Fragility | Caius Volturi x Reader
Pairing: Caius Volturi x Reader Summary: Caius' human mate has fallen ill.
The castle walls were as cold as the man you’d come to know as Caius, one of the Volturi kings. You hadn’t meant to end up here—dragged into the world of vampires because of a fateful connection you couldn’t quite understand. All you knew was that the man with the piercing eyes and cruel tongue was drawn to you, even as he fought to keep you at arm’s length. When you'd arrived at the castle, it wasn't for this reason at all. Your father, a well known influence in Italy, had been turned -- one dark night as sheets of rain fell.
After his turning, he went out of control, horrific blood thirst and confusion plaguing him and creating a monster. He'd turned your mother too, on accident. So, consequently, your entire household was summoned to the castle, forced to come before the Volturi kings. Of course, your parents were ended almost as soon as they were brought before Aro. They'd caused too much wreckage, too much confusion among Italy. After all, your family was a sort of royalty in Italy, just like the Volturi -- only you were human. There were whispers about the disappearance of your father and then about the disappearance of your family.
You were fated to be killed too. That was until Aro and Caius took a closer look at you. When you'd gathered the courage to meet the eyes of Caius Volturi in the throne room, his red predatory eyes, they were full of a mix of emotions.
Caius had looked at you as though you were an anomaly, something inexplicable and infuriating. For a moment, the throne room had fallen silent, the usual air of formality dissipating into something heavy and charged. You couldn’t breathe under the weight of his gaze, yet you couldn’t look away either.
Aro had been the first to break the silence. “Oh, how delightful,” he murmured, his tone light but laced with intrigue. He moved closer, his pale hand extending toward you. “There is something extraordinary about her, isn’t there, Caius?”
Caius’s jaw tightened, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Extraordinary or not,” he said coldly, “she’s human. Fragile. A liability.”
Aro’s grin widened as if Caius’s words only amused him. “Ah, but she’s also your mate, dear brother.”
The words sent a shockwave through the room, and you couldn’t quite comprehend their meaning. Mate? Your heart pounded in your chest, but it was nothing compared to the flicker of something—anger? Fear?—that passed over Caius’s otherwise impenetrable face.
“Impossible,” Caius said sharply, though his voice betrayed a crack of uncertainty. “She’s nothing.”
You flinched at the coldness of his tone, but Aro was quick to soothe. “Oh, Caius, you can’t fight fate,” he said, stepping back and gesturing toward you with a flourish. “She’s quite intriguing, isn’t she? Even Marcus agrees.”
Marcus, the quietest of the three, simply nodded, his ancient eyes watching you with something that felt like pity. “The bond is there,” he said softly. “Undeniable.”
Caius glared at Marcus, but his defiance faltered when he looked at you again. His crimson eyes narrowed, and for a moment, you thought he might lash out. Instead, he turned abruptly, his cloak billowing as he stormed out of the room without another word.
After that day, your life in the Volturi castle became a strange blend of luxury and imprisonment. You were given quarters that rivaled those of royalty, with silk sheets, fine clothes, and meals prepared to perfection. But the grandeur did little to ease the tension of your situation. You were watched constantly, your every move monitored by guards who reported directly to Caius.
He avoided you at first, his disdain for the situation evident in every clipped command he gave the others regarding your care. Yet, despite his coldness, he refused to let you leave the castle grounds. When Aro questioned this decision, Caius’s response was curt and final: “She’s too fragile.”
You overheard the whispers among the Volturi guard -- snippets of conversation about how Caius’s protective streak was unusual, even for a mate. “He won’t admit it,” Jane had said once, her cold voice laced with both amusement and curiosity, “but she’s already under his skin.”
The first time you saw Caius’s care for you in full force was during a confrontation with a visiting coven. One of their members -- a tall, arrogant vampire with a cruel smirk -- had made a passing comment about the “human pet” in the castle. The words hadn’t even fully left his mouth before Caius was upon him, his hand wrapped around the vampire’s throat.
“You will address her with respect,” Caius snarled, his voice like ice. “Or you won’t address her at all.“
The entire room had fallen silent, and even Aro seemed taken aback by the ferocity in Caius’s tone. The vampire stammered an apology, and Caius released him with a shove, turning to you with a glare.
