Chapter Text
A curse of madness has darkened the Emeritus home, Terzo is certain of it.
Copia has always been a wet-eyed, sentimental sap, so Terzo wasn’t terribly surprised when he showed up one night with an equally doe-eyed human pet in tow. During the first few weeks of Copia’s folly, Perpetua and Terzo would meet up and gossip over glasses of O-Neg, placing bets on how long it would take for Copia’s pet to get sick of his incessant fawning and fussing.
Then, like some sort of sick joke, Perpetua brought home that poor girl with the broken leg, nursed her back to health and… just let her stay. Indefinitely. Terzo lost his favorite snarking buddy to a pet, and he’s trying to not let himself feel too bruised about it.
Trying is absolutely the operative word here. Perpetua was on the receiving end of the silent treatment for a good week after it became clear to Terzo that his new favorite human wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.
Terzo’s determined to take it in stride, though. He’s a gourmand, a true man of wealth and taste with a discerning palate. He’s never been the wallflower at the clubs like Copia, making awkward eyes at humans until someone offers up their neck. He’s never prowled the streets like Perpetua, feeding and fucking with reckless abandon. He’s choosy, and he while he does have favorites in the Ministry flock, he’s an equal opportunity bloodsucker so long as the human passes muster.
Above all else and to his credit, he’s certainly never considered taking a pet.
That is, of course, until you come knocking.
It’s an October evening, just past nine – early enough that anyone with manners wouldn’t have bothered. Cozy in his coffin, just beginning his nightly doomscroll, Terzo ignores the first round of knocks. And the second. When the third round of knocking starts, he throws his phone aside, pushes his coffin lid open, and stomps down the hall to his front door.
“Copia, if you locked yourself out again, take it up with someone else–” he starts, flinging open his door and not even bothering to look at who waits on the other side of the threshold. Whoever it is, they’re rude and certainly not worth his time.
“Copia?” comes your voice, clear as a bell. “That’s your brother, right?”
Terzo comes to his senses and gets a good look at the human woman before him. You stand nearly eye-level with him, dressed in your business casual best from H&M and holding a manilla folder in your hands. Your hair is pulled back in a neat ponytail, and your neck is unadorned, no jewelry to be seen. It piques his interest; metal on the skin, he’s come to discover, pollutes the taste of fresh blood.
He scoffs. “And what’s it to you?”
You shift on your feet. You look nervous, and you should be.
Terzo has a reputation: moody, picky. Snooty. Terzo doesn’t feed from strangers. Terzo knows what he likes, and there’s very little anyone can do to change that. You’re desperate, though, and you’ll be damned if you don’t at least try.
“Look,” you say. “I’m completely and totally fucked. I’m up shit creek without a paddle. I lost my job, and I’m behind on rent–”
“If it’s money you want, this isn’t a charity.” Terzo would normally shut the door and walk away to begin his night, but something about you is holding him back. Maybe it’s the smell of your skin, clean and unmarred with perfumes. Or maybe it’s the truly desperate look you’re giving him. Is he going soft?
“I’m not asking for money, Mr. Emeritus,” you continue. “I’m offering my blood. Give me a place to live, and I’ll be your very own private bloodbag.”
Terzo actually laughs at that. “You’re a funny one, do you know that? We’re not looking to expand the flock, agnellina. And showing up in a little pantsuit with a resume certainly isn’t how you find a home here.”
You furrow your brow and frown, shoving your folder into his hands. He fumbles it, and a slew of papers fall to the black marble floor. “I’m not picking that up,” you say. To his surprise, Terzo looks at you with wide eyes before bending down to gather the mess of fallen paper. “It’s my bloodwork. Mr. Emeritus, I’ve done my research. I know you have very particular tastes and very high standards. I think you’ll find that I’m exactly to your liking.”
Terzo gives you an incredulous look before shuffling the papers back into some semblance of a neat stack. It’s your bloodwork, alright – a detailed report of your red and white blood cell counts, your enzyme and electrolyte levels, a comprehensive metabolic panel – and it goes on for pages upon pages. His eyebrows shoot up toward his hairline. The Ministry doesn’t even pull reports this detailed for its flock.
Your voice cuts through the silence. “The last page is a summary of these findings. If you’re interested in reading that. Save yourself a little time.”
Your throat bobs as you swallow. Terzo watches hungrily. His fangs ache as he flips through the papers in his hands. He skims the text, eyes darting between the summary report and your flushed face. He can hardly believe what he’s seeing.
You’re perfect.
He’d be an idiot to say no. Your bloodwork indicates that you’re everything he likes, put together in one convenient human-shaped package. In all his unlife, he’s never found someone like you, and here you are. He wonders for a fleeting moment if the Lord Below made you just for him and delivered you right to his doorstep, like some sort of perverse, unholy GrubHub.
His mouth waters as he looks you over in your navy blue separates, your patent leather pumps. Your neat, bouncy ponytail, the pearl earrings shining on your ear lobes. He can see your pulse thrum quicker in your neck under his scrutinizing gaze, and his nostrils flare as he breathes in your scent. Your eyes get dark, pupils dilating.
Unholy Father, is this determined little human really going to make him keep her? She’s not a pet, he tells himself. This is purely transactional. This is okay.
Terzo sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Okay. Okay, fine,” he says, suddenly very resigned to what’s about to happen. “There’s some paperwork you’ll need to sign before I feed from you, but truthfully I’m starving. Come now, let’s not waste time.”
He ushers you into his foyer, and you pump your fist in victory, hissing a triumphant yes under your breath.
“Don’t gloat, agnellina. It’s unbecoming,” he says before turning to walk down his cavernous hallway.
You nod. “Yes, Mr. Emeritus,” you say, moving to follow.
“Mr. Emeritus, ha. If we’re really doing this, please call me Terzo.”He looks over his shoulder at you, and a thrill runs through your body as his eyes rake over your form.
