CONTENT WARNING: Homelessness, starvation, kidnapping, chains
A young boy and his sister huddled on a folded cardboard box caught his eye. Though he could easily take the children back to his home, it wouldn't help them. They couldn't travel with him, and they'd be right back on the street. If either of them were mage-talented, though, he could ask Rose to take them in.
But a simple reach with his senses told him that wasn't a possibility. Both were completely human—and the girl had an incurable disease.
Though it hurt, Wolfram could do nothing for them.
On it went and Wolfram ached with every step he took away from those he could not help. As he was lamenting turning away from a woman asking for credits he didn't have, Wolfram caught the scent of undeath.
Frowning, the Witch glanced about, trying to spot the creature. If this undead hunted him, they'd be in for a rude shock.
But no, Wolfram spotted the vampire—for there was no mistaking the glimpse of fang in that seductive smile—as she beckoned a well-dressed couple. Wolfram shook his head, berating himself.
"Being jumpy helps no one," Wolfram muttered, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets and hunkering down into the leather. He sped his steps and wound through the alleys, keeping to the shadows as much as possible.
Finally, Wolfram stepped onto the corner of Cauffman and Marble. The street stretched on in either direction, darker here than other streets. This place held more residential buildings than business and sat far enough away from the businesses, pubs, brothels, and other nighttime haunts that it became eerily quiet.
Even to Wolfram's sensitive hearing, the street stayed blanketed in silence.
Squaring his shoulders and taking a breath, Wolfram started off down the street. His eyes and senses constantly roved around him, staying alert while searching for a spot to place his home. After two blocks, he was starting to think the city might have actually filled in all the empty lots.
But then he saw an empty lot another half a block down, and he hurried toward it. Wolfram reached into his pocket to call his house from the pocket dimension when he heard a crunching from behind.
The Witch spun, reaching for his magic, when a cloud of gas exploded in his face. Blinking wildly and stumbling back from the gas, Wolfram lost his hold on his magic, feeling it slide through his fingers like sand.
Wide, icy blue eyes filled his vision as strong hands took a hold of his chin. Wolfram tried to swat the hands away, but he only ended up clutching them as the world spun.
"I found you… I can't believe I found you," breathed a deep baritone thick with a Welsh accent. "Can't believe… fuck, no one thought you even existed, and then you just waltz into my territory."
Powerful thumbs rubbed along Wolfram's cheek bones as the moon shifted from behind a cloud, illuminating the dark street.
White hair combed back caught the silvery moonlight that seemed to bleed from his hair to his too-pale porcelain skin. A black suit cut to the current fashion sheathed the silvery man. The man exuded confidence, old money, and sexual desire.
But then Wolfram's senses caught up, even if his body moved as if through molasses.
The man smelled of undeath. Of old blood and damp earth.
Vampire.
Wolfram reached for his magic, but it continued to slip out of reach like the rolling tide. The vampire smiled, revealing a hint of fang.
"Magnificent," the pale vampire purred, "more than I could have asked for. Truly magnificent. I cannot wait to drink from the source. Now… gaze into my eyes, and dream."
Wolfram struggled with his body to do anything but that—anything at all! But the gas must have made him more susceptible to vampiric hypnosis, for his body did not listen. He locked eyes with the vampire and felt himself falling, feeling the darkness of unconsciousness eating at his vision. With a shudder and one last effort, Wolfram tried to gain control of himself.
But the darkness won out, and Wolfram felt his body go limp as unconsciousness claimed him.
A pounding headache greeted the Witch when awareness returned. Groaning, Wolfram squinted open one eye into the blessed darkness around him. Slowly, Wolfram took stock of his surroundings.
He lay draped on a couch, a chaise lounge judging from the sloping back. His jacket was gone, and his shirt felt sticky at the collar. The armrest of the lounge pressed into his back, his neck at an awkward angle with his head resting against the high back. Wolfram let out another groan and shifted, attempting to get just a little more comfortable.
The jingle of chain snatched the Witch's attention, and his eyes snapped open. His bare feet dangled off the edge of the lounge; boots and socks nowhere in sight.
Instead, both of his ankles were adorned in jewel encrusted shackles. The thick chain attached disappeared into the shadows of the room.
Frowning at the chains, Wolfram pushed up and held a hand over the gold and jewels. The metal itself was unimpressive, even with runes meant to seal magic—but the jewels contained power, writhing and seething beneath the glittering surface.
