Eric's teeth finally retracted, but he didn't pull back. His lips lingered against the curve of Alaric's neck, tasting the last remnants of blood as if reluctant to break the connection. His chest heaved, the sensation of Alaric's pulse still thrumming in his ears, drowning out any rational thought.
Alaric lay beneath him, his lips parted, his hand grazing over the places where the wounds had once been, now healed, smooth skin beneath his fingertips.
"Full yet?" Alaric murmured, his voice breathy, teasing. His smirk returned, that maddening, infuriating curve of his lips that made Eric's blood boil.
But Eric didn't answer. He couldn't. The hunger hadn't subsided, not entirely, and the taste of Alaric lingered on his tongue like a drug he couldn't get enough of. His hand shot out, gripping Alaric's wrist and pinning it above his head. The motion was quick, forceful, leaving no room for resistance.
Alaric's eyes widened slightly at the sudden aggression, but then his smirk deepened, his breath hitching in his throat. "Careful, Eric," he whispered, his tone dripping with mockery, "you might hurt me."
Eric growled low in his throat, his free hand pressing against Alaric's chest, pinning him further against the mattress. "You're not as fragile as you want me to think," he hissed, his voice rough, almost desperate.
Alaric arched beneath him, deliberately brushing his hips against Eric's in a slow, deliberate grind. His smile turned wicked, his voice dropping to a near-purr. "What can I say? I like seeing you lose control."
"You're so damn smug," Eric muttered, his voice vibrating against Alaric's neck.
Alaric's smirk faltered, just for a second, his breath hitching audibly. But then it returned, sharper, more dangerous. "Then teach me a lesson." he whispered, his voice trembling with something that wasn't quite fear.
Eric's fingers slid higher, tangling in Alaric's hair as he pulled his head back, forcing him to meet his gaze. Their faces were inches apart, breaths mingling, tension crackling between them like a live wire. Eric's eyes burned with hunger, not just for blood but for something deeper, something raw and consuming.
His wounds had sealed themselves completely, but the blood clung stubbornly to his skin, streaking his torso in deep crimson smears. Alaric's eyes followed the trails of blood, his lips parting slightly as a predatory gleam took hold.
For a moment, Eric froze, sensing the shift. Alaric's gaze darkened, his pupils consuming his irises until his eyes became endless black voids, demonic and unrelenting. His lips curled into a smirk that was equal parts amusement and hunger, and before Eric could react, Alaric moved.
With a sudden, fluid motion, Alaric flipped them over, pinning Eric against the ground. His hands found Eric's wrists, holding them down above his head as his body pressed flush against Eric's. He leaned in, his lips brushing just beneath Eric's jaw, close enough to feel the rapid pulse beneath his skin.
"You're so messy," Alaric murmured, his voice low and sultry, dripping with mockery. "Look at you, half-naked, drenched in blood... You don't even realize how good you look like this, do you?"
Eric's chest rose and fell beneath him, his breath uneven. His lips parted to respond, but Alaric didn't give him the chance. Instead, his tongue flicked out, tracing one of the bloodied trails along Eric's collarbone. The taste of blood sent a shiver down Alaric's spine, and he let out a low, satisfied hum, his tongue moving slowly.
When Alaric's tongue traced up to Eric's neck, his lips lingered, sucking gently at the sensitive skin. He pulled back just enough to murmur, "Do you know what's fascinating about you, Eric? You want to dominate, to control, but here you are, pinned beneath me, completely at my mercy."
Eric's eyes flared, his body straining against Alaric's hold, but Alaric only chuckled, his hands sliding down to grip Eric's throat. The pressure was gentle at first, almost teasing, but it was enough to make Eric's breath hitch.
"You trust me to keep you breathing, don't you?" Alaric purred, his thumbs brushing over the sides of Eric's neck. His grip tightened slightly, enough to make Eric's pulse quicken but not to hurt him. "Or maybe... you don't. Maybe that's why you're so desperate to keep me close—because you're terrified of what I'll do when I'm gone."
Eric's breathing became more labored, not from lack of air but from the overwhelming tension between them. His eyes darted to Alaric's, now pitch-black and gleaming with twisted pleasure. "You want to leave me?" Eric rasped, his voice strained but laced with anger.
His patience snapped like a taut thread. With a growl, he moved in a blur, his strength overpowering any resistance Alaric might have given. Before Alaric could react, Eric flipped him effortlessly, forcing his back flush against Eric's blood-slicked chest.
The sudden change in position sent a sharp gasp escaping Alaric's lips, his hands instinctively clutching at Eric's arms. Eric's body pressed hard against him, their frames locking together in a way that left no room for space. Alaric let out a low, unsteady whimper, not of protest but of surrender.
Eric leaned down, his mouth grazing Alaric's ear as he snarled, "You're not running from me. Not now. Not ever."
