young golden haired girl who had thrown open the door.
“Oh! Sorry papa! I’ll clean it now.” The bright cherubic face beamed at him, the smile reaching up to her bright blue eyes. Caedis nodded at her and waved at her friends who had been dropping her home.
She wasn’t his daughter, not by birth, but legally, and blood magic she was his.
Her mother had begged him to take on the role as she lay dying, though he’d tried to convince her that he could change her, she’d been too God fearing for that.
And so it had been this way for the last three years, and the child who’d then been little more than a toddler, had no idea of the truth, though he’d tried to keep the memory of her mother alive for her.
Caedis turned back to the table where he’d been reading and replying to letters and frowned. The last letter lay open, from his friend Sorin, back there.
It had been too long he’d written, and it was time to come back and take care of his shop, and to take care of the magic he’d left behind, woven deep into the land when he’d first moved to that small town in the mountains. Time to renew the wards, his friend wrote, and renew ties with the fae in the area, to keep the place, and the people he loved, safe.
“Stella, sweetheart?” He called out to her, hearing the jingling of her bangles and she came to peek from her bedroom door into his office.
“Yes papa? Is everything alright?” She appeared thoughtful, hery eyes tracing the expression on her face. She was bright for a mere child of six years, but then the blood magic he’d woven to take on her genetic properties, had lent her some of his traits as well.
“Nothing urgent, but I need to talk to you, like a big girl, will you sit?” He motioned to the soft chairs by the fire that they often sat beside and read before bed. She clambered into her spot and faced him, a determined expression on her young face.
He couldn’t help but smile. She may not have been his from birth, but powers that be this child filled his empty heart with joy.
“I received a letter from a friend today. A friend who has been taking care of my shop for me since I came here to live with you. He needs me to come home. I need to know, can you be a big girl and come with me to that town?” He asked patiently, explaining slowly, knowing that his girl was brighter than most children her age, and more mature in her actions and decisions as well.
“It must be important then papa?” She mused, noting his nod, and nodding herself. Nodding again firmly she looked back into his face, decision clear.
“Of course papa! I will be a big girl then. How far will we be going?” She asked, her curiosity alighting on her face.
He smiled wistfully. “Dahlthir is a good month’s ride by horse, we will pack only those things that are most important. Can you pick your favorite toy?” She was gone before he’s finished speaking and he knew she would pick the soft pink rabbit that was her only relic of her mother, and that it was time for him to face his past as well.
He stared pensievely into the soft flickering flame, a hand in his hair, though he’d cut it since moving here, it had grown long again, as long as it had been when he’d left Dahlthir…
He was lost then in the firelight, as he thought back to the night he’d run those few years ago.
He could still hear his voice, rasping in delight as the friction between them, and he’d lost his head, taking from the man he’d fallen in love with, and being reckless, without the power suppression cuffs, or the potion. It had been… exquisite. A night he often woke gasping in remembrance of, and yet… he’d bitten him. Over and over in nips and true bites, unable to quench the insatiable bloodlust that was exponenitally multiplied by the visceral lust for the man in throes beneath him, unable to think beyond the fog of pleasure and lust, not realizing what danger he was in. It wasn’t until the other man had passed out from exertion and blood loss that he’d realized what he’d done. Aghast, he’d run and had gone to Sorin, begged and pleaded with him to take car of the man he’d left in his bed, and his shop in his stead, and then he was gone, taking nothing with him. He hadn’t turned back for a months, and it hadn’t been until he’d settle in this town, and had stayed with the dying Lilliana and her young daughter that he’d sent word to Sorin of his location, but it was infrequent contact with his friend, and business mostly.
He’d been afraid to ask about him. And now he had to go back and face his past.
His daughter returned then and broke him of his reverie, smiling, he stood and put out the fire.
Gathering both of their cloaks, they exited, locking the house up behind them, and head out north, towards home..to Dahlthir.
Takeshi panted heavily, kneeling down beside the body of a freshly slain monster. How many had that been? Six? Seven? He couldn’t even remember. It had all really been a blur, like most of the fights he got in. It was as though he weren’t himself when he were fighting. But that was fine. The longer he kept doing this, the more he hated himself...
From the corpse of the monster, he carved off the ears. Each ear he wrapped in clothe and tied into a thick leather bag. “That should be enough... Selling these should get me enough money for food this month.”
Takeshi pushed himself to his feet, still catching his breath from the amount of power he had exerted in the fight. He was getting better, but he still wasn’t quite to the level that Rosina wanted him to be....
He walked through the cold woods back to Dahlthir, stopping by the apothecary to sell his loot before walking back to his small shack that he now called home.
However, home was a bit of a stretch. The shack was run down and in need of quite a bit of work. He had no furniture, except for a small wood-fire stove with a cooking pot placed on top and a sleeping bag in the corner. He couldn’t remember how long he had been living in these conditions and he knew that Rosina was probably upset with him.
But honestly, he was beyond caring.
Setting down his bag, Takeshi pulled off his bloodied clothes. He wiped the blood from his skin, more scarred than he remembered. He traced a few with his fingers, stopping at one particular scar on his neck. Biting his lip, he tossed the bloodied rag into the wood stove.
Laying down in the sleeping bag, he stared at the wall beside him. Could he even sleep...? Or would he dream of him again...? Like the night before and the one before that...