The curse of madness, it seems, has darkened his doorway, too.
Chapter Text
ou’re shaking with excitement as you follow Terzo down the hall, still half-disbelieving that your insane plan actually worked. Given your recent run of shit luck, it wouldn’t have surprised you if this didn’t work out, either.
A few months ago, your human-owned company was bought out by a multinational vampire conglomerate, and your position was unsurprisingly cut. While you lived off your severance package, you researched the Emeritus feeder flock like it was your full time job. The Emeritus family pretends like their selection process is some big secret, but members of the flock come and go and talk like with any other job. In any case, tastes don’t change much in hundreds of years, and you had hundreds of years of testimony to pour over.
You got your bloodwork done and compared the lab’s findings to your expertly organized chart of Emeritus brother preferences. It was hard for you to believe your eyes as you compared notes. Increasingly, it looked like you were tailor-made for Terzo. You knew it was unrealistic to consider that Terzo might be agreeable to what you were asking for, and yet here you are anyway. You can scarcely believe you’ve made it this far.
At least you’re offering yourself up to someone handsome.
Terzo takes a sharp right turn down another hallway, and you follow, trying to not walk too closely behind him. It’s not long before you reach his office. Bookshelves line the walls, and a gleaming dark wood desk sits in the middle of the room. He flicks on a light and motions for you to sit.
If you weren’t so nervous, you would have to laugh at the absurdity of the situation you’ve found yourself in. The notoriously suave, sexy Terzo Emeritus sits before you with a bare face, something he’s reticent to show anyone. He’s wearing monogrammed black silk pajamas and fuzzy slippers, and he has a terrible case of bed head. Coffin head. Whatever.
He pulls open a desk drawer and thumbs through files of paperwork until he finds the contract he’s looking for. The heading of the front page states, in bold print:
EMERITUS FAMILY FLOCK BLOOD DONOR AGREEMENT
and Acknowledgement of Receipt of Disclosures and Instructions
Terzo crosses out “family flock” and writes “private” above it in neat cursive.
“I haven’t taken a private donor in centuries, but I think this contract will still cover everything. Please take a moment to review it. I want you to be certain you know what you’re agreeing to,” he says, sliding the contract across the desk to you and handing you a pen. You’re a little irritated that he’s writing with a fancy fountain pen and you’re left with a stock standard ballpoint pen but hey, beggars can’t be choosers. You suppose that in this moment, you’re still begging.
Dedicated researcher that you are, you reviewed a decent amount of donor contracts before deciding this was something you really wanted to get yourself into. There’s nothing out of the ordinary in what you’ve read so far, but there’s one nagging question you need answered before you enter any sort of legally binding agreement with this man.
“Just checking – this isn’t a companion feedee situation, is it?” you ask, your eyes skimming the contract before looking back up at Terzo. Granted, you’ve never seen pictures of him for the obvious reasons, but there is plenty of art of the Emeritus brothers available online. From the drawings and paintings and hearsay, you gathered that he was handsome, but it doesn’t compare to seeing him in the flesh. He’s achingly attractive, with his strong brow, Roman nose, and full lips. His hair is as dark as the night he rules, and the otherworldly glow of his white Eye is hard to look away from. Your pen hovers over the page, waiting for his response before you sign yourself away.
Terzo groans. “Companion feedee? Is that what they’re calling pets these days?”
You nod. “I think that’s the preferred term among some people, yes. I guess it sounds more polite.” You shrug.
Terzo thinks of his foolish brothers and scoffs. “No,” he says. “Nothing like that. This contract states that we’re entering a mutually beneficial partnership. I will have exclusive rights to feed from you, and in return, you live here rent-free and fully provided for. Of course, you’re free to come and go as you please during the day but at night, you’re mine. But no, you’re not signing up to be my companion feedee.” His upper lip curls in disgust as the words leave his mouth. Ridiculous.
“So this is a business agreement, essentially,” you reply, feeling more at ease. You need a roof over your head – not a keeper, not a master.
“Essentially, yes,” Terzo confirms.
Your pen flies across the page before Terzo has finished speaking, and you slide the contract across the desk for him to sign as well. With all the panache you would expect from a vampire, he touches the nib of his pen to his tongue before dipping it in a well of ink. His signature is the Roman numeral III, and the lines run down the paper like claw marks.
“So, getting right down to business,” Terzo says, tapping the packet of paperwork against his desk before sliding it into an actual, physical file folder and stowing it away in a drawer. “You’ve been fed from before, I assume?” He doesn’t expect you to answer anything but yes, prepared as you are. This clearly isn’t your first rodeo, and most humans have offered themselves up for a little nibble at one point or another.
It comes as a surprise, then, when you press your lips together and shake your head no. He balks.
“Really?” he asks, trying to not sound as shocked as he feels. “Never? Not even once?”
“Never,” you say shyly. You duck your head, trying to avoid his eyes. His eerie duochrome gaze finds you and holds you anyway, precise as a heat-seeking missile.
“Agnellina is a virgin,” he coos, lacing his fingers together and resting his chin on them. He leers at you from across the desk, and for a moment, you’re starkly aware that he’s a predator and you’re his prey, however consensual the arrangement may be.
“Don’t put it like that,” you shoot back, rolling your eyes. “I have plenty of experience. Just not in that area.” Self-consciousness creeps over your body despite yourself, and you feel your face get warmer the longer he leers.
“Can I ask why?” The question is surprisingly gentle coming from the man who just ribbed you about your bloodbag virginity.
“It’s stupid,” you reply. “You’re going to laugh.”