The heat between them was electric, every touch igniting something dangerous and raw. Alaric's body went rigid for a moment, but then he relaxed, melting into Eric's grip. He tilted his head slightly, offering his neck like a challenge, and whispered in that seductive, taunting tone of his, "Then prove it."
Eric didn't hesitate. With a burst of preternatural speed, he moved them to the bed that he only now realized was in the room. The force of his movement slammed them both down onto the mattress, Alaric sprawled beneath him, breathless and laughing softly as if this were all a game.
His laughter echoed through the dimly lit room, sharp and unrestrained, as if he were on the edge of losing himself completely. His chest heaved with the force of it, his head tilting back into the pillow. Eric, still pinning him down, couldn't help but let the corners of his lips tug upward. It wasn't a full smile—more like the ghost of one—but it was there, a glimmer of amusement breaking through his frustration.
Eric leaned closer, his hand firmly gripping Alaric's wrist, keeping it pinned above his head against the bed. "What's so funny?" he asked, his voice low, the faintest edge of curiosity slipping through his annoyance.
Alaric's laughter slowed to a chuckle, his eyes glimmering with mischief and something darker. His lips curled into a smirk as he tilted his head, meeting Eric's intense gaze with an unbothered ease that bordered on arrogance. "You," he said simply, his voice still tinged with amusement. "You're just… so predictable."
Eric's brow furrowed, his grip tightening slightly on Alaric's wrist. "Predictable?" he echoed, his tone sharp with disbelief.
Alaric's smirk widened, his free hand trailing up to rest lightly against Eric's chest, as if testing the boundaries of control. "Oh, yes. You act like you're in charge—like you have me under control." He laughed again, softer this time, his voice dripping with mockery. "But the truth is, you're ruled by that hunger of yours. It's all over your face, Eric. It's deliciously pathetic. You want me, need me, in every way, but you're too stubborn to admit it."
Eric's jaw clenched, his breath quickening as Alaric's words wormed their way under his skin. His body tensed, every fiber of him screaming for control he felt himself losing. And yet… he couldn't look away. The way Alaric spoke, so sure of himself, so maddeningly unafraid.
Eric's breath hitched, his chest pressing into Alaric's. Slowly, deliberately, he leaned in, their faces inches apart. His lips hovered just above Alaric's, so close that their breaths mingled in the charged air between them. His voice was a growl, low and dangerous. "You talk too much."
Alaric's grin didn't waver. If anything, it grew more wicked, his eyes narrowing with challenge.
Eric's eyes darkened, the tension between them reaching a fever pitch. His grip on Alaric's wrist remained firm as his free hand moved to cup the side of Alaric's jaw, his thumb brushing lightly against his cheekbone. Their lips were almost touching, a breath away, the pull between them as undeniable as it was volatile.
For a moment, neither moved, the room heavy with anticipation. Alaric's pulse raced under Eric's palm, and Eric could feel it—could hear it—calling to him like a siren's song. But he held back, his control razor-thin, the desire to claim Alaric warring with the need to make him beg for it first.
"Say something funny now," Eric murmured, his voice a challenge, a dare, as his lips ghosted over Alaric's without quite making contact.
Alaric's grin faltered, just for a second, his breath catching at the proximity. And then he laughed again, soft and maddening, his eyes locking with Eric's. "Why bother? You're already mine—my precious toy."
"You can deny it all you want. But I see it in your eyes. I feel it in the way you can't let go. You're running from something you can't outrun."
Eric snarled, yanking Alaric closer before shoving him back against the mattress, his voice dripping with venom. "I'm not running from anything. Least of all you."
But even as the words left his mouth, he knew they were a lie. The heat in Alaric's gaze, the intoxicating scent of blood still lingering in the air, the way his heart raced despite himself—it was all too much, too overwhelming. He could feel the cracks forming in his carefully constructed walls, but he wasn't about to let them break. Not here. Not now.
Straightening, Eric forced himself to take a step back, his chest heaving as he glared down at Alaric. "You're not worth it," he spat, his voice hollow, as if trying to convince himself.
Eric stepped back abruptly, like he'd been burned, dragging a hand down his face as if to wipe away the lingering traces of Alaric's presence. His chest heaved, his eyes darting toward the floor to avoid the smirk still plastered across Alaric's face. It felt like admitting defeat just standing there in the suffocating tension, but Eric couldn't give Alaric the satisfaction of knowing how much he'd rattled him.
Alaric propped himself up on his elbows, his smirk shifting into something softer, though the glint of disappointment in his dark eyes betrayed him. He tilted his head, studying Eric with a look that was equal parts bemused and frustrated. "Really?" he drawled, his tone teasing but carrying a sharp edge. "You're going to pull away now? I thought we were having fun."
Eric shot him a glare, the weight of Alaric's words making his stomach twist. "Shut up," he snapped, his voice hoarse, as he backed toward the far end of the room.
Alaric sighed dramatically, letting himself fall back onto the thin mattress with a theatrical groan. "You're no fun, you know that?" He folded his hands behind his head, his smirk returning in full force. "Here we are, two men trapped in this charming prison, and you're still pretending like you don't want to play."
