“Are you certain that Aurélie would not be a little upset that we went ahead without her?” Étienne asked, looking over at Oliver, who was leading them through the forest where both their families were attacked. It was pitch black and the two men had only the crescent moon’s light to guide them on their journey. They had snuck out of the Duke’s estate with their weapons and two of the Duke’s horses, riding off into the night without drawing too much attention to themselves while Celine was busy hosting her tea party. 

“I would not want something to happen to her,” Oliver said, looking around himself. 

Étienne scoffed. “Knowing her she probably learnt how to defend herself. I do not know what they teach at that school of hers but if she were to partake in a duel I would bet everything I have that she would win.” 

“Still, it is impolite to bring a lady to such a potential dangerous excursion.”

“You and your politeness,” Étienne mumbled under his breath, shaking his head as Oliver looked at him with a puzzled expression. “So what is the plan, Linnington?” 

Oliver got off his horse and tied it to a nearby tree. Étienne followed suit, watching as his riding companion sniffed the air a couple of times. “I think we are close to where my family got attacked.” 

Étienne looked around, recognising the trees that they had passed when they were headed to the castle. “So what now?”

“I suggest we look around and see if our attackers left anything behind.”

Wordlessly Étienne followed Oliver around, both men carefully inspecting every pebble and tree that surrounded them. Étienne was surprised at how clean everything was. Not a single hair was left from the ambush more than a week ago, leaving both men confused. 

“Surely there would at least be a drop of blood left behind?” Oliver asked, bending down towards the dusty ground and carefully scanning his eyes across the ground. “A few of our men did fall during the attack.”

 To his dismay there was nothing. No cart tracks or pieces of fabric left behind. As he stood back up to his full height, a strong smell of sweat and poison suddenly wafted through the air, causing both Étienne and Oliver to whip their heads towards the scent. In a matter of second both men were surrounded by six cloaked individuals. 

Standing back to back, Ètienne and Oliver pulled out their rapiers. 

“Identify yourselves at once,” Oliver ordered, his weapon raised. 

“There is no need for that. You will be dead in a few minutes anyway, so what does it matter?” A deep and hoarse voice responded in a thick accent from under one of the cloaks. In the moonlight, Étienne could faintly make out a long, pale nose and a scruffy dark beard. 

“If we are going to die, at least you could be polite enough to indulge us,” Oliver said, slowly turning in a circle with Étienne matching his pace. “As a last wish, if you will.” 

“That will not be necessary. Either submit yourselves or suffer,” the hoarse voice said once more, the circle of intruders stepping closer to the two surrounded men. Étienne’s heart dropped as he saw each of them pull out daggers made from silver, a stenching liquid dripping from each blade. 

Without further discussion, the circle of cloaked individuals rushed forward, metal ringing against metal. Étienne quickly kneeled down and picked up a handful of dust and pebbles off the ground, throwing them at the hooded figure rushing towards him. While he was blinded, Étienne managed to fend off another one of his attackers by quickly stabbing him in the heart with his rapier, only to be quickly pushed down by a third figure. The rapier fell and slid away from Étienne. Grunts of frustration and anger escaped his lips, as he tried to push off the person kneeling on top of him. The hood of the figure had fallen back, revealing the face of a thin man. Dark eyes pierced into his, sharp fangs protruding from his lips. The man hissed at Étienne, who had his hand on the man’s neck, trying to prevent him from biting down. 

Oliver had managed to quickly topple one of his attackers to the ground, making quick work of thrusting the man’s own dagger into his heart. Turning around he noticed two of the figures rushing towards him, their hoods falling back and revealing two human men with light hair. Pulling out the dagger from the first attacker’s chest, Oliver spun around and slashed across the stomach of one of the men that were rushing him, thrusting his rapier in the back of the other. Both fell to the ground, the one he had managed to slash around the stomach standing back up. The two men began circling each other before lunging towards one another. As Oliver engaged in battle, his attacker managed to swipe him with the silver dagger, leaving a large gash in his arm. Oliver yelled out in anger and charged, toppling the man to the ground. 

