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Crimson Steam - Frenzy

Pairing: 18+ | Vampire Rafayel x Vampire Hunter Reader

Tags: Gothic, Victorian, Steampunk, slow burn, violence, friends to lovers, angst with a happy ending, dirty talk, explicit consent, biting kink, mates, smut, primal kink, 3rd person pov, all 5 LIs are included

Summary: In a world riddled with danger; vampires, werewolves, and humans co-exist. Rafayel, a vampire with a hidden motive, disgraces his kind by spending his days with a Huntress, a woman who hunts his own. Together, they are misfits, bonded by a traumatic past, paving a new path side-by-side.

Word Count: 5.2k

Instead of "you," reader is addressed as "her." This is also a much darker fic in comparison to my other works.

“We should probably get the sink fixed soon, cutie.”

As if taunting them, another droplet of water splashed and echoed in the steel sink. Just a few feet to the right, a chunk of the countertop was cracked.

“I don’t think that’s in the budget this month.”

Rafayel looked to the Bounty Huntress, the young woman sitting in their recliner; a book in one hand, the fingers of the other picking at the loose strings of fabric beneath her. On the coffee table between them, her gun, disassembled, was left next to her cleaning supplies.

He scooted near the edge of the couch, and pulled his dagger from the sheath on his thigh. Examining the blade quickly, he put it back in its home as he stood. “I’ll take an extra job tonight, then.”

Finally, her eyes met him from over the top of her book. She watched as he grabbed his trenchcoat off of the coat hanger, shrugging it on. He donned his leather gloves before looking back at her.

Silent words were exchanged. Come home. Don’t overdo it.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” was her verbal response, his head nodding to let her know he heard. Then, he was out the door.

When she heard the latch click, she walked over, making sure the additional locks were secured. Now with Rafayel gone, she made her way down the short hall to their bedroom. Unbuttoning her Victorian blouse in the process, she shrugged it off her shoulders, letting it fall to the ground.

Their bed was on the floor, the materials needed to make bedrames limited, resulting in the recent inflation of prices. The blankets atop of the mattress were an ugly green, the pillow cases an even uglier copper. Rafayel had given her a major lecture when she brought those home, something about color theory, and how someone of his caliber couldn’t be caught dead in something so atrocious.

She smiled to herself. He slept harder than she did.

Kicking off her boots, the Huntress crawled in, laying on the side furthest from the door. Pillows were rearranged, then she relaxed, cocooned. It gave her the false sense of another’s presence. Even when Rafayel would eventually join her, their bodies never touched.

Night was the worst time for the Huntress. She curled into herself, bringing a hand up to run down her neck. Her neck was smooth, until her hand followed the slope to the base of her shoulder. There, where the strap of her tank top rested, were two punctures, about two inches apart from one another. Small rivers of phantom blood flowed down past her breast, the others her shoulder blade.

That’s where the infusion of ‘his’ scent was the strongest, or that’s what Rafayel had told her. He had always despised that conversation, the look on his face would never fail to be savage.

Rafayel had been the only witness, in which he had chosen to remain. While she never had blamed him, he never forgave himself.

As much as he brought her comfort, there were some topics that were forbidden, untouched, and ignored. Her eyes grew heavy the more she thought, the more she wondered why they never talked.

Ignorance, after all, was bliss.

A hard thump against the wall startled her awake. Instinct had her reaching for her gun, only for her to remember she had left it on the table, unable to use.

She closed her eyes, calming her breathing. A small part of her sincerely wished if she ignored it, whoever was in the house would go away. There was barely any money to their names, nothing within worth any value. Not even her blood.

That thought allowed her to rise, and she slowly tiptoed to the frame of the bedroom door. She peeked out, the living room down the hall dark, except for the faint light that spread from the kitchen.

Near the door, two glowing orbs of blue were looking straight at her. It scared her for a split second, before she calmed.

“Rafayel,” she whispered, taking the step out of their bedroom slowly. His eyes followed her movement, he jerked forward.

“Careful,” his voice was deep, “slow and steady.”

That was how she would proceed, exaggerating every movement till she pulled the chain connected to the overhead light. It flickered before settling, revealing Rafayel, breathless.

And bloody.

