A sour sick smell clung to Johnathan and mingled with the foul bouquet caked on his skin. He yearned for a dousing of that wretched perfume. A quiet settled over the barge, filled with the creak of the hull and whine of the winch and harness where the team of mules dragged the barge along via the riverbank. Occasionally, the spare crew called to one another or groused around the small cabin. The quiet permeated the air and allowed Johnathan to stew in his remorse.
Vic hadn’t engaged him in conversation since they left the docks, but the man didn’t leave his side. Even now, he brushed against Johnathan, a subtle, vital contact to ground him. The blood on Vic’s face flaked off as it dried. The stained shirt crinkled when he shifted, but he made no move to remove it or clean himself. He remained a stoic guardian, the immovable pillar the tide of Johnathan’s shame and guilt crashed and against. Patient and calm while Johnathan processed the trauma of their encounter.
The gradual glow of sunlight grew stronger as the day took hold. The barge maintained a placid pace on the river, broken by intermittent breaks for the mule team to rest in the infrequent patches of overhanging shade. There was little reprieve from the sun on the river. The depth of the stacks provided an indirect cover that waned through the morning, the warmth of the day added another layer of discomfort, sweat seeping through the dried caked on filth. Flies buzzed around Johnathan’s head, but none landed. The insects were wary of his presence.
It was close to midday when Johnathan’s choked sob broke the silence. Vic laid his head on his shoulders. “Forgive me, John.”
Johnathan leaned back into the wooden boxes stacked on the pallet. “I’m positive that’s my line,” he said.
A crooked smile curved Vic’s mouth. “I promised I would help you find another way to survive. We didn’t make it a week before you were forced into another terrible position.” He plucked the stiff rust-stained edge of his sleeve. “If I hadn’t been half out of my mind with hunger, I might have been able to prevent it,” he confessed.
Johnathan studied him. The shadows beneath Vic’s eyes were deeper, hollows in his skull. He remembered that weighted moment at the docks, ensnared by the blood on his hands. Guilt etched the beautiful lines of Vic’s face. Did he truly blame himself for Johnathan’s actions? “What about your other kit? You told me you had a back-up. Why haven’t you fed?”
“I lost my kit in the river,” Vic admitted. “I told myself I could hold off until I replaced it. That was the only reason I had to risk the city.” He licked his lips. “There was no other reason to go. My arrogance, my stubbornness, led to this.”
“No, Vic, no,” said Johnathan. He laid a hand against Vic’s back, wishing he could summon the right words. Alyse was better with words. “We couldn’t prepare for this.” How could they? His need for rest slowed them down, and their encounter with the succubus threw Vic off balance before they reached the docks. The Society Agents caught them off guard, tracked them faster and more accurately than he’d ever seen, an inhuman pace.
He recalled the coerced information Hesper dragged out of Vic. “That safe place you mentioned? What is it?”
Vic’s shoulders hunched inward. “That would be the Estate, and it might be selfish of me to bring you there,” he said. The admission was lost on Johnathan since he’d never heard of it. “It’s more than a sanctuary, but that’s if I can convince the proprietors to take us in.”
A beat of silence passed while Johnathan mulled his answer. “Why would it be selfish to bring me there?”
“The Estate is a supernatural haven. I have allies there, but it’s not safe for you,” said Vic. “Demons are rare enough to be an unquantifiable threat, and, usually, they are dangerous. They are not welcome on the grounds.” He tugged at his lower lip. “But, if I can convince them that you are safe, it’s our best chance for answers.”
“I’m not safe,” said Johnathan.
Vic inhaled through his nostrils. “Safe enough, John.”
He swallowed. “What about our persistent new friends?” The extent of Sister Wilhem’s resources was a worrisome mystery. If Luthor survived, and Johnathan was convinced he had, both would come after then soon as they recuperated from their loss.
Johnathan didn’t believe Vic’s motivations were selfish, but he worried what the other man would do if they were turned away. The Estate offered a respite and possible information. They had to try.
“They might have answers. Maybe we’ll get the chance to explore the rules and pitfalls to this bond we created,” said Vic.
“We have been fumbling around in the dark.” Johnathan refused to hope, aware of the obstacles to overcome before they reached any level of safety. Part of him believed it would have been better for Vic if he succumbed to the Nether, but he didn’t voice that out loud.
Vic reached down and grasped his hand, threading their fingers together. “I promised you I would help you walk this path and I meant it.” Johnathan met his gaze, the hollow ache in his chest momentarily forgotten.
There it was, the vulnerability he craved, a tenuous thread that connected them. He lifted his hand to brush a strand of hair out of Vic’s face, the sight of dried blood under his fingernails drawing him up short. His hand fell slack to his lap. Vic’s expression was stark at the failed gesture. Johnathan wanted to tell him it wasn’t his fault. He wasn’t worth the trouble. Throat tight, mouth dry, he said nothing at all. Screams echoed in his head. Nausea gripped him, though nothing remained in his stomach to expel.
