18th century,
A long shadow stretched across the stone floor as footfalls echoed through the chamber. The air was musty, unlike the pleasant smells of fresh bread and wine from the basket Marcus carried.
He came upon an old wooden door, strangely carved. It creaked open, revealing a warm glow of lamplight and hushed voices. Marcus sighed inwardly; four months had passed since his friend Velor had succumbed to the vampire's curse. His own routines grew ever more difficult - seeing to the lordship's affairs by day while Velor could only attend such matters under night's veil. As servant and confidant, the burden fell to Marcus to craft excuses for his master's absences.
"Keep it down over there," he said, setting down the bread and wine.
A whisper tickled the back of his neck. "Evening, Marcus."
Marcus turned, pushing Dominick's face away. "Cut that out."
"You smell of cinnamon," the man chuckled, settling himself upon the bed beside a flame-haired figure.
The red-haired man shook his head. "Leave the poor fellow be."
"What's this?" Dominick feigned innocence. "Are we not all friends here?"
"Perhaps you and Velor are," Marcus said, unpacking the bread. "But you and I? I hardly think so."
Dominick's lip thrust out. "Such hurtful words. It's been four months."
"Marcus," Velor interjected, shoving Dominick aside. "When are you heading to the main city?"
A faint smile played across Marcus's lips. "This very night, after I've taken my supper."
"And what was the young lady's name again?"
"Miss Ashford," Marcus took a bite of the bread.
Dominick perked up. "That's your dinner?" He poked at Marcus's meal. "Just bread?"
"I prefer simple fare, not raw flesh like some." Marcus swallowed a swig of wine, watching Dominick watch him. "Do you have a reason for being here, or are you just looking to annoy me?"
"Might I accompany you to the city? I have...errands to attend." Dominick smoothed his hair back with a practised smile. "You have my word I shall be on my best behaviour."
A frown furrowed Marcus's brow, but he nodded. "Very well. But I depart straightaway - join me at the front gates when you are ready." He drained the last of the wine and took his leave, the Others' voices fading behind him.
Once the modest meal concluded, Marcus bid his farewells and retraced his steps up to the manor house. He made his way to the front gates where two men stood conversing - one with iron-grey hair, the other's dark mane flowing past his shoulders.
The long-haired man turned at the approach of Marcus's footfalls, his smile strained. "My son."
"Father, you should rest yourself," Marcus gently chided, taking the man's hands. "What brings you here?"
Pivoting, he placed a hand over his heart. "And you as well, Your Grace."
"We have come to send you off," Marcus's father replied, a twinkle in his eye. "For my son shall soon take a wife."
"She is not my wife yet, Father. We have not even been properly introduced - this is simply our first meeting."
A hearty laugh burst from the Duke as he clapped the father's shoulder. "Well, we certainly hope she shall be soon enough!"
"Then be on your way," the father urged, shooing Marcus toward the awaiting carriage. "The Duke's transport is prepared to depart."
"I must first await Dominick," Marcus protested, accepting a basket of provisions from a kitchen servant with a polite smile. No sooner had the words left his lips than a familiar rush of air tickled his neck. "For the love of the Lord..." He turned to find Dominick beside him, hair neatly queued, looking unusually well-groomed. "Must you always lurk about in such a manner?"
The Duke arched an eyebrow. "I was not made aware the dark lord would be joining us as well."
"I have business to attend in the city," Dominick said smoothly, tapping Marcus's shoulder. "A travelling companion may prove...prudent for the journey."
Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Marcus shrugged off Dominick's fingers. "Then let us be off before the sun's first light crests the horizon."
"Indeed," the Duke chuckled. "Give my warmest regards to Miss Ashford, will you not, Marcus?"
Marcus smiled and gave the Duke a nod before ascending the carriage step. Dominick followed close behind, that grin plastered on his face. Once inside, Marcus set the food basket beside him and gazed out the window one last time, offering a final farewell gesture to his father and the Duke.
As the carriage lurched into motion, Marcus's expression turned pensive. Though nearly four months had passed, something still felt deeply unsettled within him regarding Velor's condition and the complications it had wrought.
The rhythmic clop of the horses' hooves accompanied an awkward silence until Dominick finally broke it. "I hear it's to be a masquerade ball."
Marcus exhaled heavily. "Yes, it is."
He turned to find Dominick's gaze already fixed upon him. The man's lips curled into that familiar teasing smirk. "Are you excited?"
"Of course," Marcus snapped, a defensive edge creeping into his voice. "It's my first time meeting the woman I've been writing to."
Dominick clucked his tongue. "Love letters, how quaint. Tell me, have you also written her pages of flowery poetry?" His tone dripped with sarcasm.