Eric ignored him, his eyes sweeping the room, desperate for anything to focus on besides Alaric. The space was bleak, a far cry from the kind of prison he'd imagined when he first woke up in this place. The room was larger than a typical cell but no less oppressive. Its concrete walls were bare, save for faint stains that hinted at past occupants. A crude shower stood tucked in the far corner, shielded only by a flimsy curtain that barely offered any privacy. Next to it, a small wooden bench held two neatly folded sets of clothes—one white the other one plain and grey.
The air was damp, carrying the metallic tang of rust mixed with mildew, and the single lightbulb dangling from the ceiling cast a dim, flickering glow. The only other furniture was the bed they shared—a narrow, rickety frame with a mattress that was more lumps than cushion. A single pillow sat at the head, and a thin, scratchy blanket was tossed carelessly to the side.
Eric ran a hand through his hair, his skin crawling at the realization that they were meant to live here together, sharing not just the bed but every inch of this miserable space. His gaze lingered on the shower, the lack of privacy making his stomach churn. He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to keep his composure.
Alaric, meanwhile, was watching him like a cat observing its prey, his smirk widening as Eric's discomfort became more apparent. "You know," he said, his voice breaking the silence, "this could be worse. At least we've got running water. And clothes! Fancy."
Eric's glare snapped back to him. "You think this is funny?"
Alaric shrugged, his smirk never faltering. "I think you're funny. Pacing around like a caged animal, trying to pretend you're not completely losing it."
"I'm not losing it," Eric shot back, his voice sharp, though the tightness in his chest suggested otherwise. He turned away, heading toward the shower and pulling the curtain back slightly to inspect it. The water looked functional, though the pipes were corroded, and the drain was clogged with what he hoped wasn't hair. He grimaced, letting the curtain fall back into place.
"I don't get you," Alaric mused, his tone casual but with an edge that made Eric's skin crawl. "You're all fire and fury one second, and then you pull away like a frightened little boy the next. It's almost cute."
Eric turned on him, his fists clenching at his sides. "I said shut up."
Alaric's grin widened, clearly enjoying how easy it was to get under Eric's skin. He sat up fully, resting his forearms on his knees as he leaned forward. "Relax, Eric. We're stuck here together. Might as well make the best of it."
Eric let out a sharp laugh, though there was no humor in it. "The best of it? With you?" He shook his head, pacing toward the opposite wall as if the distance would help him breathe easier. "I'd rather rot in here alone."
"Oh, don't be so dramatic," Alaric said, rising to his feet in one fluid motion. He strolled across the room with an infuriating lack of urgency, stopping just a few feet from Eric. "You'll get used to me. I'm very charming, you know."
Eric scoffed, his gaze fixed on the cracked floor as he muttered, "Charming isn't the word I'd use."
Alaric stepped closer, his voice dropping to a softer, more dangerous tone. "Careful, Eric. Keep talking like that, and I might think you're trying to hurt my feelings."
Eric finally looked up, meeting Alaric's gaze with a steely determination. "Good," he said coldly, though his voice faltered just slightly under the intensity of Alaric's stare.
For a moment, the room was silent, the tension thick enough to choke on. Then Alaric chuckled softly, shaking his head. "You're exhausting," he said, though there was no malice in his tone. He stepped back, giving Eric space but keeping his smirk intact. "I'll take the first bath. Don't peek."
Eric rolled his eyes, his jaw tightening as he turned away. "Go to hell."
Eric clenched his fists, his jaw tightening as he turned away, his mind swirling with confusion and denial. He wasn't gay. He wasn't anything Alaric said he was. He refused to be. This was just a game—one he wouldn't lose. At least, that's what he kept telling himself as he stormed out of the room, leaving Alaric smirking in his wake.
Alaric's face went strangely blank, the ever-present smirk wiped away as if it had never existed. His dark eyes followed Eric's every movement, unblinking and intent, as if watching some unspoken game unfold before him. Without warning, he stood, his sudden movement startling in the large space of the room. He said nothing, only watched, his gaze boring into Eric like a predator waiting for the right moment to pounce.
Eric, feeling Alaric's deep stare,gritted his teeth as he heard the sound of his tattered shirt being taken off. He wasn't going to let Alaric see him squirm. He could hear the thin, damp fabric cling to his skin, peeling away reluctantly as he stripped it off, tossing it aside without care. He moved toward the shower.
Alaric stepped forward. In one swift, unexpected motion, he grabbed the curtain and ripped it free from its rings, the old fabric giving way with a sharp tearing sound. The makeshift barrier fell to the floor in a heap, leaving the shower completely exposed.
Eric glared at him. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
Alaric didn't answer immediately. Instead, he stepped into the small, crude shower area, his movements languid and almost feline. He began peeling off the rest of his own clothes without any regard for Eric's presence, the ragged fabric slipping from his lean, pale frame to pool at his feet. Despite himself, Eric's eyes lingered, his breath catching as he took in the sharp contours of Alaric's figure.