“Stay out of my sight,” he ordered, his voice harsh. “If we find another issue with your coven, you will all be ended, including those with petulant disrespect on their tongues.“
Over time, Caius’s cold exterior began to show cracks. He would linger in the shadows, watching you when he thought you weren’t looking. He began to ask subtle questions about your past, your interests, your fears. At first, his inquiries felt like an interrogation, but gradually, you realized he was trying to understand you.
One evening, as you sat in the castle’s vast library, he appeared without warning. “Why do you always sit here?” he asked, his tone less sharp than usual.
You looked up from the book in your lap, startled. “It’s quiet,” you said simply. “And the view of the gardens is beautiful.”
He said nothing, his gaze drifting to the window. After a moment, he sat in the chair across from you, his presence both unsettling and strangely comforting. “Beauty is fleeting,” he said, almost to himself. “But you… you endure.”
The words hung in the air, and you didn’t know how to respond. Before you could find your voice, he stood and left, his cloak swishing behind him.
As time passed, his moments of softness got more frequent, but always shocking to you. Though you spent most of your time alone, more and more often you found that Caius would join you in a room, sitting across it and speaking to you softly. It was almost like he didn't dare to touch you, in fear that you'd break.
For the past three days, you hadn't seen him. He was engrossed in a lengthy trial, one of the betrayal of a coven that was close in affairs to the Volturi. It was complicated and required much contemplation by the Kings and the Guard -- so you didn't think too poorly of Caius for not finding time to see you. You didn't ever expect anything from Caius. He was in a dominant position over you and came and went as he wished. But, luck would have it, you'd fallen extremely ill the first night you hadn't seen him for dinner.
The human secretary, Janine, that was tasked with checking on you when Caius was busy wasn't the most.. intelligent.. caretaker. In fact, in your sick delirium, you'd had only one accurate thought. If Caius caught wind of how she'd been caring for you, she'd be swiftly killed. After all, she hadn't even informed Caius of your illness.
The cool, marble walls of your quarters seemed to trap the heat radiating from your fever-ridden body, amplifying your misery. You lay in bed, tangled in damp sheets that stuck to your skin, every muscle in your body aching as though you had been trampled. The room blurred and swam before your eyes, but even through the fog of your illness, you registered the sound of the door creaking open.
Janine strolled in, carrying a water pitcher and a single glass with a dismissive air. She placed them carelessly on the table beside your bed, the loud clink making you wince. “Here,” she said flatly. “Drink some water. That’s all you need.”
You blinked sluggishly at her, the effort it took to keep your eyes open making your head throb worse. The room tilted for a moment before settling, but the indifference in her tone didn’t escape you. Her presence, the lack of care in her movements, and the words themselves grated against your already fragile state. You'd known Janine was full of jealousy -- jealous of your position. You were given almost anything you wanted, though you didn't request much, but.. You were to be the wife of one of the Kings eventually. It was enough to make her distaste for you grow with every second.
You felt like death was going to come over you if you didn't at least receive something for your pain, though. You knew you needed to speak up.
"Janine. I need something stronger."
She sighed loudly, as though your request were an inconvenience rather than a genuine cry for help. “You’re just feverish,” she said dismissively, straightening her posture as if to emphasize her superiority in the moment. “Drink the water and rest. You’ll get over it.”
Her lack of empathy left you stunned. The world swirled around you, the fever clouding your ability to argue or even react properly. You managed a faint whisper, one you weren’t sure she even heard. “If Caius knew…”
She froze for the briefest of moments before her lip curled into a smirk. “Caius isn’t here, is he? He has far more important matters to attend to than a sick little human. Just be grateful he even allows you to stay here.”
The tone in her voice felt like a slap, but you lacked the energy to do more than close your eyes and turn your face away. Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, exhaustion overcoming you. If you were less weak, you would have slapped her. But you couldn't even will yourself to get out of bed.
As Janine turned to leave, the door slammed open with such force that it rattled on its hinges. The temperature in the room seemed to drop, the air growing heavier as an unmistakable presence filled the space.