Marcus's jaw clenched. "This is neither the time nor the place for your jokes, Dominick. You promised to behave."
Dominick raised his hands in mock surrender. "Of course, of course. I shall be on my best behaviour. For your sake."
With a frustrated sigh, Marcus turned away, focusing on the passing scenery. He could only hope the allure of the masquerade would overshadow the gnawing unease that had plagued him since that fateful night.
The carriage veered off the main road, following a hidden path through the woods, a secret known only to those of Coty village. To outsiders, it appeared as an ordinary trail, yet no stranger ever stumbled upon this ancient route.
Moonlight filtered through the branches, casting shadows on the mossy ground. A light breeze rustled the leaves. The scene evoked a sense of childlike wonder, a nostalgic echo of a long-forgotten lullaby.
The rhythmic hoof beats and cricket sounds relaxed Marcus. For a moment, his worries faded on this secluded forest path
Beside him, even Dominick had fallen silent, his usual sharp wit dulled by the enchanting spell of the forest. Perhaps there was still a glimmer of humanity within his cursed soul.
Both Marcus and Dominick fell into a long silence as the carriage ride continued. Neither spoke until the conveyance eventually rolled to a halt.
"We'll be stopping here to rest before pressing on at evenfall, sir," the coachman informed them, his voice dampened by the impending dawn light visible in the sky above.
Marcus peered out the window, realising they had arrived at some well-known coaching inn along the main road. He gathered his belongings and exited the carriage, Dominick trailing closely behind.
Taking in their surroundings, Marcus noted the stoutly built two-story inn, lanterns burning to guide any late travellers. He turned to Dominick with a nod. "We'll secure lodgings here until it's time to depart again for the city."
Dominick did not look bothered in the slightest by the delay, that insufferable smirk of his ever-present as they approached the inn's entrance.
Marcus and Dominick stepped into the inn, The room smelled of old wood and candle wax. It was the quiet hour, the shadows stretching long across the walls, the only movement the flicker of the hearth fire and the slow sway of a lantern above the front table.
The innkeeper, a matronly figure with a face etched by time, looked up from her work, a flicker of warmth in her eyes.
As they approached, the kindly old woman flashed them a welcoming smile. "Good morning to you, sirs. How can I be of service?"
"We'll need two rooms for the day, if you have them available," Marcus replied. "Preferably chambers that won't be disturbed by the sun."
He stole a glance at Dominick, who was surveying the modest inn. The innkeeper opened a large, leather-bound ledger, running a gnarled finger down a long list of entries before grimacing up at them apologetically.
"I'm afraid we only have one room remaining, sirs," she said, offering a faint, regretful smile. "But it does face the western side, so the sun shouldn't trouble you overmuch. And we can provide heavy curtains as well."
Marcus exhaled a weary sigh, suddenly feeling the weight of the long carriage journey. A nice feather bed sounded heavenly right now.
His only reservation was having to share quarters with the ever-unpredictable Dominick. The man's antics could prove taxing. Marcus warred inwardly, fatigue battling propriety, as he turned the prospect over in his mind.
"That will be acceptable," he finally decided, pulling out a coin purse. "We'll make do with the single room. Just for the day, mind you."
The old woman bobbed her head, visibly relieved. "Of course, sir. If you would please follow me, I'll show you to your room."
As Marcus paid and arranged for their provisions to be brought up, he stole another sidelong glance at his travelling companion. Dominick's expression remained impassive, though Marcus could have sworn he detected a slight quirk at the corner of the man's lips.
He could only hope whatever mischief Dominick had in mind could be kept brief and subdued, for both their sakes.
They followed the old woman down the wooden hallway, the air thick with the scent of beeswax and polished wood. The doors stood in orderly succession until they reached the last room at the end. As the woman opened the door, a comforting aroma of fresh linens and soap wafted out. The room was simple but well-kept, containing a single bed neatly made with a crisp blanket and plump feather pillows.
Marcus felt unsettled as Dominick sat on the bed with his typical smug look. An awkward silence fell between them
"Looks like just the one bed, hmm?" Dominick's voice was a low rumble, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. The playful challenge in his tone sent a jolt through Marcus, a current that left him breathless for a moment.
Marcus busied himself with unpacking their provisions, He replied curtly, "I can take the carriage if you'd prefer the bed."
Dominick chuckled, leaning back against the feather mattress. "Why, Marcus," he tsked, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "You make me sound like some sort of villain."
Marcus shot him a sideways glance, a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze. "Do I?" He nodded towards the high-backed chair in the corner. "You take the bed then. I'll make do with that."
"If you insist," Dominick drawled, stretching out languidly, the muscles rippling beneath his linen shirt. "But it might be warmer in the bed."