The jewels powered the runes, creating a slight problem for the Witch. Though this was clearly for a human-born witch—maybe even powerful enough to contain a low-level djinn—it wasn't enough to seal off all access to Wolfram's magic. But because his kind didn't exist in most dimensions, Wolfram had to tread softly. Anything he did could endanger the human-born witches in this realm.
Carefully, his magic slid along his skin and slithered over the shackles in misty purple and black tendrils, feeling out the runes. As he studied the runes and the spells, he sensed an approaching undead. Narrowing his eyes, Wolfram glanced about the room, trying to see through the dark. A door opened, spilling gentle candlelight into the room. In the doorway holding a candelabra aloft, the candlelight playing off the slicked back white hair and porcelain skin, stood his abductor.
The vampire—for there could be no doubt—gazed at Wolfram with pale blue eyes full of desire and worship. Though the vampire had discarded his outer jacket, he still wore a trim suit, accentuating the line of his muscles and the broad width of his shoulders. The vampire approached Wolfram slowly, kneeling before him and setting the candelabra aside.
Wolfram raised an eyebrow, frowning at the creature as those pale eyes came to rest on Wolfram.
"I'm glad to see you awake," the vampire began in his deep baritone thick with accent. "I feared I had taken too much… but I could not stop. Your blood is… like the finest wine. Smooth and rich, hearty and addictive… I felt a newborn vampire again, without a way to stop drinking…"
Folding his arms over his chest, Wolfram felt only trickles of the weakness such blood loss would cause. The Witch stuck out his ankle just enough to tug at his other ankle, letting the candlelight play on the jewels and gold.
"And this?" Wolfram asked, narrowing his eyes at the vampire.
The vampire reached out and ran his long, pale fingers over Wolfram's feet, the metal, and up Wolfram's leg. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the Witch's ankle before he met Wolfram's eyes again.
"Necessary, to keep a treasure like you," the vampire murmured against Wolfram's skin.
The Witch flicked his leg and kicked the vampire, knocking the creature back. Wolfram stood from the lounge and planted his hands on his hips.
"What is it with vampires and thinking you can just kidnap and chain whoever you fancy?" Wolfram growled out. "Actually, answer me this: what did you mean that you've been looking for me? That you wanted to drink from the source?"
The vampire blinked up at Wolfram, not understanding how the Witch had recovered so quickly. When he didn't answer, Wolfram sighed and held out his wrist.
"You want my blood, right?" A nod from the vampire, as Wolfram expected. "Answer my questions."
The vampire’s eyes followed the Witch’s wrist as Wolfram crossed his arms again. Clearing his throat, the vampire sat back on his heels.
“Yes… well,” the vampire began, “I, uh… happened into a vial of your blood. It was labeled as witch blood, but the moment it touched my lips, I knew that was wrong. There's no way the power in your veins belongs to a mere witch!"
Wolfram rolled his eyes and suppressed a sigh. That was true enough; the human-born witches in this realm didn't hold a candle to him.
"Where did you get my blood?" Wolfram asked.
The vampire opened his mouth, but just as quickly closed it.
"If you want even a sip of my blood, you will answer," Wolfram ordered.
But the vampire clenched his jaw and shook his head.
“Not ready to answer that one, hmm? Then let’s start with something less difficult…” Wolfram said, sitting back down on the chaise lounge. “Your name.”
The vampire sat up straighter, blinking up at Wolfram in slight confusion. “Ah… and why do you need that? I hear witches can control someone with a name…”
Wolfram laughed and ran a hand through his coffee-dark hair. “You’re thinking of fae, little lamprey. So either give me your name, or I’ll give you one. How does Drac sound? Or do you like being called little lamprey?”
Baring his teeth and hissing, the vampire surged forward, only to be met by Wolfram’s foot on his shoulder, pushing him back down with little effort—much to the vampire’s surprise.
“Did I say you could get up? No? Then stay there,” Wolfram sneered, looking down his nose at the vampire. For his part, the pale creature actually flushed and obeyed.
Ah-ha… I had a feeling you’d respond to this, the Witch thought, hiding a smirk behind his hand.
“Now, little lamprey,” Wolfram began, trailing his toe up the vampire’s neck with a rattle of chains, “are you going to give me your name?”
The vampire tipped his head up in order to stare Wolfram in the eyes. Swallowing hard, with Wolfram’s toes pressed just under his chin, the vampire finally said, “Morcant. Marquise Morcant of Anglesey.”
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