He heaves a sigh. “Don’t leave me waiting in suspense. I promise I will not laugh. I’m just intrigued, is all. It’s unusual that I cross paths with a–”
“Stop saying virgin!” you blurt. You clear your throat before continuing. “I’m um. Afraid of blood,” you admit. Your face burns with your confession. You’re certain that he’s going to toss your freshly-signed agreement into the fireplace before the ink has even fully dried and then kick your ass to the curb. You brace yourself for his rejection as he rises from his tall-backed, oxblood leather desk chair, resigned to the fact that yet again, your life is about to fall apart.
To your surprise, he saunters around to where you sit and slinks behind you. You shiver as he dips down to nose along the cord of your neck. His breath tickles while he scents you, and his pleasured sigh makes goosebumps rise along your arms and legs.
“Many humans find being fed from a relaxing experience. Pleasurable, even. With me, agnellina, it will never hurt. This I can promise you. You have nothing to be afraid of.” His hands come to rest on your shoulders, and you’re surprised how quickly he’s able to put you at ease. You’re not sure if it’s some sort of vampiric mind manipulation or just Terzo’s infamous charm, but your heart slows.
“Join me on the couch for a bite?” he asks, breath chilly on the tender skin underneath your ear.
You shiver pleasantly. “That’s a terrible joke,” you reply, huffing a laugh despite yourself and pushing yourself up from your chair. Terzo comes to your side and offers you his hand. You take it, noticing his neat, black-lacquered nails, and try not to flinch at his preternaturally cold skin.
Spellbound, you let Terzo lead you to the tufted velvet couch pushed up against the far wall of his office. You sit side-by-side, strangely relaxed despite knowing what’s about to happen. You’re food, and this is a roof over your head. Don’t let yourself get too comfortable.
“Wrist or neck?” Terzo asks, stroking his hand down your thigh.
“Neck,” you say, a little breathless. “It’ll be harder for me to see what’s happening that way.” The last thing you want is to catch a glimpse of your own blood flowing from your body and pass out the way you did at the phlebotomist’s office. Terzo has shown you more goodwill than you expected, but you’re not looking to try your luck anytime soon. You imagine that he’d balk at you fainting at the sight of blood.
A smile creeps across Terzo’s face. Call him old-fashioned, but he would rather drink from a neck than a wrist any day. People sticking out their wrists, squeezing their eyes shut, and turning away is so impersonal. There’s something romantic about sinking his fangs into the thin, tender skin of a willing human’s neck.
“Excellent,” Terzo purrs. He nuzzles closer to you; being someone’s meal is so much more intimate than you expected it to be. You suck in a breath and exhale slowly. You feel your body tense up despite your best efforts. “Relax.”
“Okay,” you whisper. “I’m relaxed.” You’ve unclenched your fists, and you think that counts for something.
Terzo chuckles, staying close to you while he reaches for an alcohol wipe from a crystal bowl on an end table near the couch. In spite of Terzo trying to soothe you, you’re still scared, and you refuse to look at what he’s doing. You hear the tear of the packet being opened and feel the cool kiss of alcohol on the skin above your jugular vein.
“I want to make sure your skin is clean for me,” he tells you, fanning his hand back and forth over the rapidly drying swipe of antiseptic. “You’ve eaten recently, yes?”
“About an hour or so ago, yeah,” you reply.
“Good, good. I can’t have you keeling over on me.” He pauses a beat to wait for you to reply. When you don’t say anything, he barks a jovial, “Kidding!”
You offer your best light-hearted chuckle in response. Your head is still turned away, but you can envision the sly, handsome smirk Terzo is giving you. He taps his index and middle fingers over your jugular.
“You’re well hydrated,” he remarks. You try to not feel like a piece of meat. He’s not trying to degrade you – he’s a vampire, and this is just what vampires do. This is what you very literally signed up for.
“I’ve read that it helps move the process along.” Your voice is so quiet that you can barely hear yourself speak. Your pulse roars in your ears.
“Agnellina is a good study,” Terzo says. You can feel him move closer to you. “Are you ready?” When you nod your head, Terzo chides, “I need to hear you say yes.”
“Yes,” you whimper. Anticipation is getting the best of you. “Just – don’t warn me. I’m nervous. It’ll make it worse.”
Quicker than you can process what’s happening, Terzo closes his mouth over the spot where your pulse beats. You feel the cool press of his tongue on your skin, and then a numbness not unlike lidocaine during dental surgery. You tense up, still expecting to feel the stab of his fangs into your flesh, but all you feel is a dull pressure as he breaks your skin. You read plenty about the anesthetic qualities of vampire saliva, but you didn’t quite believe it until now. After the initial burst of sensation, all you feel is pleasant, floaty warmth. If you didn’t know any better, you would call it orgasmic. You gasp, and Terzo inhales sharply through his nose as he drinks you in.
His eyes flutter. It’s been ages since he’s drank from a virgin, and his toes curl in his slippers. He was only mildly hungry before, but now he’s ravenous, eager to consume as much as he can get away with. Your hand grips his knee as a whimper escapes your lips, and Terzo outright moans. The noise vibrates against your skin, and your other hand reaches around to find purchase in his hair, gripping the short hairs at the base of his neck.
Your bloodwork certainly didn’t lie. Even with the bitter tang of adrenaline and cortisol, you taste superb – thick and warm and iron-rich. He’s nearly drunk on you, perfect little lamb that you are. It takes him a moment to register that you’re tapping his knee weakly.
“Mr. Emer – Terzo, Terzo, please,” you rasp. “I think it’s too much.”
Terzo pulls away immediately, swiping his thumb across the twin wounds on your neck to gather the last drops of blood he finds there. He may be a vampire, but he’s not a monster, and draining you dead is the last thing he wants to do.
“Sorry, sorry,” he whispers. He fumbles for another alcohol wipe before reaching for the gauze and bandages he also keeps nearby.