It was a positive for you for the first time in the months you'd been at the castle. You knew who it was, of course. Caius's entrance into a room was always felt by everybody in it. Usually, it made you slightly anxious and a bit more self-conscious, but now, relief washed over you in waves.
“Janine.” Caius’s voice was low, cold, and lethally calm, each syllable a knife’s edge. It still held its usual venom, though. Enough to make you sting for hours after hearing it.
The blood drained from Janine’s face as she spun around, her smirk vanishing instantly. “My lord,” she stammered, attempting a clumsy curtsy. “I was just--”
“You were neglecting your duties,” Caius interrupted, stepping into the room with deliberate, measured strides. His crimson eyes flicked to you, narrowing at your pale, fever-flushed face and trembling frame. “What. Has. Happened?”
Janine opened her mouth to respond, but her voice faltered under his glare. “She’s… unwell,” she finally managed. “I brought her water--”
Caius’s lips curled into a snarl, cutting her off. “You call this care? Leaving her to suffer, unattended, as though she is some insignificant pest?”
“My lord, I--”
“Enough.” The word was sharp and final, and the weight of his authority silenced her completely. His focus shifted entirely to you as he crossed the room in two swift steps.
He sat beside you, the mattress dipping under his weight, and his icy hand brushed against your burning forehead. You flinched slightly at the stark contrast, but the relief was instant. His expression hardened further as he assessed your condition.
“Why did you not call for me?” he asked, his voice gentler now but still tinged with frustration.
You swallowed hard, the effort painful. “Didn't.. want to bother you,” you whispered, your voice breaking on the last word. “Janine was here to check on me, and I thought your trial needed more of your attention than I did.”
Caius’s crimson eyes narrowed, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. He stayed silent for a moment, as though trying to process your words, before leaning forward slightly, his gaze boring into yours. His hand, still cool against your fevered skin, shifted slightly, his thumb brushing over your temple with a gentleness you hadn’t thought him capable of.
“You thought wrong,” he said, his voice low but resolute, the frustration in his tone undercut by a strange softness. “Nothing -- no one -- is more deserving of my attention than you, especially in such a state.”
You blinked up at him, surprised by both the intensity and the tenderness in his words. Caius was not one to admit weakness or vulnerability, yet here he was, clearly affected by your condition.
“You… have responsibilities,” you murmured weakly, though it was hard to hold his gaze with the weight of his emotion bearing down on you.
“And you are one of them,” he interrupted sharply, though not unkindly. “Do not mistake my obligations for distractions. Your well-being is of paramount importance to me. More so than you seem to realize.”
The conviction in his voice made your chest tighten, though whether from the remnants of the fever or the weight of his words, you couldn’t tell. Before you could muster a response, Caius glanced toward the door, his expression hardening.
“I trusted Janine to care for you, and for that, I hold her failure in the highest contempt,” he said, his voice dropping into a dangerous growl. “Her negligence is inexcusable, and she will not escape retribution.”
“Caius” you rasped, your voice barely above a whisper. “Don’t… hurt her. She didn’t mean--”
“She failed you,” Caius cut in, his tone steely, though his gaze softened when it returned to your face. “And for that, there will be consequences. But that is no longer your concern.”
You swallowed the lump in your throat, realizing there was no use arguing. Caius’s mind was set, as it always was when matters of justice -- or vengeance -- were involved.
He seemed to sense your unease, his expression softening further as he leaned closer, his other hand coming to rest lightly on the bed beside you. “You are too kind, even to those who do not deserve it,” he murmured, his voice carrying a hint of admiration. “But I will not allow kindness to become a vulnerability that others exploit. Not while you are under my care.”
Your eyes fluttered closed, the effort of staying awake and coherent starting to take its toll. Yet you couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of comfort in his words, as harsh as they might have seemed. For all his coldness and cruelty to others, there was something fiercely protective in the way Caius regarded you -- something that made you feel safe, even now.
"Caius?" You gained the courage to ask quietly, willing yourself to open your eyes again. You studied his beautiful, porcelain face, his white blonde hair. His pale pink lips. "Um.. Does it bother you? Me being human?"
Caius stilled at your question, his sharp features momentarily unreadable. His crimson eyes, softened only slightly by the flickering candlelight, locked with yours. For a moment, you worried you had overstepped, that your curiosity had breached some unspoken boundary.