Alaric turned slightly, his head cocked in thought as he examined the ancient, rusted faucet. He reached out to twist one of the knobs but nothing happened. A faint frown tugged at his lips as he tried again, then again, before finally letting out a low, frustrated growl. He turned his head to Eric, his expression exasperated but tinged with something playful. "How does this thing work ?"
Eric stiffened, the irritation in his voice barely masking his growing discomfort. "Are you serious,didn't we bathe together before.Didn't you watch what I was doing?"
Alaric smirked faintly, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Forgive me, I didn't know I had to watch my pet do stuff when I tell him to do it," he said, gesturing vaguely at the grimy, rust-streaked tiles. "So, how about it? Want to help me out, or are you just going to keep watching me?"
Eric cursed under his breath but stepped forward, his body tense as he approached the shower. "Fine. Move and I'm not your pet."
Alaric didn't move. Instead, he stayed exactly where he was, forcing Eric to brush past him to reach the faucet. Eric reached up, his fingers twisting the knobs with practiced ease, and water sputtered to life, spraying cold and harsh from the showerhead. The proximity between them was stifling, Alaric's body radiating heat despite the chill in the air.
Eric was about to step back when Alaric shifted, raising his arms to stretch as if testing the limits of his space. His torso arched slightly, muscles rippling in a way that seemed completely unconscious, though it sent a jolt of heat through Eric's chest. Alaric tilted his head back, letting the water hit him, his neck exposed and his hair slicking back against his scalp. A low, satisfied sigh escaped his lips, a sound that made Eric's breath hitch.
Eric's gaze betrayed him, darting over Alaric's body in a way he couldn't stop. His throat tightened, and a strange heat coiled in his stomach, spreading downward until he had to force himself to look away, his jaw clenching as he cursed inwardly. He wasn't gay. He wasn't. This was just…this was just Alaric being insufferable, invading his space and flaunting himself like it was some kind of sick game.
Alaric, seemingly oblivious to Eric's turmoil, tilted his head to look at him, water dripping down his face and clinging to his eyelashes. His lips curled into a lazy smirk, his voice low and teasing. "What's the matter? You look a little flushed. Don't tell me the cold water's too much for you."
Eric shoved past him, the movement abrupt and almost violent as he stormed away from the shower. His heart was pounding, his hands trembling as he fought to push down the heat building inside him. "Shut up," he muttered, his voice rough. "Just shut up."
Alaric laughed softly, the sound echoing in the tiny room, but he didn't say anything else. Instead, he turned back to the water, letting it wash over him as if nothing had happened. But the glint in his eyes said otherwise, and Eric hated the way it made his pulse quicken.
Eric sat on the edge of the rickety bed, staring at the wall opposite him, or at least, that's what he wanted to believe he was doing. But his gaze kept betraying him, sliding over to the exposed shower where Alaric stood beneath the spray of water. He told himself he wasn't watching. He was just…aware. That was all.
The water ran in uneven bursts, the pressure so low that it barely washed over Alaric's form, but it was enough to catch the faint shimmer of his skin under the flickering light. Eric tried to convince himself it was curiosity—simple human curiosity. Alaric was strange, dangerous even, and watching him was just…self-preservation. Yeah, that was it. Self-preservation.
But then Alaric ran a hand through his hair, pushing the soaked strands back from his face. Water cascaded down his neck, tracing the ridges of his collarbone and the taut lines of his chest before disappearing into the hollows of his lean, scarred body. Eric swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. His fingers twitched, gripping the edge of the bed as he forced himself to look away again.
It didn't work.
Alaric tilted his head back, letting the water spray over his face, and his mouth parted slightly, an exhale slipping past his lips. He rubbed at the back of his neck, the casual motion somehow drawing attention to every sharp, angular detail of him.
He caught himself staring again, his jaw tightening as frustration surged in his chest. He looked away, pretending to fiddle with the frayed fabric of his pants, but the sound of Alaric's low chuckle sent a chill down his spine.
"You know," Alaric said, his voice carrying easily across the room despite the noise of the shower, "for someone who pretends not to care, you're awfully quiet over there."
Eric stiffened, his head snapping up. Alaric was looking at him now, his dark eyes half-lidded and gleaming with amusement. He leaned one shoulder against the wall, the water still streaming down his body, pooling at his feet. His arms were crossed loosely over his chest, but the way he stood, completely at ease in his nakedness, made Eric feel like he was the one who was exposed.
"Shut up," Eric muttered, his voice coming out harsher than he intended.
Alaric raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Touchy, aren't we? Don't worry, sweetheart. I'm not judging. We all have our…curiosities."
Eric's jaw clenched so tight it ached. "I'm not curious," he snapped, the words coming out too fast, too defensive. "I'm just—"
"Watching," Alaric finished for him, his smirk widening into something more wicked. "It's fine, really. I don't mind. I'm flattered."
