Alaric wandered the halls of the grand estate, his piercing gaze sweeping over every unfamiliar detail. Though he'd seen castles and manor houses in his time, the luxury around him was strange—distant from anything he had ever known. The smoothness of the marble floors, the glow of electric light, and the odd, sleek surfaces were all alien to him, yet he carried himself with the same commanding grace as if he belonged there.
His hand moved to touch the edge of a wall sconce, curious about the strange glow it emitted. "This place reeks of vanity," he muttered, a faint sneer curling his lips.
Suddenly, the soft click of a door broke the silence, and Eric emerged from the bathroom.
Steam followed him, his body still glistening with moisture. His black shirt clung to his muscled frame, water soaking into the fabric from his hair, making it even tighter. The shirt stretched across his broad shoulders and chest, outlining every curve of muscle, the wet material highlighting the tautness of his form.
Eric's eyes found Alaric, and without a word, he tossed him a towel. Alaric caught it with a quick, instinctive motion, his sharp gaze narrowing.
"Come with me," Eric said. He gestured toward the bedroom ahead, where the remnants of the man Eric has killed showed.Notable by the clothes strewn everywhere. "I'm sure there is something for you to wear. Can't have you wandering around naked all day."
Alaric watched him for a moment, his posture still tense, before following. The air between them was thick with unspoken tension.
They entered a lavish room dominated by an ornate closet, its wooden doors carved with intricate patterns. Eric threw the doors open, revealing rows of finely tailored clothing. Rich fabrics, velvet, and silk hung in orderly lines, the garments clearly designed for a man of considerable wealth.
"You expect me to wear this?" Alaric's voice carried an edge of disdain as he eyed the unfamiliar clothing. He reached out, his fingers brushing the smooth material of a velvet jacket, dark and glossy beneath his fingertips. "This man lived in opulence."
Eric shrugged, pulling out a black dress shirt and tossing it onto the bed. "We killed him. Might as well make use of his wardrobe."
Alaric looked at Eric confused.
" I am confused about the 'we 'you mention as I remember you draining the life of that man."
Eric glared at the remark but said nothing.
Alaric picked up the shirt, holding it up to inspect it. The fabric was fine—softer than anything he'd worn in his former life. It felt strange in his hands, almost too delicate, as though it would tear easily. "Strange," he muttered under his breath. "Such softness. It's unnatural."
Eric smirked. "That's modern fabric for you. Come on, get dressed. We're not exactly in a place to be picky."
Alaric's eyes flicked toward Eric, who had already begun to pull on a pair of black trousers. The fabric clung to Eric's muscular thighs and calves, accentuating the strength in his legs. His movements were casual but controlled, and Alaric couldn't help but note the stark difference between them—Eric's body, honed and powerful, compared to his own leaner, wiry frame.
Reluctantly, Alaric pulled the shirt over his head. It was tight across his shoulders, the fabric stretching uncomfortably as he adjusted it. He wasn't used to such fitted clothing—back in his time, clothes were looser, functional, not meant to cling to every inch of skin.
Eric, noticing Alaric's discomfort, grinned. "It's a little snug. Guess we're both bigger than he was." He glanced down at himself, the black shirt emphasizing his muscular chest and arms. The material rippled with every slight movement, stretched taut over his biceps and the broad expanse of his shoulders.
Alaric, though not as broad as Eric, was tall and lean. The shirt, while tight, didn't suffocate him, though it pulled slightly at his chest and arms. His body, though slender, held a kind of wiry strength, like steel coiled beneath the surface. The black fabric clung to his frame, highlighting the sharp lines of his shoulders and the soft curvature of his waist. It was an odd sensation, wearing something that felt so foreign, so different from the coarse wool and leather of his past.
Eric tossed him a pair of trousers next. "These too." He smirked, watching as Alaric inspected the pants with the same curiosity he'd shown the shirt.
Alaric held the trousers up, turning them in his hands. The material felt strange, slick but sturdy. He pulled them on, and though they were snug, they fit his tall frame well enough. The legs were tight around his thighs, and the waistband sat low on his hips.
Eric chuckled, pulling a jacket over his own broad shoulders. "You'll get used to it. These days, it's all about the fit."
Alaric, standing tall, gave him a sidelong glance. His piercing eyes still held the weight of centuries, and though his body was now clothed in a dead man's finery, his regal demeanor was unchanged. He adjusted the cuffs of his shirt, frowning slightly as he pulled at the tight fabric. "There is nothing of comfort in this."
Eric rolled his eyes but couldn't help the smirk tugging at his lips. "You're too stuck in the past, old man. Learn to appreciate the finer things." He reached out, straightening the collar of Alaric's shirt, his fingers brushing against the smooth fabric.