You wobble a little on the couch, finding it hard to remain upright while Terzo cleans and bandages your wounds. Rather than fight it, you give in and slump over, your upper body horizontal while your legs dangle off the couch, grazing the floor.
“I’ll be right back,” he says, patting your hip. You give him a lazy thumbs up. The couch shifts as he stands up, and you watch with blurry vision as he leaves the room. He’s not gone long, and he returns with a glass of orange juice and a plate of crackers. “Sit up while you eat. There you go,” he says while he moves you upright once again.
You raise the glass to your lips with a trembling hand and take a sip. With your other hand, you grab a cracker off the plate and push it into your mouth. Amusedly, you think that the aftermath of your first feed isn’t unlike the aftermath of many a drunken night out in college. The room spins, and you groan and clamp your eyes shut.
“The first time can be a lot, I’m told,” he says from the other end of the couch.
“Sorry,” you mumble through mouthfuls of dry cracker. “Don’t want you to think that I’m a. Lightweight.” Your tongue feels heavy in your mouth, and you gulp down orange juice.
“I feel like I made a bad first impression as a lush,” Terzo laughs. “I’m not normally so greedy. I’ll mind my manners next time.” Cheeky motherfucker has the gall to wink at you.
The juice and crackers bring you back to life, bit by bit. The room stops spinning, and Terzo leaves and returns a second time with a shot glass full of vitamins and a glass of electrolyte drink. Your stomach roils at the thought of downing another full glass of liquid, but he insists, watching as you down the pills and chase them with the sweet-salty concoction. Once Terzo is reasonable certain that you won’t collapse in the hall, he leads you to your new room. While he opens the door, he doesn’t step inside. “This is your space,” he explains. “Your domain, if you will. You will need to invite me in, if you ever choose to do so. Make yourself at home.”
It’s a cozy space – larger than the room you’ve been renting. Larger than any room you’ve ever called your own. It’s sparsely furnished; there’s a bed pushed against one wall, and a small dresser pushed against the other. You expected decades worth of dust to cover the flat surfaces, but it seems like it was somewhat recently cleaned. You feel a sharp, unexpected pang of jealousy as you wonder if any other humans have shacked up in this room before, and if so, how recently.
“Thank you,” you say softly, still feeling mildly unsteady on your feet. You hold onto the doorjamb for balance as you step through the threshold. You don’t miss how Terzo keeps his hand on the small of your back until you’re all the way into your new room. You turn to face him on the other side of the doorway. “I guess this is goodnight?” It feels like the polite thing to say, and you hope it doesn’t sound stupid to Terzo.
“If you’re tired, please retire for the night,” he says. In the lamplight, you notice the barest hint of a flush to his skin. There’s a warm sense of pride in knowing that it is your blood that’s flowing through his undead veins, bringing pale color to his face, however briefly. He gives you a small, almost boyish smile. “I’m not good at this part. Will I see you tomorrow night?”
You return the expression. Your heart flutters fondly in your chest like a little bird, and you hope that your foolish, tender self won’t go and catch feelings from the vampire who has exclusive rights to your blood. “I’m not going anywhere.”
He claps his hands together. “Well, then. I think there are some clothes in the dresser.” You must look confused about why Terzo would keep spare clothes around, so he hastily adds, “Extras. From the flock. They’re in storage here.”
You nod, and you feel the sudden urge to kiss him goodnight. It seems right, but you tamp it down, just like you do with most other desires. “Thank you, Terzo,” you say, “for giving me a chance.”
That catches Terzo off-guard, and he gives you a wide-eyed look. If his heart still beat, it would have given a mighty thump. “The pleasure is all mine.”
You smile softly. “Goodnight, Terzo.”
“Goodnight,” he says, and he watches your form shrink into a sliver as you close the door to him.
Chapter Text
Sunlight streams in through the blinds when you wake. You’re not sure how long you slept, but Terzo has obviously retreated to his coffin for the day, and there’s a heady rush in knowing that the day is yours. Adapting to a more nocturnal schedule will take time, but since your full-time job is now personal bloodbag, you’ve got all the time in the world.
The cocktail of vitamins and powdered electrolyte drink Terzo insisted you consume last night must have done some good, because you don’t feel half bad this morning. You slide out of bed and pad over to the mirror above the small dresser; unsurprisingly, it’s the only mirror you’ve noticed in the mansion so far.
Curiosity gets the better of you, and you peel away the bandage covering your bite wound. You expect a gruesome sight beneath the gauze, but to your surprise, whatever carnage he caused the night before is more or less healed. The only evidence of his feasting are two pin-prick marks where his fangs pierced your skin and some light bruising, not unlike the aftermath of a blood draw. Your fingers graze your neck, and while you’re tender where he bit you, it doesn’t hurt.
You wonder how long it will be until Terzo feeds from you again, and the thought makes your heart race. You remember the feeling of his cold, wet mouth on your neck, the way that he moaned, and your face gets warm.
Before you can let yourself get too carried away, a note written in neat cursive slid under the door catches your eye.
Agnellina,
Today while I sleep, please move yourself in. This space is yours. Meet me for dinner tonight at 10:00. I’ll be dreaming of the taste of you.
Terzo x
You blush despite yourself. Terzo probably didn’t mean for his note to sound so flirtatious, and even though he’s inviting your for a dinner date, there’s nothing romantic about it. Especially when it’s you on the menu.
After changing back into the interview-ready clothes you arrived wearing, you trek back to where you parked your shitbox car the night before. You pray to whichever deity may be listening that it starts up, and you swear your eternal gratitude to them when it does. As you putter along, the landscape of the city changes from the upper class neighborhoods populated by vampires to the seedier, run down neighborhoods where humans by and large live.