Eric shot to his feet, his fists curling at his sides. "You're insane," he hissed, the heat rising in his face making his denial even less convincing.
Alaric shrugged, turning back to the water as if the conversation didn't matter to him in the slightest. "Perhaps," he said, his tone casual, almost bored. But the way he tilted his head back again, baring his throat, felt deliberate. Calculated. "Or maybe I just know how to have fun. You should try it sometime."
Eric gritted his teeth and turned his back to him, every muscle in his body coiled tight. He stared at the wall again, his mind racing, trying to drown out the sound of the water, the image of Alaric's body, the way his voice had sounded too close, too intimate.
He wasn't watching. He wasn't.
But he could still feel Alaric's eyes on him, even when his back was turned.
The minutes dragged by, each one stretching longer than the last as Eric tried to keep his breathing steady. He focused on anything but the sound of the water hitting the floor or the faint movements Alaric made behind him. His jaw ached from how tightly he'd been clenching it, and the tension in his shoulders burned.
And then he felt it—warm, wet hands sliding around his neck from behind. The touch light enough to tease but firm enough to make his pulse spike. The water on Alaric's hands was cool against the heat of Eric's skin, and he froze, his entire body going rigid.
"Your turn," Alaric whispered, his voice low and silky, the sound brushing against Eric's ear like a caress.
Eric swallowed hard, his throat bobbing against the pressure of Alaric's hands. He didn't move, didn't speak, as the words settled between them, the tension thickening like a storm about to break. Alaric's fingers shifted, the pads of his thumbs ghosting over the sides of Eric's neck, and Eric could feel the dampness seeping into the collar of his shirt.
"I'm waiting," Alaric murmured, his tone playful but laced with something darker, more demanding.
Eric nodded stiffly, his movements jerky as though his body were fighting against itself.
Alaric stepped back, giving him space, but the air between them felt suffocating. "Go on, then," Alaric said, gesturing toward the shower with a tilt of his head. His eyes gleamed with amusement, but there was something else there too, something hungrier. "Unless you're too shy?"
Eric clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. He refused to give Alaric the satisfaction of a reaction. Instead, he stepped toward the crude shower, his movements stiff, mechanical. His fingers fumbled with the hem of his tattered shirt, and he cursed under his breath, hating how exposed he felt.
Alaric didn't move. He just watched. His eyes roamed over Eric with an intensity that made Eric's skin prickle, heat pooling low in his stomach despite himself. He told himself it was anger, irritation—anything but what it really was.
Eric peeled his shirt off, the fabric clinging to his damp skin before he tossed it aside. The air felt colder now, or maybe it was the weight of Alaric's gaze that made him shiver. He kept his back to Alaric as he unbuttoned his pants, the sound of the zipper loud in the silence.
"You don't have to be so shy," Alaric teased, his voice light but dripping with mockery. "We're both grown men here, aren't we?"
Eric's hands stilled for a moment, his jaw tightening, but he didn't respond. He stepped out of his pants and boxers in one motion, his movements sharp and deliberate as if he could somehow strip away the tension clinging to him. He didn't look back at Alaric, didn't dare. Instead, he stepped under the spray of water, the cold shocking against his overheated skin.
The water sputtered and hissed, drenching him in uneven bursts, but Eric barely noticed. His hands braced against the wall in front of him, his head hanging low as the water cascaded down his back. He told himself to focus, to calm the storm raging in his chest, but it was impossible to ignore the sound of Alaric's low chuckle behind him.
"See?" Alaric said, his tone maddeningly casual. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"
Eric's fingers curled into fists against the wall, his knuckles white. He didn't trust himself to speak, didn't trust himself to even turn around. But he could feel Alaric's presence, closer now, and the heat in his groin flared again, unbidden and unwelcome.
This wasn't happening. He wasn't doing this. He wasn't thinking about him.
The tension in the room lingered even as the water shut off and Eric stepped out of the shower. He grabbed one of the rough towels hanging on a hook nearby and dried himself quickly, his movements brusque as though he could scrub away the feeling of Alaric's eyes on him. He didn't look up, didn't meet Alaric's gaze, even when he felt the man's lingering presence nearby.
Alaric stood near the bed, already half-dressed in the spare set of clothes provided. The white shirt clung to his still-damp body, outlining his lean, wiry frame, and his hair hung wet over his forehead, dripping onto the fabric. He leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed, watching Eric with an unreadable expression.
Eric quickly pulled on his own set of clothes—a plain shirt and loose pants that smelled faintly of bleach and dust,the clothes were different than what he saw other prisoners wearing probably because he didn't do anything that would have that.All he did was follow Alaric. The material was coarse against his skin, but it was better than the tattered remnants he'd been wearing before. As he pulled the shirt over his head, he finally risked a glance at Alaric, who raised an eyebrow in amusement.
"Well," Alaric drawled, gesturing to the single bed in the center of the room, "I guess this is where things get interesting."