Alaric's gaze sharpened, but he allowed the gesture, his eyes flicking toward the room's ornate mirror. He stared at his reflection for a moment, studying the unfamiliar clothes that clung to his tall, lean frame and his long white silky hair that revealed it's purity after the dirt and grime was washed away.
The tightness of the shirt accentuated the sharp angles of his collarbones, the thin lines of muscle in his arms. The trousers, though snug, emphasized his height, giving him a sleek, almost predatory look.
He straightened his posture, tilting his head slightly as if evaluating whether or not he approved. "I do not appreciate this... materialism," he said slowly, his voice rich with disdain. "But I suppose it will serve its purpose."
Eric, now fully dressed, looked over at Alaric with a grin. "We'll make it work. At least you don't look like you crawled out of a grave anymore."
Alaric's lips curled into a faint smile, though it didn't reach his eyes.
______
As Alaric adjusted the sleeves of his ill-fitted shirt, Eric's expression shifted. The quiet confidence he usually wore vanished, replaced by an edge of anxiety that made his sharp features seem even more rigid. He glanced toward the window, where the first hint of light crept across the horizon, casting a faint glow against the sky.
Alaric, catching the change in Eric's demeanor, raised an eyebrow. "Something troubling you?" he asked, his voice tinged with amusement. He already knew, of course. The sun was rising, and while its arrival was nothing more than a passing moment to him, it was a death sentence for vampires like Eric.
Eric's head jerked toward the lightening sky, his expression growing more frantic. His instincts screamed at him to hide, to find somewhere dark, anywhere away from the approaching sunlight.
Though he was newly turned and thrust into a world he did not understand, the need to retreat from the sun felt like it was embedded deep in his bones, a instinctive urge to survive. It was more than just fear; it was a compulsion, something in his nature that demanded he flee.
The flashes came suddenly—brief, violent images of himself engulfed in flames, skin peeling away as his body crumbled to dust. He saw himself burning, disintegrating in the unforgiving sunlight, and his panic spiked.
"Shit," Eric muttered under his breath, his hands flying to the curtains, yanking them shut with a force that made the heavy fabric shudder. His breaths came faster as he took a step back from the window, as though the light might burst through at any moment and swallow him whole.
Alaric leaned against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest, watching the panic unfold with thinly veiled amusement. His eyes sparkled with cruel enjoyment, the predator in him relishing the sight of another creature in distress.
"Relax, Eric," Alaric drawled, his tone mocking. "It's just a bit of sunlight. What's the worst that could happen?"
Eric's wild eyes snapped to him, the flashes of burning still playing in his mind. "I burn, you asshole!" His voice was tense, almost shaking.
Alaric chuckled, low and deep. "Ah, yes, the curse of the vampires. Such a delicate existence, isn't it?"
Eric shot him a glare, his eyes darting around the room in desperation. His need to find shelter from the sun consumed him now, overriding any semblance of control he usually had. He moved with a speed that only a vampire could muster, flinging open doors in search of a safe space. "There has to be a basement," Eric muttered to himself. "There's always a damn basement in places like this."
"Looking for a hole to crawl into, are we?" Alaric teased, following Eric with slow steps, his amusement growing. The sight of the vampire now reduced to this frantic state was an unexpected pleasure.
Eric ignored him, tearing open door after door in a panic, until finally, at the far end of the hallway, he found what he was searching for. A door that led to a set of stairs descending into darkness. Without hesitation, he yanked it open and practically threw himself down the stairs, disappearing into the shadows below.
Alaric lingered at the top of the steps, his eyes gleaming in the dim light and a low chuckle reverberating in the darkness. He wasn't in any hurry, not like Eric. The sun meant nothing to him. He could walk in its warmth, feel its rays on his skin, while Eric— dangerous, bloodthirsty Eric—was reduced to this state of desperation.
He took his time descending into the basement, the cool, damp air greeting him as he reached the bottom. Eric was already there, pacing like a caged animal, his broad shoulders tense, his hands running through his black hair. The flashes of burning still haunted him, the thought of being reduced to nothing but ash gnawing at his mind.
"There," Eric muttered to himself, his voice tight with tension. "I'll stay down here until nightfall. I'll be fine. I just need to wait it out."
Alaric leaned against the wall, crossing his arms once more. His eyes gleamed in the dim light. "Such weakness," he murmured, the amusement still clear in his voice. "To think, all that power, reduced to hiding in the dark like a frightened child.If it were me I would just have killed myself the first chance I get ,than spend the next eternity fearing the sun."
Eric shot him another glare, but the fear in his eyes dulled any threat his look might have held. "You don't get it," he growled, his voice raw as he backed up in the darkest corner his eyes glowing a faint red.
Alaric smirked uncaring. "Get comfortable. It's going to be a long day."