You’ve been subleasing a furnished shoebox of a room from a friend of a friend for the past few months, so you’re able to fit all your clothes and personal affects into a suitcase and a single cardboard box. You leave your key on the kitchen counter with a hastily scrawled note: Found another place to live, send me my deposit when you can. Your roommates are almost never home, so who knows how long it’ll be before they notice that you’ve moved out. That’s not your problem anymore, though.
Your car struggles back up the hill toward the Emeritus estate. By some miracle, you make there without issue, but the way it groans and sputters when you put it in park and kill the engine makes you think it may have finally bitten the dust.
You pop the trunk, removing your belongings, and give the hood a final, fond smack before returning inside.
Late in the afternoon, you treat yourself to a nap. The light coming through the blinds is warm and golden, and despite your life currently existing in a box and a suitcase, it hits you that you’re finally home.
The world outside is shrouded by darkness when you wake once again. You shower and let your hair air-dry, falling loose around your face. When you imagine dinner with Terzo, you picture a long dining room table, lit with candles, light dancing over his handsome features. You feel the warm tingle of arousal between your legs thinking about his hands roaming over your skin, tangled in your hair and tugging to expose the column of your neck to his eager mouth.
You open your suitcase to consider your meager options for a nicer dinner: either an plum sweater dress with a turtle neck, or a body-hugging, long-sleeved black dress with a scoop neck. It occurs to you that wearing a turtle neck might be troublesome to a vampire dinner, so you opt for your second choice. You’ve always loved the way the black dress shows off your décolletage. You hope Terzo will like it, too.
Get a grip, you tell yourself. This isn’t a date, and you wish you weren’t so tempted to treat it like one. You resent how easy it’s been for you to fall under Terzo’s spell. The quickly blooming attraction you feel toward him makes it challenging to look at this as anything more than a mutually beneficial business arrangement. You’re smart enough to not hope too deeply for anything more. He likes you for your blood, and you’d be a fool to think there’s anything more to it than that.
Terzo knew the moment that you shut his door to him last night that he was in deep, deep trouble. He’s fucked plenty of humans, and he’s fucked plenty of vampires. He’s had longer relationships and short, tawdry affairs. He’s found plenty of people attractive, but he’s never been as instantly and wholly attracted to anyone as he is to you. He wants to keep you and care for you and run his fingers through your hair. The fleeting thought of any other vampire drinking from you is enough to make him see red.
It isn’t just your blood, warm and metallic on his tongue, though that certainly plays a part. What he feels is instinctual and innate, beyond memory; the distant familiarity of a word dancing on the tip of his tongue. If any other human had the audacity to knock at his door and shove a folder full of lab work results into his hands first thing at night, he would have shut the door in their face. You, though – you ensnared him the moment he laid eyes on you and refused to let him go.
Is this what Copia and Perpetua both felt? His stomach twists with something akin to empathy. He’s known you existed for less than a single night. He can’t imagine a world without you.
The first thing Terzo does after you retire to bed is run back to his room and take himself in his fist. When he comes, it is with your name on his lips. For a moment, he lays in his coffin with his eyes closed, hoping that post-orgasm clarity will dawn on him and he’ll be back to normal, free from your spell. He waits, and he waits, and nothing changes. The crushing intensity of his newfound feelings terrifies him. He never wants the feeling to end.
He spends his night making dinner preparations for the following evening. The Emeritus family has a human chef on staff for the needs of the flock, and Terzo calls in a favor for a private dinner. He makes the chef swear a vow of secrecy that his brothers will hear absolutely nothing about this. The chef gives Terzo a knowing smile and says that his dinner plans will stay between them.
You arrive for dinner right at 10:00, just as Terzo requested. A glittering chandelier hangs over the dining table, which is smaller than you expected – there’s just enough room for two. Terzo sits and waits for you, dressed in a sharp suit fitting for one of his kind and stature. Unlike last night, his face is painted in his signature skull-like visage, and his hair is slicked back, shiny under the shimmering lights. When you look at him, you’re reminded of an artist whose work you once saw; Leyendecker, you think.
You sit, and you sweep your hair over one shoulder to show off the line of your neck, making eye contact with Terzo while you do so. His bite from the previous night has all but disappeared, and his mouth aches when it registers that your neck is healed. He longs to mark you again and again and again. Without the sour tang of your jittery nerves, he picks up on your true essence for the first time: clean and earthy, like properly brewed green tea or the smell of the sky just before it rains. Simple but enchanting. He would wear you as cologne if he could.
At your place setting is a dish covered with a metal cloche. “Is it rude to start eating before you’ve had your meal?” you ask, lips crooking up at the corners.
Terzo reaches across the small table and lifts your chin with a gloved hand. You shiver, and you squeeze your thighs together. You’re a little resentful that a single look and touch from Terzo can turn you to jelly and send heat pooling between your legs. “Don’t you know, cara, that you have to finish your dinner before I can indulge in mine?”
He lets his hand drop and motions for you to remove the cloche from the dish, which you do. You’re hit with the savory smell of steak, nestled up against mashed sweet potatoes and roasted broccoli on your plate. Your stomach grumbles; it’s one of the nicest-looking meals you’ve had in a while, and after subsisting on cheap ramen and peanut butter sandwiches for months, you can’t wait to dig in.
“Did you cook this?” you ask between bites. The steak is tender and savory, and as much as you want to wolf down the meal, you also want to be a polite dinner guest.
Terzo laughs, bemused. “No, no. I can’t say that I’ve ever cooked. We have a human chef on staff for the–”
“For the flock,” you finish, your voice overlapping with Terzo. Suddenly, you’re once again reminded of the nature of your arrangement, and disappointment twists in your gut. Your stomach feels sour, but you finish your meal anyway. You wonder how, in the course of twenty-four hours, you went from wanting a strictly business relationship to wanting something more. You curse yourself for falling under his spell so easily.