Eric's jaw tightened. "We'll make it work," he muttered, trying to sound indifferent, but his voice came out clipped. He focused on the bed, trying not to think about how small it looked—too small for one person, let alone two grown men.
"Oh, I'm sure we will," Alaric said, his voice laced with amusement. He pushed off the wall and approached the bed, sitting down on the edge of it with a deliberate slowness that made Eric's skin crawl. "Unless, of course, you'd prefer the floor?"
Eric shot him a glare. "I'm not sleeping on the floor."
Alaric smirked, leaning back on his hands. "Didn't think so. I don't mind sharing, you know. I'm a very considerate bedmate." His tone was light, teasing, but there was a glint in his eye that made Eric's stomach twist.
"We'll sleep back to back," Eric said firmly, ignoring the heat creeping up his neck. He moved to the other side of the bed and yanked the thin blanket down, arranging it as though the task required all of his attention. "You stay on your side, and I'll stay on mine."
Alaric let out a low chuckle. "Back to back." He stretched out on the bed, his movements unhurried and almost languid, as though he were testing Eric's resolve.
"Well, that's an interesting thought," he murmured, his voice tinged with amusement. "I always assumed you'd be the type to know everything about immortals, given your... well, situation."
Eric, still turned away with his back pressed stiffly against the bed, let out a soft, irritated sigh. "I thought demons didn't sleep," he muttered, his words just barely cutting through the darkened room.
Alaric's chuckle deepened, and Eric could hear the smirk in his voice as he replied. "And I thought vampires didn't sleep either. You know, the whole 'no need for rest' thing." There was a pause, as though Alaric was considering something, then he added, "I guess we're both wrong."
Eric frowned, his jaw tightening as he kept his eyes shut. "You're saying you do sleep, then?" His voice was laced with suspicion. He had always thought vampires didn't need rest—at least, not the way humans did. But hearing Alaric talk about it made him second-guess his assumptions.
Alaric's voice softened slightly, but there was still an underlying humor to it. "Oh, I sleep," he said slowly, "but not like you. Not the way humans do, at least." There was a pause, as if he was savoring his own words. "I suppose, in a way, you should be the one questioning that. Shouldn't a vampire like you have more control over the need for rest?"
Eric clenched his fists beneath the blanket, irritated by the casual way Alaric made him feel like he was somehow deficient or out of place. "I don't need sleep the way you do," he replied, his voice growing sharp. "I'm not human."
Alaric didn't respond for a moment, and the room felt unnervingly still. Then, with a soft laugh, he added, "Fair enough. I just thought we might have more in common than you realize."
Eric didn't know what to say to that. The conversation had taken a turn he wasn't expecting. He was about to roll over and give Alaric another sharp retort when he felt the bed dip slightly again—a subtle movement that sent a sharp jolt of tension through his body.
Alaric was still too close.
Eric lay in silence for a long moment, his thoughts swirling in the darkness of the cramped cell. The bed was uncomfortable, and the air heavy with the kind of stillness that only a prison could hold. He stared at the wall in front of him, unable to fully ignore the presence of Alaric, who sat just beside him, the quiet weight of the moment pressing in on both of them.
Finally, Eric's voice broke the silence, rough and hesitant. "What do you think they'll do to us?" His eyes remained fixed on the wall, but his mind was far from the cold stone—his thoughts were with the future, and the terrifying unknown of what awaited them beyond the prison walls. He had no illusions about their captors. Vampires, demons... neither of them would be given any mercy. The way things stood, they were just another set of broken souls to be used, tortured, and discarded.
Alaric's voice was surprisingly soft, though his words were tinged with an unsettling calm. He tilted his head slightly, his eyes still gleaming darkly in the shadows. "They're going to torture us, Eric," he said, the words almost matter-of-fact, like he'd accepted the fate before it had even arrived. "They're not going to waste any time to mold beings like us into obedient followers."
Eric's heart skipped a beat at the chilling certainty in Alaric's tone. His grip tightened on the sheet beneath him , remembering what Grayson did to him.
Alaric smiled, though the expression held no warmth. It was something darker, more knowing. "I've dealt with people like them before. Torture, manipulation... all the tricks in the book. It doesn't bother me anymore." His eyes shifted to Eric, studying him with a depth that was almost unnerving. "But maybe it'll bother you."
Eric turned his head slightly, meeting Alaric's gaze. There was something in the way Alaric looked at him—something resigned and painful, as though the weight of the world had worn him down to a point of no return. The thought twisted in Eric's chest, pulling at a strange ache he didn't want to acknowledge.
"Maybe," Eric murmured, his voice quieter than he intended. "Maybe it won't."
A moment of heavy silence passed between them, both of them lying there, so close, yet worlds apart.
Eric's hand brushed the edge of the blanket, fingers twitching with uncertainty. "But you're right," he added, voice low. "They won't care. They'll do whatever they want to us. I don't think there's anything left that they could take."