“Come back, John.” Vic’s voice prodded at the edges of that gaping hollow inside him. He wanted to close his eyes but dared not, afraid what grisly memories would play inside the theater of his mind. Instead, he inhaled deeply, drawing in Vic’s scent for comfort, small as it was.
This was a time for truths, of inner wounds laid bare in this ephemeral moment between them.
“This wasn’t like the first time,” he said. “I didn’t cede into the background for the beast to takeover. The Hound was me, and I was the Hound.” His fingers curled into fists. “I remember everything. I felt everything.” The muscles of his jaw flexed. He remembered the give of flesh between his teeth, the coppery splash of hot blood on his tongue. Death lingered, rotten and sweet in his mouth, and a secret mortified piece of him relished the taste.
A pained expression crossed Vic’s face. He lifted his face to the clear sky, the brilliant blue a mockery after the violence of the night. “I am an old monster,” he said. “Older than most of us get.”
Johnathan frowned. This was true. Most vampires didn’t survive beyond their first century of life, too hungry and arrogant for caution. Too vicious to avoid a challenge, yet the remnants of their human lives made them crave the company of others. If hunters didn’t kill them, older vampires often did, unwilling to share their feeding grounds with some cocked up youngster. But Vic wasn’t an anomaly. Vampires who made it past their first century were good at surviving, and there were plenty. Many of them had a notorious reputation and a bloody history in the Society archives.
“Five centuries, I’ve sought to control the dark half of my nature,” said Vic. His expression shifted to something bleak, threaded with old guilt. “I spent a great deal of time with others of my kind. We bring out the cruelty in one another, giving in to our darkest cravings, glutting ourselves on blood. The longer we stay together, the worse we become.”
Johnathan stared at him, unable to picture Vic anywhere close to cruel though he knew it was true. Sir Harry, the vampire who raised him, avoided other vampires. There were half a dozen living together only a few streets over from where he sheltered during the day. More than once, they found the broken remains of their victims within Sir Harry’s hunting grounds. His guardian’s cool hand would cover his eyes, but the sight was carved in his memory.
He had encountered a few groups as a Prospective. Once, his training unit had stumbled on a feeding frenzy. A trio of vampires feeding on a single victim. They drank and drank and drank, eager for every drop of blood. They tore the body apart, sucking at the marrow. So drunk on the feeding, they weren’t aware they were being attacked until their heads were separated from their bodies. A group of vampires could decimate a village if left unchecked. But groups didn’t last, falling to the same foils of unwanted attention and inner turmoil.
“What made you stop?”
Vic sighed. “I like humans. They are bright and vibrant. All the more because they cling so fiercely to life, fragile as it is.” He clutched his elbows. “I—I want to protect them from that dreadful appetite. From me. But the hunger is always there, waiting for me to slip. I fooled myself, convinced my will was ironclad.” His sad smile was full of ghosts. “Turns out I’m a monster and a liar.”
There were centuries of secret sins and haunted regrets in the shadows of Vic’s gaze. Johnathan wondered at his own naïveté, convinced of Vic’s kind nature. He fiercely believed in Vic’s control, when he knew that nobility came at a steep price. Johnathan had ignored the five hundred years of history Vic carried, weighed by the dark deeds of survival. The dogmatic human he’d been would have distanced himself from that truth, unable to handle the perceived deception. But the demon inside him understood.
He pulled Vic into his arms, kissing his temple. They were both scarred and scared of themselves, two monsters desperate to undermine their darker halves. Vic spent the last five hundred years of his life trying to find a different way to exist, to better himself for the sake of the humans he cared for, a far nobler pursuit than any man Johnathan knew. Guilt weighed on them, the guilt of a life taken, the guilt of a failure to act. It didn’t matter they were being attacked, not when they possessed the strength and the power to extract themselves from the conflict. Could they have fled without a massacre? The possibility would hang over Johnathan for a long time.
“You’re not a liar,” Johnathan murmured against his cheek. “We’re both trying to be better.” There was comfort in knowing Vic struggled so hard to hold onto his humanity. It didn’t erase his feelings, but it eased the vicious guilt and shame that ate at him inside, to know he wasn’t alone. “We’ll walk that path together.”
The tension seeped out of Vic in a stilted breath. Had he been afraid of Johnathan’s rejection? An absurd notion when their conversation gave him so much insight to the vampire. The proverbial needle threaded, the discomforts of their situation took precedence. Johnathan could no longer ignore the rough wood digging into his bare backside.
“My chances with this safe house would probably improve with pants.”
The chuckle was strained. “We really should find a way to look presentable,” said Vic, peering through the slats of stacked cargo. “Hopefully there’s another small giant among the crew so we can borrow some clothing for you.”
“You’ll need a new set as well,” Johnathan teased. “Think you can stand donning such humble garments?”
Their banter didn’t banish the hollow ache in his chest, nor had the wariness left Vic’s gaze. The specter of violence lurked inside, waiting for him to drop his guard. For a moment, on the quiet river, with Vic at his side, it was better.