Terzo goes quiet while you eat. His face prickles with something that must be embarrassment; something he hasn’t felt in a very long time. He knows how to work a crowd, how to charm a single hapless human into being his meal for the night. He’s quickly realizing that he’s very out of practice at one-on-one conversation. Terzo is magnetic, he is persuasive and charming, and he’s almost never been awkward. For the rest of the time you eat, you don’t meet his eyes.
He takes your hand in his while he guides you into the sitting room where he will take his evening meal. He leads you to a dark plum, velvet loveseat. Even though your feelings are bruised, you still allow yourself to nestle close to him, granting him easy access to wherever he chooses to feed tonight.
“Before we begin,” he says, stroking his fingers over your legs. “I hurt you earlier, while you ate.”
You scrunch your nose and weigh your next words carefully. “I didn’t have any reason to get hurt,” you say. “I asked a question, and you answered honestly.” You shrug, trying to act cool and noncommittal. Your heart is racing, and you know Terzo can tell. “No big deal.”
“Look at me, agnellina.” His voice is low and silky. “I spend a lot of time alone. I’m rarely with my brothers, and I’m rarely alone with humans these days. These days, I’m not the best at one-on-one conversation. If our little business arrangement is to work out, I think it’s best that we are on good terms. Does that sound agreeable to you?”
Your heart thumps extra hard, because you were not expecting any show of vulnerability from the vampire whom you’ve sworn your fealty to. It certainly does little to stymie your intense, rapidly growing infatuation for him. “It does. Thank you,” is all you can muster the brainpower to say. This all feels too good to be true. Maybe Terzo drained you to the brink of death last night and this is all just a delicious dream. If it is, you don’t want to wake up anytime soon.
Terzo takes your hand and presses a marble cold kiss to its back. “I’ll drink from your wrist tonight,” he says against your skin. He looks up and locks eyes with you. “It can be hard on the human body if a vampire exclusively feeds from one spot. Not good for the veins.”
“Okay,” you reply, voice shaking.
“I’ll talk you through it, cara. I’ll let you know when to look away.”
You nod your consent, but the nerves from last night come rushing back anyway.
“Relax,” he tells you, turning your hand over and kissing the inside of your wrist, right where your veins are visible through your skin. Without thinking, you tip your head back. A breathy moan escapes your lips, and arousal starts pooling warm and honey-slow in your belly. “I’m going to begin.”
You look away and squeeze your eyes shut. “Relax,” Terzo says again. “You’re shaking.”
“Sorry,” you mutter, embarrassed that your phobia so easily get the best of you.
“I won’t hear it. Trust me to take care of you.” He brushes his lips over your wrist, and you allow yourself to relax. Just as he did the night before, Terzo presses the flat of his tongue against your flesh. You feel numbness before the blunt pressure of Terzo’s teeth breaks the skin. Tonight, Terzo is vocal while he drinks, and you hear a symphony of soft little grunts and moans and slurps as he takes what he needs from you. In a moment of bravery, you turn your head and open your eyes. The sight of Terzo, face slack and eyes fluttery, makes you gasp. Your cunt pulses with want. He pulls away from your wrist and looks up. Your arm falls into your lap as you watch Terzo, entranced.
His breathing is hard, and his lower lip is smeared with your blood, stark red against the white of his paint. What immediately catches your attention though, is that his pupils are blown black, and he looks lost to lust. Your eyes trail down, and you gasp when you notice very prominent tent in his very expensive pants. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, smearing your blood through his paints. His chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath. He looks like he wants to wholly devour you, and you would let him. You would crack open your chest and let him live in your ribcage if you could, nestled right behind your heart. You would let him drink your lifeblood from the very source.
The sound of Terzo’s ragged voice brings you out of your macabre daydream.
“The feeling will pass, agnellina,” he tells you. “It always does.”
Chapter Text
For the second night in a row, you wholly consume Terzo’s thoughts. After he feeds from you, after he bandages your wrist and makes sure your fragile human body is hydrated and fed, you doze off on the couch. Rather than wake you and usher you off to your room, he watches you sleep with a kind of tender fascination. You’re a vision, disheveled in a beautiful dress with your hair and cheek smushed into the velvet cushion. Your face is slack, and your relaxed expression makes emotion flutter in Terzo’s chest, right where his heart lays still.
For the short time Terzo has known you, there’s been an ever-present furrow between your eyebrows, like you’re deep in thought, worrying about what comes next. He wonders what your life was like before desperation drove you to his door. He’s never concerned himself too much with the minutiae of human life, but what little you’ve shared with him about yours doesn’t sound easy.
It’s a foreign feeling, to be concerned about human troubles. Losing a job, losing an apartment – things that he has ever had to worry about. He wants to make sure you never have to trouble yourself about anything like that ever again.
While you lay asleep on the couch, Terzo settles into the matching velvet armchair and pulls out his phone. His eyes dart around the room, and when he’s well assured no one is lurking in the shadows, he types how to care for a human pet into the search bar.
The first thing he reads his a listicle called Twenty Things Your Pet Needs to Thrive, which gives him more affiliate links to online storefronts than it does actual information. He remembers a trick Copia taught him some time ago, something about adding Read-It to the end of your search inquiry to get real results. It takes him a few times to get the spelling right, but his efforts eventually lead him to a CompFeed forum. He exhales, suddenly feeling very nervous.
He’s really in deep now.
While he listens to the soft rasp of your breathing, Terzo scrolls and scrolls and scrolls. Information rushes past his eyes: things he already had an inkling of, like the best diets for humans, but also endless recommendations and testimonies for human enrichment and comfort. He suddenly feels woefully boorish for not bothering to ask what scents relax you, or if the sheets on your twin bed are scratchy on your skin. As much as he wants to wake you and pour over every detail of your life and your interests, he lets you sleep.