Meanwhile, Étienne was desperately trying to push the pale man off of him. His fangs were inches away from his neck, and he could feel the warm breath of his attacker. As the first man recovered and wiped the dust out of his face, he lunged forward. Étienne cried out as the vampire on top of him began sinking his fangs into his neck. As he felt himself grow weaker, Étienne reached out towards his rapier in an attempt to pick it up once more. His fingers slipped around the blade, turning it and stabbing the vampire on top off him in the side. As he yelled out in pain and slipped off to the side, the first hooded man lunged towards him and quickly plunged his silver dagger into Étienne’s abdomen, just as he was about to stand back up. A wave of shock and pain washed over him, paralysing him immediately. Étienne could see the triumphant glee that washed over his attacker’s face, before being thrown to the ground by Oliver, a sharp pain flashing across his abdomen. Specks of white began forming in Étienne’s vision, the sound of Oliver and the first hooded man fighting echoing far away. 

After Oliver had thrust his rapier into the man’s chest, he quickly picked up the silver dagger from one of Étienne’s attackers and began stabbing it into each of the six men’s hearts. As he leaned down towards the last man, he noticed a familiar green cloth poking out from the pockets of his trousers. Pulling it out, his eyes grew wide as he recognised the crest of Duke Delacroix, the embroidered wolf head staring back at him. 

“Well this answers our questions, Saint-Clair. Saint-Clair?” Oliver quickly spun around as he pocketed the cloth, seeing Étienne still lying on the ground, unmoving. The young vampire quickly rushed over to him, dropping on his knees. The silver dagger that Étienne was stabbed with lay by his side, ripped out of him from when Oliver had tackled the man that had stabbed him. 

Nausea washed over Oliver as he began inspecting Étienne’s wounds. A couple of scratched were present and his neck began turning purple from where he was bit. After a few seconds Étienne opened his eyes and gasped, sitting up. 

“Are you alright?” Oliver asked, letting out a deep breath.

“I think so,” Étienne mumbled, looking around himself. The six bodies of the men were strewn around them, each with a stab wound to the chest. Oliver stood back up, swaying slightly as sweat beads began forming on his forehead. 

“We must head back in haste. The blades were dipped in poison,” he said, holding out his hand and helping Étienne to his feet and thrusting the green cloth towards him. “We have to show our fathers this.”

Étienne’s eyes grew wide and he turned to Oliver, who had already begun stumbling towards the horses that were still tied to the trees. “What on earth is Delacroix planning?” Étienne asked, as he swung himself onto the saddle, wincing in pain and letting out a string of curse words. 

Oliver shrugged, wiping the sweat off his forehead. “No idea. Let us hurry back. We will both need to rest before this poison fully sets in.”

Both men began riding back towards the castle, picking up their pace as the sky began shifting from black to orange and purple. With each bounce of the horse Étienne felt himself growing weaker, clutching the wound on his abdomen. When he withdrew his hand he noticed blood, concern washing over him. He decided to ignore the pain he felt and continued riding on, silently.

As they reached the entrance of the castle, Oliver jumped off his horse and swayed for several seconds, the nausea growing stronger and stronger. Gritting his teeth he walked over to Étienne, who had now gone pale. 

“Are you alight?” he asked, leaning against the horse. 

Étienne nodded weakly. “I am fine. Right as rain—“

Oliver stepped to the side as Étienne slipped off his horse, crashing to the ground. His chest was rising and falling rapidly, his neck drenched in sweat. As Oliver looked down he noticed the large stain of blood that had spread from where Étienne had been stabbed, fear rising in him as he realised just how much blood there was. 