“Yours?” She asked, keeping her eyes on him as she reached behind herself for the medical dressings on the counter. It took her a few attempts before she felt them.

“Some of it.”

With a wince he let his trenchcoat fall, sliding off his shoulders. When he had to shimmy to make it fall a little more, he hissed. Fresh blood surfaced at his chest from two tiny holes.

She raised an eyebrow.

“Pretty sure she didn’t know whether she wanted to fight me or fuck me,” he smirked. “I mean, you have eyes, can you blame her?”

With said eyes, she rolled them, slowly unbuttoning his shirt to reveal the wound. He looked down to watch her ministrations, placing him so close, his bangs brushed against her forehead.

“Did she . . .?” She hated the implication, her own scars burning.

“No,” he whispered, helping her press the gauze to his wound. “Even if she had, she’s dead.”

She had to apply more pressure, causing him pain. His head tilted back till it hit the wall, he grimaced, baring his teeth.

Two lethal fangs poked out from underneath his top lip. She imagined they had to be throbbing, begging him to find a source of blood from a person, an animal, anything. He needed to heal.

The sight of them used to invoke fear, especially when she first met him. Now, he could expose them to her when teasing, when fighting side by side.

“Keep the pressure,” she commanded, and walked over to her wallet, pulling a meager amount of cash. Flicking through the paper, she counted, relieved she had a few dollars to spare. Once she replaced his hand with hers, she waved the money in front of him. “Take it.”

Blue eyes softened, hesitation swirling within. “I don’t need -”

“You do,” the Huntress shoved the wad into his front pocket. The majority of his money had recently gone to gear, leaving him with nothing much. “Go.”

She had to look away as his eyes tried to hold hers, silently asking her to stop him. He knew he was her weakness, especially when he looked at her a certain way.

When he still hadn't moved, she huffed. “Give me one reason not to go.”

Words didn’t leave his mouth, instead his eyes landed on her shoulder. She couldn’t tell if that was in reference to what had happened, or his need to protect her.

“Not going just makes it real what happened,” she turned away, taking a seat in her usual spot, that god awful recliner. Gently, she added, “I’ll be right here when you return.”

When she grabbed her book, he realized no argument would win her over. It never did.

He stepped out of their humble flat, shutting the door behind him. His trench coat still hung loosely over his shoulders, the white of his shirt underneath his buttoned vest ruined with blood.

Rain pelted off the cobblestone, the oil light within street lamps reflecting from the puddles. Heels clicked, and boots trudged through water. Top hats tilted in favor of listening to women, some brims held in gloved hands as the owner was involved with his lover.

As it was the dead of the night, all eyes glimmered in the darkness, fangs hid behind soft lips.

The hiss of steam echoed in the distance, and gears clanked after initial pauses, stuttering minutes later. When the sun would shine again, the poor would get to work, manufacturing whatever was the hype amongst industries. Horses would roam the streets, carriages carrying those with money inside.

With a sigh, Rafayel began the walk, his head low. When the Huntress was at his side, he was confident, defensive. Sometimes she even would say territorial. He had to be. Now, he would prefer to stay out of trouble, his wound not only slowing him down, but his sense of frenzy stronger.

His fangs, they ached ever so terribly. It was all he could think about.

Hands in his pockets, he made it to his destination, the red glow of light seeping from the curtained windows. He felt he was going to be sick, eyes closing as his fangs elongated a smidgen more.

A hand slid over his shoulder, the strong scent of perfume wafted through the air. The paper in his hand crumbled, eliciting a crisp crunch as he made a fist. He had to do this if he wanted to protect her, if he wanted to stay by her side.

She had sent him to a blood bank, a place where humans gathered, those who were addicted to the bite. Within fangs a potent venom was stored, if released, it created a heavy, dense pleasure. The victim was then prone to whatever the biter sought. It was up to the vampire whether they wanted to bestow such a high on their prey. If they wanted it to hurt, in the midst of battle, their fangs did nothing but tear.

These humans, they were addicted.

And Rafayel wouldn’t contribute to their enslavement.

He turned to look at the woman, her low-cut dress revealing she had already given her very essence for the evening. Her green eyes, most likely full of life hours prior, were dull, looking at his mouth.

His heart nearly gave out when she smirked. “A young one,” she observed. Before he could stop her, he knew she had been in a bank for too long. “A Tempered, at that.”