But then he leaned back slightly, his expression shifting into something contemplative. “Bother me?” he echoed, his voice calm, though his words carried a weight that made your heart quicken. “Your humanity is… an inconvenience at times, yes. But that is not the same as being a bother.”
You blinked, unsure how to interpret his words. “What do you mean?”
Caius’s gaze flicked away briefly, a rare hesitation crossing his face before he returned his attention to you. “It is not your fault that you are fragile,” he began, his tone measured as though choosing his words with care. “Fragility is inherent to your kind. It is… difficult, at times, to reconcile your mortality with the attachment I find myself unwillingly forming.”
Your breath caught at his admission, and you weren’t sure if it was the fever or the weight of his words making your head spin. “Attachment?”
Caius’s jaw tightened briefly, his crimson eyes narrowing slightly, though not in anger. “Do not make me repeat myself,” he said, though his words lacked their usual bite. “You are... significant to me in ways I have yet to fully understand. But your humanity complicates matters.”
He leaned forward again, his cold hand brushing against your cheek with a surprising gentleness. “You are weak, delicate, mortal,” he continued, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “And yet, despite every reason I should have to resent your presence, I find myself... drawn to you. It defies logic.”
His words left you stunned, a warmth blooming in your chest that had nothing to do with your fever. You searched his face, looking for any sign that he might be mocking you, but there was none. Caius was earnest, his piercing gaze unwavering as he awaited your response.
“I don’t want to be a burden to you,” you whispered, the vulnerability in your voice catching you by surprise. “I don’t want my humanity to be… a weakness.”
Caius’s lips pressed into a thin line, his expression softening in a way that was almost imperceptible. “Your humanity is not a weakness, unlike most humans,” he said firmly. “If anything, it is a testament to your resilience. You endure pain, illness, and fear, yet you continue to fight. That is not weakness -- it is strength.”
The intensity of his words left you speechless, your throat tightening as you fought back the surge of emotion they stirred. Caius’s hand lingered on your cheek for a moment longer before he withdrew, his gaze flicking briefly to the water pitcher on the table.
“You should drink,” he said, his tone softening further. “You need your strength to recover.”
You nodded faintly, your body too weak to do much else. As Caius poured the water with a grace that seemed almost surreal, you couldn’t help but marvel at the strange contradiction that he was -- a cold and unyielding king who had somehow become your most unlikely protector.
When he handed you the glass, his fingers brushing yours briefly, you whispered, “Thank you, Caius.”
For a moment, something in his expression shifted—an almost imperceptible crack in his icy exterior. “Rest,” he said, his voice carrying a softness that was as shocking as it was comforting. “You are safe here. I will see to that.”
As you drank the cool water and settled back into the pillows, the warmth of his presence lingered, chasing away the chill that had settled in your bones. Despite his protests and denials, Caius was proving to be more than the fearsome king you had once thought him to be. He was something far more complex -- and far more human.
You eventually fell asleep, stirring only when you got too warm or too cold. Although not awake, you could feel Caius's presence. If he sensed that you were too hot, he laid a gentle hand on your forehead, cooling you down. If he felt you shiver, he lifted the blankets closer to you, tucking you in further to spread their warmth across your body. You almost thought you could hear his voice, just before you fell into an uninterrupted, finally comfortable sleep.
“Such beauty. Such compassion. A gift for a king that deserved much less than you,” He murmured, almost inaudibly. He seemed to be speaking to himself, not you. His voice was like a prayer that lingered in the silence of the room. “You don’t belong in this world of darkness, Y/n. You are light, fragile and fleeting, burning brighter than I deserve. But still, here you are. A puzzle I cannot solve… and yet I do not wish to.”
The warmth of his words settled over you like a protective veil, and you couldn’t help but sigh in your sleep, comforted by the quiet intensity of his presence. There was something deeply private in what he had said, something he hadn’t intended for you to hear. But it didn’t matter. In that moment, despite everything -- the coldness, the darkness, the endless uncertainty -- you felt something unexplainable stir within you.
For the first time since your arrival in the Volturi’s lair, you allowed yourself to believe in the possibility that you might not be alone here, after all.