Oliver cursed and picked Étienne off the ground, slinging his arm around his neck. The sun was starting to rise and they only had a few minutes before they would be exposed to the rays. He rushed up the front stairs of the estate dragging Étienne with him, his head slumped downwards. The first rays of the morning sun hit the door as both men stumbled inside. It was quiet, not a soul walking around the entrance hall. Oliver contemplated if he should have started shouting for someone to get help, when he remembered exactly who attacked them. No, it would not be wise to yell about them getting attacked, not if it was Delacroix’s plan all along. Gritting his teeth Oliver began making his way up the stairs, trying to catch Aurélie’s scent. From what he remembered she was somewhere along the fourth floor of the estate. The journey up three flights of stairs went on for what seemed like forever, both men stumbling and tripping over their own feet. Étienne was fazing in and out of consciousness, his full weight pressed against Oliver. 

“Come on, Saint-Clair. Just a bit further,” Oliver grunted, nearly collapsing at the top of the stairs once he reached the fourth floor. Nausea continued to washed over him from the wound on his arm, his body trying to remove the poison from the blade he was attacked with. He eyed one of the vases next to them, wondering if he would make it in time. Étienne woke up once more, managing to support himself by gripping the railing for a split second, before fully crashing to the ground, taking down the vase with him. A loud crash echoed down the hallway and staircase, Oliver doubling over and emptying the contents of his stomach into the spilt dirt and flowers. Étienne remained on his back, his breathing laboured, while Oliver stayed on all fours, still heaving. 

“What on earth happened to you?” A surprised and concerned voice piped up. Aurélie stood in front of the two men, quickly lowering herself between them, one hand on Étienne’s chest and the other on Oliver’s back. She noticed the slight green hue on Oliver and how deathly pale Étienne was. 

Once Oliver finished heaving, he looked up, wiping his mouth. “We were attacked. Do not concern yourself about me, focus on Étienne. He has not been the same since one of the vampires stabbed him.”

Aurélie’s eyes widened and her head snapped towards Étienne, who had once again gone unconscious. She ordered Oliver to stand and together, they pulled Étienne along into her chambers. Oliver slumped down into one of the two green armchairs that stood in front of the fireplace, his nose wrinkling at the bitter and foul stench coming from the teacup that was resting on the coffee table. He leaned his head back against the fabric while Aurélie rushed into the bathroom, running back into the room with a bowel of water and several washcloths. She had somehow managed to pull Étienne up onto the bed, ignoring the mud and blood that were beginning to stain her sheets. 

Mumbling a quick apology, Aurélie began unbuttoning Étienne’s coat, her hands shaking. After one of the buttons slipped out of her grasp for the third time, she cursed and vaulted over to her bag, rummaging through and finding the dagger she had packed. With one swift motion she tore through the fabric, the coat sliding to the side. She glanced over to Oliver, who still had his back towards her, quickly hiding the dagger in the drawers of her night stand. As Aurélie turned her attention back to Étienne, she gasped. The wound on his abdomen was still open, blood gushing out. 

Confused, Aurélie quickly pressed a washcloth onto the wound, trying to stench the flow. 

“What was he attacked with? Why is the wound not closing?” she asked, panic rising in her voice. 

Oliver stood up from the armchair, clutching his stomach and limping slightly. “It was some sort of dagger. I thought our attackers pulled it out before they ran away.”

Aurélie turned back to Étienne, letting go off his abdomen. The washcloth was red, the palms of her hands covered with his blood. Her stomach turned slightly. The wound remained open, his ability to heal quickly not jumping into action. She leaned down to inspect his injury closer, gasping when she noticed the glimmer of something silver deeply embedded in the muscle. 

“Bring me a candle, quick!” 

Oliver nodded, limping over to her writing desk and quickly lighting a candle. He let himself fall onto the bed next to Étienne, holding the flame above his wound. He let out a wince as he noticed the tip of the silver dagger still embedded in the muscles. Aurélie swallowed the bile that began rising in her throat, gagging as she tried to pull out the remains of the dagger. She took a deep breath and tried to calm her shaking hands, before managing to grasp at the silver piece, pulling it out slowly. As soon as she did, blood began coagulating around the wound. 

“He has lost so much blood,” Aurélie said after a while, her voice shaking. “When did he last feed?”

Oliver shrugged.

Without hesitating, Aurélie quickly began to unbutton the collar of her dress. “Sit him up.”