Dominick's words seemed to carry an unspoken invitation, with a hint of mischief. Marcus felt a shiver run down his spine, not entirely from the cold. He refused to meet Dominick's gaze, instead focusing on unfastening the buttons of his travel-worn shirt.
"Going to bathe, are you?" Dominick asked softly.
Marcus retrieved a small bar of lye soap from his bag, his tone carefully neutral. "Yes. I prefer not to sleep in clothing soiled from the road."
Their eyes met for a fleeting moment, An unspoken tension grew between them. Marcus finally broke the gaze, moving towards the door as a soft chuckle escaped Dominick's lips.
This was going to be a long day, Marcus realised. He would have to endure Dominick's company a while longer before reaching the masquerade.
He shook his head, a wry smile playing on his lips. He left the room and headed towards the front counter, where the old woman had been replaced by a young man, perhaps nineteen or twenty years old. The young man beamed as Marcus approached.
"May I help you, sir?" he inquired.
"Could you direct me to the bathing room?" Marcus asked, returning the smile.
The young man led him up a narrow staircase to the washroom on the second floor. The room was indeed spotless, with a faint aroma of warm water and a subtle musk that brought a sense of calm over Marcus.
He dipped into the steaming bath and lathered himself with his homemade bar soap, the spicy scent of cinnamon filling the small room. He took a deep breath, savouring the warmth and the feeling of cleanliness, before quickly finishing his bath and leaving the room.
He walked back to the room, hesitating for a moment before reaching for the doorknob. But the door swung open before his hand made contact, revealing Dominick standing in the threshold, bare-chested and damp from his own bath.
"Why don't you come in?" Dominick asked, his eyes raking over Marcus's form.
"I believe it's none of your business," Marcus retorted, brushing past him and settling into the high-backed chair.
Dominick closed the door behind him, shutting out the morning light. Thankfully, the heavy curtains did their job, leaving the room in a dim, intimate twilight.
Marcus stood and rummaged through the provisions basket, retrieving his straight razor. He carefully unfolded it and walked to the washbasin to prepare for a proper shave.
"Are you going to shave?" Dominick's voice, a low rumble, caught Marcus's attention. He turned to find Dominick reclining on the bed, watching him with a curious glint in his eyes.
"Yes," Marcus replied, touching his own moustache. "It might be better if I face her clean-shaven."
Marcus took slow, deliberate strokes with the razor, carefully shaving his face as he always did when trimming his moustache. He glanced up at the mirror beside the washbasin, but a jolt of surprise went through him when he failed to see Dominick's reflection. He turned to find the man sitting up on the bed, his gaze fixed on Marcus with an intensity that made Marcus's heart quicken unexpectedly.
"What?" Dominick asked, his voice barely a whisper.
"Nothing," Marcus mumbled, turning back to the mirror. He continued shaving, eager to finish the task. But a moment of distraction, and the sharp blade nicked his skin, drawing a thin line of blood near his mouth. The pain flared, sharp and intense.
"Damn it!" Marcus screamed, grabbing a clean cloth to stanch the blood welling up from the cut.
"Are you hurt?" Dominick was suddenly beside him, his hand cupping Marcus's jaw and turning his face towards his own.
"I'm bleeding," Marcus snapped, attempting to pull away from Dominick's touch. "Step back!"
"Stay still," Dominick murmured, his voice surprisingly gentle.
The tension in the room thickened. Time seemed to slow as Dominick's thumb brushed against Marcus's cheek, his gaze fixed on the small cut near Marcus's mouth. Marcus held Dominick's eyes, watching as a silent struggle played out on the man's face. Finally, it seemed Dominick's intrusive thoughts had won.
A warm breath touched Marcus's skin as Dominick leaned closer,
a subtle scent of sweet herbs clinging to him. Dominick's gaze shifted from the blood on Marcus's lip to meet his eyes, a slow smirk spreading across his face as he closed the distance between them.
The soft press of Dominick's lips against his own sent a jolt through Marcus, a thrill of surprise mingled with something deeper. It was impossible to ignore the warmth in Dominick's gaze, the unspoken longing that had simmered beneath the surface for months. Marcus had chosen to look away, to focus on their shared mission and ignore the undeniable truth.
But now, with Dominick's lips brushing against his, the blood from his small wound mingling with the taste of sweet herbs, a forbidden pleasure bloomed within him.
Dominick's touch was tender, his tongue tracing the cut with a feather-light caress that sent shivers through Marcus. The world narrowed to Dominick's soft lips, his warm breath, and the intoxicating realisation that this stolen moment was unlike anything Marcus had ever known.
The startling change in Dominick, their altered dynamic, the undeniable spark that now crackled between them - it all seemed to trace back to that fateful day when Dominick returned from his dark lady's estate