Rafayel pushed away, taking a few stumbling steps back. The younger the vampire, the more prone they were to falling prey to the frenzy. It meant he was also weaker than his counterparts, no match to those who threatened him and his Huntress, unless they couldn't control their instincts.

He grabbed her wrist, the woman’s eyes lighting up in delight, turning her vein up to him. She frowned when he shoved some of the money into her palm. No matter her profession, she needed to live. This is what he did whenever the Huntress tried to convince him to feed. He didn’t want it to be a waste of money; however, coming home with unspent money would reveal his deceit.

The woods were plentiful with animals that were easy to hunt. She never caught the scent of dirt.

Following his usual path, Rafayel skirted through multiple alleyways, sticking to the brick walls. He made it to the iron gates, a small smile molding his lips when he spotted the guard. It was an old man, hunched over, a walking stick in his hand. A hood covered his face, preventing others from seeing who he was. Rafayel only knew he was an elder human due to his scent, his impending death stuck to his skin.

He handed the rest of the money to the guard, leaving the gates to enter the forest. This place was forbidden to the majority, full of danger and the unknown. Rafayel’s bribes over the years had made him the exception.

The evening’s hunt went smoothly, the small animal seemingly admitting defeat the minute blue eyes landed on it. He had made sure the poor thing hadn't suffered, draining it of everything it had to offer.

A nod from the guard was all the greeting he got when he returned into town, his wound healed, energy revitalized.

He followed the same pathways he took to get there, returned to the bank, then followed the same route back to his home. It was mindless, and allowed him to indulge in his thoughts.

The Huntress had promised she’d be in the exact same spot. He could envision it - her book in one hand, feet off the ground, heels pressed to the back of her thighs. Sometimes, she’d attempt to explain the plot. That was when he could absorb her animated gestures and expressions, and he’d learn what made her kick her feet, giggling at a declaration of love written on a feeble page.

She would be within his territory, protected by what he had declared was his. That warmth she provided, the life that kept his heart beating, would welcome him when he’d open the door. She might have thought he felt obligated to remain by her side. She was sorely mistaken.

Except, he wouldn’t be opening the door.

It was already open.

In a blur of mist and shadow, he was through the threshold, body materializing to collide with another.

He heard it before he felt it. Wood splintered just as a gunshot rang through the air. A bullet nicked his calf, searing the skin. The scent of burning flesh wrapped around his gag reflex, tightly, irritating him. As if that hadn't been enough, the table him and the other vampire landed on pierced them both. The leg of the piece of furniture went through the lower abdomen of the intruder, entering Rafayel at his hip.

He hissed, baring fangs.

“Raf!”

He knew she had been alive before he even entered their home, having scented her prior. Hearing her scream his name, soothed his pain as he rose, ignited his will to fight.

Rafayel ran his hand over his hip, feeling the sticky, thick, coagulating substance. After he had just gone through efforts to heal. Luckily, his catch’s blood still coursed through him, and his skin was beginning to close, as if an invisible needle and thread sealed him shut.

He looked around the room, cataloguing the bullet holes in the wall, the shattered window, destroyed table, and pushed over couch.

Now that leaking sink was the least of their problems.

His Huntress had put up a damn good fight, and he’d bet good money if he hadn’t of moved their enemy, the bullet that had struck him, would have ended the life of the vampire laying the ground. There was a reason she was one of the most requested Bounty Hunters this side of the forest.

The vampire was reaching for the wood embedded in his stomach, body convulsing as it continued to succumb to insanity. He reeked of frenzy, eyes dilated and fangs dripping with venom. He would continue to fight until he was unable to move even if his limbs failed to function.

Rafayel took a few steps to stand in front of the Huntress, taking her gun from her hands slowly. Then he returned, kneeling by the vampire on the ground. He placed the barrel to the intruder’s forehead, then shielded his own face with an open hand.

He pulled the trigger.

Blood splattered across his open hand, little droplets slipping past his parted fingers to land on his cheek, forehead, and ear.

He didn’t have time to fuss about that. Anger resonated deep within him, something volatile. It surged, curled. He felt this once, long ago.