Alaric's gaze never wavered. His smile faded slightly, though the edges of it lingered as he spoke again. "You'd be surprised what they can take," he said softly, his voice tinged with something darker—an experience that was etched into his bones, something only Alaric truly understood.
And with that, the air grew heavier, more suffocating as the two of them, bound by fate and darkness, lay side by side in that tiny prison cell. No words were exchanged for a long while. Both of them knew what awaited them. But in that moment, amidst the sadness, there was an unspoken understanding.
The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy, before Eric's voice broke through, soft and unsteady. "What did they take from you?" His words were laced with curiosity, but there was something deeper—something almost desperate in the question. He had to know, had to understand. He had felt the weight of Alaric's experience, the unspoken pain that lingered beneath every smile, every word.
Alaric was still for a long time, his chest rising and falling slowly, almost as if he hadn't heard the question at first. But then, his gaze shifted, the darkness of the room somehow making his eyes even more inscrutable. He didn't answer immediately, the tension growing as the seconds ticked by. Eric waited, his own breath shallow, as if the answer hung in the air between them.
Finally, Alaric spoke, his voice quieter now, tinged with a bitterness that Eric hadn't heard before. "They took everything," Alaric said, his words almost a whisper. "My best friend... my mother… my humanity."
Eric's heart clenched at the final word. There was a sorrow in Alaric's voice, something raw and vulnerable that Eric hadn't expected. He had assumed that Alaric—immortal, unbroken—had long ago shed all traces of humanity. But hearing him speak those words, there was no mistaking the weight they carried.
Alaric's eyes darkened, and for a moment, Eric saw something deeper than the usual façade. "My mother was the first to go. She betrayed me. Left me to rot in a place far worse than this... I couldn't save her. And that was the moment I lost a piece of myself." Alaric's voice trembled for the first time, but he quickly masked it with a hardened edge. "Then they took the one person I cared about the most. He was everything to me. I couldn't protect him. I couldn't save him. He died in my arms."
Eric's breath caught in his throat. He knew that kind of loss—the kind that carved deep and unhealable wounds. But Alaric's confession was something else, something darker, and it was harder to process.
"They ripped away what was left of me... they twisted me, turned me into something that barely resembled who I once was. I'm not even sure who that person was anymore." Alaric let out a bitter laugh, but it held no humor. It was hollow, devoid of life. "Now, I'm just... this. No past. No future. Just the endless now."
The weight of his words settled in the air like a stormcloud. Eric couldn't say anything for a moment. He didn't know how. Alaric's loss was so profound, so deeply personal. It was something that echoed inside of Eric, the rawness of it pulling at something inside him that he didn't want to acknowledge.
After a long moment of silence, Eric spoke again, though his voice was barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry," he said, the words heavy with sincerity.
Alaric looked at him, a soft, unreadable expression crossing his face. "Don't be," he replied, his voice steady, but there was something in his eyes—something that flickered, just for a moment. "Sorry won't change what's been taken from me."
Eric nodded slowly, the sadness settling in his chest like a lead weight. There was nothing he could say to fix it. No words that could undo the pain that lingered in Alaric's soul. But in that moment, with the darkness of their cell surrounding them, they shared something—something that didn't need to be spoken.
They were broken in their own ways, but for just a fleeting moment, they weren't alone in that brokenness.
Alaric's gaze drifted into the darkness, as though the past were some far-off place he could still see but couldn't quite touch. His words came slowly, as though they were too heavy to be spoken too quickly. The stillness of the room seemed to press against them, making the air thick with memories, memories that Alaric was reluctant to dredge up but couldn't avoid.
"When I was a child," he began, his voice soft but laced with a faint bitterness, "I didn't know what I was. I didn't understand. I was just... a boy. A little boy running through the fields, playing like the others. My mother, she was strange, yes, but she loved me in her own twisted way."
Alaric paused, his eyes distant, as though he could still see the worn, weathered house he had grown up in, the shadows of his younger self running through the corridors of his mind. "She told me stories. Not the kind of fairy tales other mothers told their children. She told me about the old gods, and powers, and the secrets of the earth... black magic." He spat the words like they were poison, but there was no judgment in his tone, only a grim recognition of the horrors that shaped him.
"When I turned 22," Alaric continued, his voice dropping even lower, "that's when I knew something was... off. I didn't age. I didn't change. I thought I was imagining things at first, but... no. I didn't age. I couldn't. I stayed the same. And that's when the villagers started whispering."
Eric listened intently, his own pulse quickening at the revelation. He had always known there was something in Alaric—something otherworldly—but hearing it, hearing how it had all come to be, painted a picture he hadn't been ready for.
"They hated me before that," Alaric murmured, his eyes darkening. "They always feared me. I was different. A being that could blend in with the snow, a strange boy, with a mother who practiced the dark arts in a village where people couldn't even look at the night sky without feeling a fear of it. But after my powers came... that's when things changed. They believed I was cursed. A devil, even."