“Are you sure, Aurélie?” Oliver began, a look of concern etched on his face as he placed his hand on her forearm. “Being bit is not a very pleasant experience. Especially not from someone this drained.” 

“What choice do we have? Are you wanting to go and look for someone? Clara said there are barely any humans left in this area. Now sit him up!” Aurélie snapped, her quivering voice gone, pulling down the top of her dress and exposing her pale and delicate neck. Whatever was in the barrels of Delacroix’s pantry was not something the Aurélie would allow Étienne to touch at that moment. 

Oliver had managed to pull Étienne up to a sitting position, using the many cushions that were available as a back rest. The young vampire merely groaned and his head lulled to the side once more, after briefly opening his eyes. Aurélie shuffled closer to him, pulling his head down towards her neck. She felt his short breaths, her heart sinking. 

“Come on, Étienne,” she whispered softly, beginning to run her hands through his dark hair, in an attempt to wake him up once more. Her soft floral scent roused him slightly, his eyes opening for a few seconds before closing again repeatedly. 

“You have to drink.”

A groan escaped Étienne’s mouth, his head now leaning against her shoulder. Aurélie once more tried to turn his head further to her neck, clicking her tongue in frustration as he turned away once more. Only when she forcefully turned his neck and kept her grip strong at the back of his head so he wouldn’t turn away again, did he open his eyes. 

“Do I have to? Just bring me a cup from one of the Duke’s supplies,” Étienne said, his voice barely audible and out of breath. 

“That is out of the question,” Aurélie whispered back. 

“I will not be able to stop once I start,” Étienne mumbled after a while, his nose grazing her soft neck. Her scent was overwhelming, each pulse pulling him closer to her. “I do not want to hurt you.”

Aurélie sighed softly, releasing her grip on his neck and letting her hand run through his hair.  She wrapped her free arm around his back, holding him close. “It will be alright,” she whispered, “do not worry about me, just drink.”

As Étienne’s fangs shot out and his lips touched her neck, he quickly pulled back as he almost lost control over himself. Her veins under his lips were like vines that twisted around his mind, obscuring any other thoughts than the one to bite down and never let go.  “I cannot do it.”

Aurélie pulled him back closer to her neck. “Please Étienne. I do not want to lose you,” she pleaded, closing her eyes tightly. She felt his lips on her neck once more, shivers running down her spine at his touch.  

“Aurélie… forgive me,” Étienne mumbled after a while, biting down. Aurélie let out a yelp as a sharp pain ran through her neck, her grip tightening on Étienne’s back and the back of his head. She closed her eyes, unable to hold up her head as she slowly leaned it towards the side. Étienne did not budge, slowly sinking his fangs deeper. His heart raced at the little moans that escaped his companion’s lips.

As Étienne drank, he could feel the wound on his chest beginning to close, his senses beginning to return to him. He began to feel lighter than before, the faraway echoes from Aurélie and Oliver’s voices earlier coming back clearly. Aurelie’s blood tasted sweet and unlike anything Étienne had ever had before. Each drop lured him deeper, unable to control the hunger that washed over him. His mind was screaming for him to stop, yet Étienne continued, addicted to her taste. Her blood was purer than anyone else’s, clouding his thoughts once more. All he wanted was to taste her, to pull her closer and never let go. He wanted to continue to revel in the sound of her moans, wanting to do whatever he could to please his companion and make her his, protecting her for all eternity. Without her blood his world would be meaningless— nothing being able to compare to what she could provide for him.

The small moans that Aurélie gave began to stop, her breathing turning shallow. Oliver had stood off to the side, looking away while Étienne and Aurélie were busy. He turned his head briefly at the lack of the companion’s little noises, his heart sinking as he noticed her lips turning paler and paler.  

“Saint-Clair, that is enough,” he said, his tone strict.  

Étienne ignored him, pulling himself up to his knees on the bed, continuing to enjoy the warmth that ran over his lips. 

“Étienne!” Oliver shouted in command, stepping in and shaking the younger vampire’s shoulder in an attempt to rouse him from his stupor. 