Already kneeled, it didn’t take much for him to fall forward onto his elbows, holding his head in his hands. The floor was cold against his forehead. He savored the sensation.

He wanted her to leave - no, stay. He didn’t know. She was everywhere in his mind, every sense rushing to locate her.

He could do nothing to stop himself.

His arms caged her, palms flat against the wall. A lamp lay broken on the ground, flickering. His breaths were harsh, fangs biting into his bottom lip as he battled within. She kept her hands at her sides, fingers tucked in against her palms. He whimpered, lifting his head to look at her. The step he took forward, made him stand straighter. The smirk gradually forming on his lips told her one thing - he was losing control.

Rafayel pressed the side of his face to hers, inhaling deeply. His entire body crowded hers, trailing the tip of his nose from her pulse point up to her hair.

“This isn’t enough. The desire to devour and consume someone . . . you feel it too, right?”

Her reaction was involuntarily, liquid fire dripping down her veins, pooling where she refused to acknowledge. His voice had enough roughness to it, teasing a side of him she secretly desired, maybe even dreamt about.

His chuckle was rapacious, sensing her reaction. He needed to push her a little more. His fang grazed the base of her jaw, near her ear, his movements predatory. “Doesn’t it sound fun? It’s like taming a wild animal.”

The power he had over her was growing stronger. His pull was resolute, overwhelming, so damn tempting. Danger, to some degree, was alluring.

“Come on, cutie,” he drawled. “Tame me.”

“Not tonight,” she hissed, pushing on his bare chest, hard. It allowed her enough space to gain some leverage. They collapsed to the ground, her body landing over his to straddle his waist, hands wrapping around his wrists. She held him there, hands next to his head. He stared at her in return, eyes entertained.

Thanks to years of hunting his kind, she knew it wouldn’t be much time before he was overpowering her again.

“When I thought about this -” His eyes roamed down to where their hips were joined, and he arched, just enough to apply pressure for the both of them. “It was usually you beneath me. But this . . . I could get used to this.”

“Well don’t.” Her act was to appear annoyed, aware she was his prey. Any falter in her facade and he’d go in for the kill. Staking his claim on her would do nothing but bring him danger.

Vampires were possessive, unspoken rules upholding the foundation of their culture. They were also fierce lovers, loyal beings who would sacrifice their all in order to protect the one they devoted themselves to. No vampire was ever rumored to take a second - their vow was eternal.

Sometimes, when she allowed her mind to wander to forbidden territory, she wondered where he would lay his claim.

If he would even want to, at all.

Her mind flirted with such dark and heavy desires, then as quickly as it played with them, it would run away. Desire was a cornered animal. Whenever she reached to touch, its ugly teeth would snap, threatening her, keeping her away.

Then, she would try again, slower, even more methodical. Someday, she expected she might not get the same result.

Some might call her a fool for continuously trying.

She needed to make a decision. Time was ticking, slipping through her fingers like sand.

She knew he was deep inside of himself, the vampire constantly locked in a battle between who he was and the part of him he branded as imperfection.

Talking sense into him would do no good, he would twist every word, every meaning. She needed to shock him, catch him off guard.

She swallowed, feeling some sort of crazy.

Without a second thought, she leaned down, mouth finding his neck.

Her teeth were blunt, and the mark would fade within a week or two, but the connotation remained the same. Slowly, she raised her head, unsure how he might react. She had either proposed a temporary claim, or challenged him. As a human, she could never fully understand his perceptions.

“Where did you learn to do that?” When she heard his voice, she fully sat atop him, hands leaving his wrists to rest on his stomach. As a result, his thighs bore most of her weight. He seemed completely unbothered by it. Now, he appeared shy, head turned to the side so he wouldn’t meet her gaze.

The room was rather dim thanks to the destroyed lights, but she was convinced she could see the redness of his cheeks, even his ears.

She covered her mouth with the back of her hand, embarrassed.

“So easy,” he whispered, beyond pleased, then her world shifted.

Once on her back, he grabbed her ankle, pulling her down as he leaned over her. His hand had caught her wrists, one hand large enough to keep her wrists pinned above her head.

“This human thinks she can claim me?”

She gasped, fear constricting her lungs.