Eventually, his searching and scrolling and tapping leads him to a forum called CompFeed After Dark. Once more, his eyes dart around the room before opening the site on a new tab. He feels the same heady rush of emotion that a human would associate with a pounding heart. He clicks on a photo of a human woman in lingerie. Her face is out of frame, and she wears a matching collar. A matching leash is wrapped around the fist of her owner.
Terzo takes a sharp inhale through his nose. His dick twitches with interest at the thought of you dressed like that, dark lace over your soft skin; the gleam of a collar on your pretty neck. The leash wrapped around his hand, you down on your knees looking up at him with your big, pretty eyes–
“Terzo,” you mutter, shifting on the couch as you wake. “Sorry. How long was I asleep?”
He places his phone screen-down on the arm of the chair and turns toward you. “Not long at all. Nothing to worry about,” he says, voice as smooth and even as ever. He pauses a beat, then decides to test the waters. “You’re beautiful when you sleep.”
Your mouth crooks up at the corners. “You watched me?” you ask, amused.
“Only to make sure you didn’t croak on me. Strictly business,” he replies. “How lovely you look is merely a bonus.”
You roll your eyes, but your smile remains firmly in place. You slowly sit all the way up and rise to stand. Terzo watches you intently, ready to jump to his feet to steady you if you wobble. You’re stable, though, and you wipe your palms down the front of your dress before turning to look at him where he sits.
“Thank you for dinner,” you say, almost sheepish. “It feels silly to have gotten all dressed up and then go right back to bed but–”
“Don’t worry about me,” Terzo replies. He hopes he doesn’t sound overeager. “I’m used to spending my nights alone.” The look on your face makes him want to put his foot in his mouth. He want to apologize, but he bites his tongue. He clears his throat. “Hundreds of years. You become very comfortable with keeping yourself occupied.” A pause. He clears his throat again. “Can I at least walk you to your room?”
“You’re such a gentleman,” you say, sauntering over to him in your tight little dress. You offer him your hand, and he takes it as he stands. He can feel the warmth of your skin through the white satin of his glove.
The halls of his home are always quiet, but they seem especially so tonight. Terzo wonders how his brothers are occupying their nights now. Do their halls ring with conversation with their new pets? What do they even talk about? What could a human and a vampire possibly have in common with each other?
He glances over at you. He wants to know; he wants to learn from you.
When you reach you room, a not-small part of Terzo hopes that you invite him to cross the threshold of your doorway. Tonight, though, is not that night. For some strange, endearing reason, you decide to shake his hand as you say goodnight. He wants to hold you, he wants to capture your lips with his own, but he’ll take anything you give him.
For the second night in a row, Terzo takes himself in his hand and strokes himself quick and dirty, lost to the single-minded determination to come. For the second night in a row, he comes with your name on his lips.
The days and weeks pass, and you and Terzo fall into an easy rhythm. Terzo takes better care of you than you ever did – your meals and macros are fastidiously tracked, and every meal is planned for you. A fully nocturnal schedule remains out of reach, but you adapt the best you can. Each day, you rise at dusk and ready yourself for dinner. Terzo likes to see you dressed up, and beautiful garments begin to overwhelm your closet. Your new wardrobe is a far cry from the athleisure and cheap business casual clothes you brought with you in your suitcase.
Each night, you eat, and then Terzo eats you. While you recover on the couch, Terzo talks to you, the same idle, half-nonsense chatter an old roommate of yours would coo to her cat.
“So sweet,” he murmurs. “So good. Who made you so good for me? Did the Unholy Father make you just for me?”
Despite your post-feeding haze, you try to fight how warm and fuzzy his baby talk makes you feel. It’s a futile effort.
A few nights later, your head finds its way into Terzo’s lap after he feeds from your wrist. You feel unusually dizzy, and Terzo beckons you closer. His legs are cold beneath his clothes, but he’s a grounding presence regardless. The next night, Terzo runs his fingers through your hair for the first time as you lay your head in his lap. If you were a cat, you’d be purring.
“Tell me something about yourself,” he asks. He’s wearing black leather gloves with sharp, gold fingernails tonight, and he scratches at the crown of your head. A pleasured shiver runs down the length of your spine.
You barely suppress an incredulous, sarcastic little laugh. “I’m very boring,” you say. Over the last several evenings, he told you about the years he spent in France, about the discotheque he opened in the seventies in Italy with his older brother and the ensuing bacchanalia, about his sneaking suspicion that his exploits led to the ban of absinthe in several European countries. Nothing you share with him can possibly measure up to the exciting unlife he’s lived.
“Boh!” he huffs. “Don’t deny me.” He teases out a tangle in your hair with his fingers, and the gesture makes you want to moan.
“When have I ever denied you?” you ask. “I think I’m contractually obligated to give you what you want.”
His fingers catch another tangle, and he inadvertently pulls your hair. Your brain goes all staticky, and arousal pools low in your belly. What a damn fool you are to feel this way.
“Humor me,” he replies. “All the time we spend together – is it really that absurd that I’d want to know something about you?”
You hum; he has a point. “What do you want to know?”
“Are you still afraid of blood?” he asks, as light and breezy as if he was asking about the weather.
The question brings you pause. “No,” you say after a moment. “I don’t think so.”
“Why’s that?”
You chew on your bottom lip. “Why aren’t I scared anymore? Or why was I scared to start with?”
“Both.”
You press yourself up from the couch, lifting your head from Terzo’s lap. You look up just in time to see his tongue dart out and wet the enchanting swell of his lower lip.
“Well,” you start, turning to face him. “I don’t think shaking and crying and wanting to throw up every night at dinner time would be fun for either of us. But–” A pause, a brush of your knee against his. “–I know you won’t hurt me. And that helps tremendously.”
“Oh? Is that what it is?” There’s a self-satisfied, catlike gleam in Terzo’s eyes. Normally you would bristle and ask what was with the impromptu psychoanalysis, but as is often the case with Terzo, you feel strangely at ease.