Eric's chest tightened as he watched Alaric, unable to imagine the kind of isolation, the kind of pain it must've caused. "You're telling me," Eric said softly, almost to himself, "they thought you were the devil?"
Alaric chuckled bitterly, but there was no humor in it. "Wouldn't you?" he asked, his eyes narrowing slightly. "A child of the snow who never grew older, whose mother was a known practitioner of forbidden magics... People fear what they don't understand. And I was something they could never understand."
The weight of Alaric's words settled over them like an oppressive storm, thick with the torment of his childhood. He looked away, eyes fixed on some invisible point in the dark, his posture rigid and tense as though still carrying the burden of all those years.
"They called me a demon. They whispered behind closed doors, threw stones at me in the streets, locked their doors when they saw me coming. I wasn't a boy to them anymore. I was something unnatural. Something evil." His voice faltered for just a second, but he quickly regained his composure. "The things they did to me... they wanted me to be afraid of them. They wanted to break me."
Eric swallowed, his throat tight. He had always sensed that Alaric's immortality came at a cost, but hearing the pain behind his words made it all the more real. He had never known this side of him, never seen the vulnerability behind that hardened exterior.
"Then the years passed," Alaric continued, "and I stopped counting the days. Stopped caring. I couldn't age, but that didn't mean I was free. It just meant I had more time to watch everyone around me wither and die, while I stayed the same. The villagers... they only got worse. They couldn't kill me, but they tried. They tormented me, locked me away, burned me, tried to destroy me. They failed, of course. But it didn't stop them from trying.
"And in the end," he added, his voice dark, "I learned the truth. Immortality doesn't free you. It just makes you... a prisoner of time."
The silence that followed was thick, like a fog that had settled over them. Eric felt the weight of Alaric's history, his suffering. He wanted to say something, to offer some kind of solace, but the words didn't come.
Instead, Eric simply met Alaric's gaze, a silent understanding passing between them. Both of them were prisoners—trapped by their own immortality, haunted by the past, and bound by circumstances beyond their control.
But even in that darkness, in that prison, there was a flicker of something between them—something that neither of them could ignore.
Eric's voice broke the heavy silence, his question coming out almost too abruptly, though it was a curiosity that had been growing since Alaric first began to open up. "What about your best friend?" he asked, eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to peel back yet another layer of the man before him. "What happened with him?"
Alaric's expression flickered, the faintest hint of emotion crossing his features before he quickly masked it. His gaze fell to the floor for a moment, as if lost in the memories, before he slowly lifted his eyes back to Eric. The sadness in his eyes was almost imperceptible, but it was there, a shadow that lingered behind his words.
"I met him during one of those dark years," Alaric began, his voice low and steady. "He was... different. Not like the others who feared me. He saw something in me, something that others couldn't understand. He saved me, in a way." He paused, the corners of his lips curling into a small, sardonic smile. "Saved me from the isolation, from the madness that threatened to overtake me. He introduced me to a world that I never knew existed—chaos, destruction, freedom in death. Before him, I was just a prisoner of my immortality. But with him... I found purpose."
Eric's gaze flickered, unsure of what to make of Alaric's words. There was something unsettling about the way Alaric spoke of his best friend, as if this person had shaped him into the man he had become, molding him into the predator he was now.
"He taught me how to revel in the kill," Alaric continued, his voice growing darker. "He showed me how to embrace what I am, how to savor the chaos. Without him... I wouldn't be who I am today. I wouldn't have realized the joy of taking lives. I wouldn't have known that freedom."
Eric's pulse quickened, a shiver running down his spine. The way Alaric spoke about his friend—it was almost reverent, as if this man was more than just an ally to him. It was as though Alaric had been shaped by him in ways that ran deeper than mere friendship.
The thought lingered in Eric's mind, his own dark curiosity gnawing at him. Who could a man like that be? The kind of person who could take a broken, immortal soul like Alaric and shape him into something darker, something more dangerous.
In the quiet of the room, Eric's thoughts twisted, imagining this "best friend" as a figure so much worse than Alaric. Someone who had perhaps taken that initial seed of darkness within him and turned it into a full-blown monster. Maybe even a monster that made Alaric's actions seem tame in comparison.
"You're thinking about him, aren't you?" he said, his voice soft and almost amused. "Wondering what kind of monster would have such an influence over me, over anyone. But you wouldn't understand until you met him yourself. Perhaps you never will."
Eric remained silent, unsure of how to respond. He didn't need to ask more questions. The tension in the room was thick, both men suspended in the heavy weight of their shared history.
But despite the unease that churned in Eric's chest, a part of him couldn't help but be intrigued, drawn to the dangerous allure of the story Alaric had just hinted at.
"Maybe I don't want to understand," Eric finally muttered, his words laced with a bitterness he didn't quite understand himself. The thought of someone being worse than Alaric was unsettling, almost enough to make him question everything about the strange bond that had already begun to form between them.