She was a prisoner within his hold, hands clenching as she attempted to wiggle her wrists out of his grasp. It amused him instead, his head tilting as he observed her. A smirk formed, showing a glint of his fang, blue eyes narrowing.

If he was in control of himself, if they were in a bed, sweaty and connected, his smugness alone might push her over.

His hand reached to his own neck, feeling over the mark located there. He removed his fingers to look at them, entranced, as if the mark itself left residue on his fingertips.

“Let me go, Raf,” her plea brought his eyes back to hers. Intense, he seemed conflicted. If his instincts accepted her claim, he wouldn’t harm her.

His gaze drifted to her shoulder, fingers finding the claim tainting her skin. He wanted to replace it with his own, and own every inch of her body and soul. She would be his, just as she made him hers.

Ah, but it wouldn’t be forever. Her lifespan was merely a blink of an eye compared to his.

His fangs would need to sink into her skin -

Pain sprouted from within, images racing across his mind’s eye. The day he had felt so helpless, immobilized by the shackles of fear as the scent of her blood, sweet and delectable, permeated the air.

Someone, who they both had called a friend, betrayed a trust they all had imagined was unbreakable. Stronger than Rafayel, he could do nothing, as she pleaded he shouldn’t lose his life.

From that day forth, he had devoted himself to becoming her shield, asking for nothing in return. His failure that day was all he would ever take from her. Other vampires scorned his existence, but that was a small price to pay, if it meant never seeing her life drain from her eyes ever again.

He found himself once more.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his body lying over hers and his arms curling around her shoulders, supporting her head. “I’m so sorry.”

As if he was someone she had never met, her hands hesitantly came to rest on his back. Rafayel wouldn’t dare to look at her, scared if he saw her fear, he’d never forgive himself. He’d see ‘him’ in his reflection.

That thought made him flinch, seeking comfort in the body beneath him.

“We can’t stay here,” her words brushed past the shell of his ear. Arousal was the furthest thing from his mind, yet he still melted, vulnerable.

“Are you afraid?” The question wasn’t complete. His eyes closed, “of who I am, I mean.”

She sat up, pushing him up with her. He sat defeated, straddling her legs. The pout on his lips acted as cold water, snapping her out of the intense moment.

She stood, reaching out her hand to help him up. Once he grabbed it, she hauled him to his feet, meeting his gaze. “The scariest I’ve ever seen you was that day you couldn’t decide on an outfit for your date last year. Destroyed even my side of the closet. If I can handle that, I think I’m fine.”

He remained still, watching as she quickly grabbed a small, leather backpack, and began filling it with their essentials. Drawers and cupboards banged shut, cutlery rang out as utensils fell, all loud sounds that made him wince.

Rafayel took a step back, mind calculating what it would take for him to run, how far he could get before she realized his absence. He had heard her heartbeat, loud and clear. She wasn’t lying.

That bothered him.

“You should be afraid,” he was weak in his resolve, stamping out all embers of hope that burned within. “I don’t know who I am in those moments.”

The Huntress didn’t falter in her step, walking past him to grab her trenchcoat. “Rafayel, when someone says they aren’t scared of you when they should be, you shouldn’t try to convince them to think otherwise.” She held out the bag to him. “And you wonder why you’re still single.”

He made no comment, slinging the bag over his shoulder as she pushed her arms through the sleeves of her coat. Even the simple action of her pulling her hair out from beneath the collar grounded him.

“Ready?” She prompted.

He looked around one last time, knowing more vampires were on their way. His eyes focused on their small kitchen.

“Glad we never fixed the sink, cutie.”

They hitched a ride on the back of a cart carrying supplies out of town. Both of them sat on the edge, legs hanging off the side so boots dangled haphazardly above the cobblestone.

Marsh was what they saw for miles, the air humid and thick with a scent that had the woman gripping the wood at her side. She couldn’t imagine what Rafayel was enduring. Aside from the creak of the battered wheels, the water at their sides bubbled, and crows screeched above, her companion remained silent.

The lamp next to the driver swung with the sway of the cart, casting shadows across Rafayel’s face. He hadn't told her where he planned to take them. She had simply followed, allowing him to take the lead. The dead of night was his domain, where his blue eyes would flash and fend off any hungry creatures.

She had learned early on that the claim on her shoulder held no weight if the vampire who bestowed it upon her was nowhere in sight.