“I said, enough!” With a strong pull Oliver was able to wrench Étienne away, two perfect little holes left in Aurelie’s neck, a trail of blood running out of each. The companion fell to her side, landing on the mountain of pillows that had slipped out from behind Étienne. 

Étienne was left kneeling on the bed, blinking in confusion a few times before fully returning to his senses. His heart dropped as he saw Aurélie, beginning to curse loudly as he leaned down towards her. She was breathing slowly, her lips and skin pale. 

“How long was I feeding on her?” Étienne quickly asked, turning to Oliver.

“A lot longer than you should have!” 

Étienne cursed once more, leaning down towards Aurelie’s neck and running his tongue over the two small puncture wounds left behind by his fangs. Immediately they began closing up, leaving behind nothing but smooth skin. 

A small groan after a few seconds caused Étienne to breathe a sigh of relief. Aurélie’s breathing picked up and the companion began opening her eyes again, stirring slightly. 

“Are you alright?” she whispered weakly after a while, unable to sit up. Her light eyes were staring up at Étienne, who was still leaning down towards her.  

“I should be the one asking you. You gave me quite a fright,” Étienne said, quickly sitting back and helping Aurélie sit. As he did the companion slumped forward, her head leaning against his chest. Embarrassment flushed through him at the thoughts he had while feeding on her. 

“You should really not be getting up,” Étienne advised after a while, looking over at Oliver, who shrugged. 

“I feel so dizzy,” Aurélie mumbled, her voice muffled by Étienne’s chest. She noticed the unusually slow heartbeat, listening to its comforting rhythm. Étienne’s hand found hers and he wrapped it in his, noting how cold her fingertips were. 

“You should rest, Aurélie. Let us help you get ready.”

The companion’s protests were met with silence. Étienne wordlessly picked up Aurélie, carrying her over to her bathroom, while ordering Oliver to clean up the mess they had left behind on the sheets. Oliver stood in front of the bed with his arms on his hips, wondering how in the world he would manage to carry out the bedding that looked like someone was butchered in it, without being questioned by the castle’s staff. While he was pondering, Étienne had managed to sit Aurélie on the edge of the bathtub, handing her a warm washcloth. Her nightgown was neatly folded next to the sink. 

After Aurélie wiped her face and blood-stained hands, she began fumbling with the buttons of her dress. Her fingers were still shaking from earlier, and she sighed in frustration. 

“Here, let me help,” Étienne offered, quickly unbuttoning the dress and loosening the laces of her corset. As he pulled down the skirts she was wearing he could see the bruises he had given her earlier, guilt rising up in him. Trying to ignore it, he grabbed her nightgown and pulled it over her head, helping her stand to smoothen it out. She sat back down at the edge of the bathtub wrapping a cardigan around herself. Her face was still pale, dark circles now formed under her eyes. 

“I still feel very dizzy,” she mumbled, closing her eyes and swaying slightly. 

“I will help you get back to bed. Oliver should be done by now,” Étienne said, already by her side. This time his companion did not protest as he scooped her back into his arms. Instead, she wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned her head against his shoulder. The world was spinning too much under her to not accept his help. 

Oliver stood by the door, watching as Étienne gently laid Aurélie into the now clean bed. She took a couple of sips from the water he brought her, giving him a small smile in gratitude. After Étienne had tucked her in, he quietly made his way over. 

“Thank you. I will look after her from here on. You should rest, Linnington. You look like hell.”

Oliver scoffed and shook his head. “Says the one that was almost a corpse less than an hour ago. Will you be alright?”

Étienne nodded, opening the door. “I will stay here today and watch over her.”

“Please inform me at once if you require my assistance. I will drop by later to check on both of you,” Oliver said, bowing and closing the door softly behind him. 

Étienne turned back around to Aurélie, who had fallen asleep. Her chest was rising and falling slowly, the dark circles under her eyes growing darker. With a heavy heart he pulled up a chair and sat down, reaching out to take her hand in both of his. He leaned his forehand against her hand, cursing at himself for losing control.