* * *
They waited until the barge stopped for the night. The four-man crew switched out two teams of mules throughout the day, but both teams required a few hours rest before they could resume the heavy work. This time there was no port or town, the trees thinning into stretches of farmland. The fields ran for miles, the flat landscape broken by a humble house and barn. Desperate for a shower and sustenance, the open fields and water troughs were a strangely compelling argument for leaving the barge. The craft wasn’t built to accommodate passengers, made to transport cargo. A small cabin at the far end of the ship served as sleeping quarters for the crew. The barge was long but narrow. The stacks of cargo provided the only vertical break. It was an utter miracle they’d lasted the day without being spotted, but other than tending the haul mules on shore, there wasn’t much reason to crawl between the cargo to ferret out stowaways.
“A quick scrub, raid a clothesline, no one’s the wiser,” said Vic, surveying their scant options with a calculating expression.
“I thought we were going to scavenge for supplies on the ship?” Unease prickled down Johnathan’s exposed back.
Vic rolled his shoulders, shuddering at the audible crinkle from his clothes. “Honestly better if we don’t. These are working men, not a lot to spare. I’d rather not take anything that will be missed and give them a reason to search for it.” He started to move to the edge of the barge when Johnathan’s hand clamped on his wrist.
“Don’t,” said Johnathan. Heat flared behind his eyes, a warning buzzed along his nerves. There was no rationale to his reaction, but he knew leaving the river was bad. Vic waited for him to explain. “I think...I think if you go ashore, they’ll find us again.” He didn’t need to clarify who would find them again, though he didn’t understand how he was so certain.
Vic glanced longingly at the shore but didn’t dismiss Johnathan’s trepidation. “I’m coming to respect your instinctual urges.”
“Unless I’m the boy who cried wolf,” muttered Johnathan.
“Doubtful. I wouldn’t be surprised if a Hound can sense when its being tracked,” said Vic. “Neither of us dispatched those two blighters. Nor do we know how they found us so fast.” He nudged Johnathan’s shoulder. “Besides, you are the wolf, not the boy.”
“We still don’t know why they’ve latched onto us.” Johnathan huffed, though he had an unpleasant theory he wasn’t ready to broach. “We’ll have to make do with what’s on hand.” He raised a brow at the frown on Vic’s face. “Why are you pouting?”
“This barge is so slow,” Vic groaned. “It will take us twice as long to reach the Estate.”
They were safe on the river, but could they remain unnoticed for an extended length of time? Johnathan considered their options, hoping the safe house would be their ultimate destination rather than a disappointment. “How long?”
“Another four days maybe?” Vic grimaced, gesturing to the dreadful state of his clothes. “We need to do something about this, Johnathan. I don’t care if I must wear another burlap sack.”
“What a sight that would be,” Johnathan murmured. Vic scoffed. He crept across the barge to find what supplies he could. Alone, Johnathan fought to keep still. The sack he’d secured around his waist offered little modesty. The fabric was intensely uncomfortable against his privates. A dunk in the river would be paradise after spending the day covered in filth but he didn’t dare move until Vic returned. His naked skin would be a pale beacon in the moonlight.
The barge was the worst mode of transport they could have chosen, limited as their options were. The bundles of cargo smelled of old wood, moldering hay, and wet animal, suggesting the barge transported a shipment of cloth. Waxed sheets protected them from the rain. A musty, stale odor billowed out when Johnathan lifted one, but it was dry, and there was enough slack to offer a spare space to hide if they pressed in tight. It would be enough to keep them from notice for four days.
A rush of air heralded Vic’s return. A bundle of items spilled from his full arms. The fruits of his raiding proved abundant; a crumpled wad of clothing, a promising sack which smelled of dried meat, a bar of soap, and a spare rag.
“I’m afraid I couldn’t find boots to fit those large feet,” Vic apologized.
“I thought we were trying to keep the thievery to a minimum,” said Johnathan.
Vic sniffed. “Nothing but necessities, my flower,” he said, shoving the bar of soap at Johnathan. “Come on, we’ll take turns dipping each other in the river.”
Absurd though it was, that was exactly what they did. The hour was late and dark enough that anyone stumbling upon the barge would mistake them for two naked ghouls bathing in the moonlight. When Vic hauled him out of the water, Johnathan had managed to scrub most of the dried blood and muck from his skin. The soap smelt strongly of lye, but the rumpled clothes were clean.
Vic agreed the waxed sheet would provide a suitable cover. He eked out a space for them while Johnathan dried and dressed.
When Johnathan crawled in beside him, Vic was still muttering about the poor quality of his shirt. He ignored his fastidious companion and pulled a strip of dried meat from the sack to nibble on, despite his lack of appetite. He refused to let hunger muddle his thoughts.
“This is cozy,” said Vic.
“You almost sound sincere,” said Johnathan. He leaned back against the stacked bolts of cloth, grateful to be clothed and somewhat clean. “Hope you still enjoy my company after four days in such close quarters.”
Vic’s hand landed on his thigh He squeezed the muscle in a way that made Johnathan’s insides tingle. “I’m sure we’ll think of a way to pass the time.”