She had also learned that many vampires lost their respect for Rafayel when he defended one who wasn’t his.

Judging by how the female vampires eyed him, he was special, strong and beautiful. He must have been wasting his potential on the likes of her, is what she could only assume they thought.

She never took it to heart, but it would be a lie if she said it didn’t deflate her here and there.

Not that she expected their relationship to venture into romantic territory.

Him embracing her after the attack earlier that day was the first time he had ever purposely touched her.

His comments about imagining them, about her being beneath him, she had attributed to his frenzy. Vampires wanted to claim, sometimes dominate, and were rich in seduction and sex. He never looked at her with eyes that told her that was true when he was in control.

Instead, deep within those violet galaxies, was only hesitation.

She shook her head, physically trying to dismantle those thoughts. She must have looked like a wet dog drying, since Rafayel snorted by her side.

“We’re almost there,” he said, not bothering to tease.

Almost there turned into a few more hours. Again, she had to consider he was a vampire, their flow of time was different.

This town was lively. Paperboys ran through the streets, earning coins from passerbyers. Shops embedded within brick buildings had their lights on, seamstresses hard at work designing clothes. Butchers hacked away at meat, throwing scraps to the dogs that roamed amongst shoppers. At the corner of one street sat a mechanic, tinkering away at a steam bot. The Huntress had seen one of those once, a small machine full of cogs and liquid that made it connect two pieces of fabric to another. He probably had planned to sell it to the seamstress a little ways down.

Rafayel hopped off the back of the cart. His leather boots nearly slipped on the damp cobblestone. His Huntress landed next to him, eyes surveying the assortment of people and buildings. Or rather, the assortment of people, buildings, and vampires.

“Where are we going?” She finally asked, following the vampire along a route he clearly had travelled before.

What she didn’t know was that it was many years ago.

“To the leader of the local coven,” he responded.

She didn’t reply, fascinated by more trinkets hidden within shops. The town they just fled from was far behind the times, a dystopia Rafayel thought he would never escape from. While she was curious and lost in a world of wonder, he was on high alert.

Up a small hill sat a mansion, dark and foreboding. Only when Rafayel began the ascent, did the Huntress become a little concerned.

Yet she never expressed that, even when they reached the door and Rafayel used the knocker.

No footsteps were heard, not even a breath. She could have sworn no one was residing in the house, until the door opened.

He made Rafayel appear small.

His boots were pristine, clearly polished that same day. His slacks didn’t bare a single wrinkle, and his belt buckle glimmered under the porch lamp. The cuffs of his white shirt were rolled up, exposing thick forearms. Atop the shirt was a black vest, and similarly to his pants, had recently been ironed. A single band of leather wrapped around his upper arm. What that was for, she had no inkling.

Red eyes, as bold as rubies, landed on her. Occasionally when the early morning breeze came by, strands of silver hair flitted past the vampire’s heavy gaze.

Unconsciously, the Huntress stood behind Rafayel, looking over his shoulder.

“You came back.”

This stranger’s voice was deep. Rough in all the right places. She wasn’t sure if it would be better used as a lover’s whisper, or to soothe one to sleep after a nightmare.

“We need a place, for a bit,” Rafayel remained steady with his tone, not backing down.

Whoever this man was, exuded strength, confident in his demeanor and stance.

“And why should I let the vampire who hunts his own into my sanctuary?” The vampire looked over the Huntress’ form again, this time pausing at her shoulder. “And one who travels with a claimed Huntress, it seems.”

Rafayel narrowed his gaze, “because-”

“Sylus, he’s one of ours.”

The voice that said such words projected from behind Sylus, but the origin remained unknown. Whoever it belonged to sounded gentle, reminiscent of a plush pillow and warm blankets heated by the morning sun.

Sylus didn’t make much of a change in facial expression, if anything the lack of a welcoming smile made him almost appear perturbed by their intrusion.

“A week,” Rafayel calmly pitched. “That’s the longest we need.”

Sylus chuckled, amusement loud in his action. The Huntress frowned, it seemed condescending, as if he knew something they didn’t.

The silver-haired vampire stepped aside, smirking. A glint of fang stuck out from beneath his top lip.

“Welcome to my humble abode, Hunters.”

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