“Yeah,” you admit. “I watched some horror movie when I was way too young. I can’t even remember the name of it now, not that it matters, but there was a scene where the heroine dies. The vampire villain catches her, and he drinks all the blood in her body. You’re watching her get whiter and whiter while he drinks. The camera zoomed in on her, and she’s pale and stiff on the ground, and her mouth is open in this silent scream. Then you see him, and his mouth is stained with blood–”
“What happened next?” Terzo asked. His eyes are wide, and he sounds absolutely riveted.
You playfully bop him on the arm. “I don’t know. I never finished the movie. I had to leave the room because I felt like I couldn’t breathe. It was like a switch flipped inside me, this realization that I wanted all of my blood–” You gesture broadly over the length of your body “–to stay inside of me. From then on, when I saw blood, and I felt like I was gonna puke.”
“And yet, here you are.”
You sigh, exhaling all the air you didn’t realize you were holding in your lungs in a big whoosh. “Here I am. Desperate times, desperate measures. Et cetera, et cetera.” Terzo is looking at you like a seductive predator, all big enticing eyes and encouraging looks. You swallow and decide to take a risk. “I do like it here. I like the time we spend together.”
A nearly imperceptible jolt runs through Terzo’s body. He was not expecting you to say that, at all. “Do you really?”
You laugh. “Don’t act so surprised. You’re a good host. Or boss. Or carnivore. Whatever.”
Inside, Terzo lights up. Outside, he’s as suave and cool as ever. “I like to pride myself on my hospitality,” he says. You don’t need to know that at the end of ever party he’s ever thrown, he’s ended up alone at the end of the night.
“Now I get to ask you something.” You lean in a little, and he can smell the sweetness of your breath when it fans across his face. A bolt of desire runs through his body.
“Anything,” he replies. He means it.
“Have there been others like me before?” The earnestness of your question takes him aback.
“I’ve had my share of favorites over the years, from the flock. I’ve shared nights with more than I can count. But no,” Terzo says. “Nothing like this before. No one like you.”
His highly attuned senses pick up on the involuntary changes happening in your body: the prickle of sweat under your arms, the increase in your heart rate, the slight dilation of your pupils. His mouth waters. He wants to eat you alive.
“That’s… really sweet. I don’t know if it was meant to be, but thanks.” You smile kindly at him and pat him on the knee.
“Don’t you know, Agnellina?” he asks. If his heart could beat, it would be thumping away in his chest. “You’re the sweetest thing I’ve ever known.”
When you retire to bed past midnight, you dream for the first time in weeks. In your dream, you are asleep, nestled in a sea of pillows in a four-poster bed, shrouded in gauzy netting. The one window in the room is open, a sheer curtain twisting in the breeze. A full moon illuminates the night sky, and its light casts your room in a dim blue glow.
Your hair tumbles loose around your face, and you wear a pale silk negligee the color of a pearl. Its thin strap has slid down your shoulder, leaving your collarbone fully on display. In a darkened corner of your room, a shadow stirs, and the vampire emerges into the cold light of the moon. On cue, you blink your eyes open, watching as his dark form outlined in silver light creeps closer to you. His face is still obscured by shadow, but your heart thumps as it registers that Terzo is the one stalking you from the shadows.
He draws closer and closer, step by agonizing step, and his face emerges into the pale moonlight. When he reaches your bed, he swings himself onto the mattress, all ease and predatory grace. He settles himself over you and noses down the cord of your neck. Your heart races with delicious anticipation, not panic. Terzo’s body is a cold, heavy weight on yours. He brushes your hair away and licks a fat stripe up your carotid artery. You press your lips together and whimper, writhing and trying to press yourself closer to him.
His teeth pierce the tender flesh of your neck, and you gasp. There’s a momentary flash of pain that soon melts into warm, all-encompassing bliss. Terzo consumes your senses – the cold flick of his tongue against your skin, the ozone and cemetery dirt smell of his body.
“Terzo,” you murmur, threading your fingers through the back of his hair. “Take me. Take what you need.”
Terzo makes a soft, satisfied noise, and he sucks harder in your neck. You moan quietly, gripping his hair tighter, and your body twists against your silky sheets. As he consumes you, your head gets light and your eyes roll back. At this point, you’re achingly wet, and your filmy nightgown clings to the slickness between your thighs. Your body pulses with want, with a hunger as all-consuming as his is.
“Please,” you rasp, not sure what you’re asking for. Terzo hasn’t even laid a hand on you, but you feel the slow, steady build of an orgasm regardless.
He pulls his face away from your neck and leers down at you, mouth curled into a wide grin. His teeth are stained with your blood, and some dumb joke about Terzo being black and white and red all over flits through your brain. He’s a gruesome sight, a spitting image of that horror movie villain, but you’re not afraid.
“Please,” you repeat. “Finish me off. F-fuck, Terzo, please.”
He bows his head back down and returns to feast on your neck. His hand snakes down your body, finding its way between your legs. He teases the hem of your nightgown up and cups the whole of your sex in his hand. As he drinks, he traces two fingers around your clit before curling them into cunt. You gasp, and your back bows off the bed. The wet squelch of Terzo’s fingers inside you and his mouth suckling at your neck are an obscene chorus in your ears. You feel like you’re going to float away, and despite the chill settling over your body, you’ve never felt so content.
Your hips chase his clever fingers, and your orgasm crests and breaks at the moment Terzo drains you dry.
You bolt awake, cunt clenching around nothing, half-disbelieving that your macabre little fantasy actually made you come in your sleep. You wonder how the real thing measures up to the make-believe, and, feeling reckless, you throw off the covers. Your feet hit the floor, and like a woman possessed, you start walking toward Terzo’s bedroom.