*sweatdrops* Erm... I maybe better warn on this... although I cut it down some... there is a bit of... blood in this chapter. But then again... I did warn about that when I started this fic ^^;;;
Heart of the Night Part 8
He'd been watching him all evening. He followed the young man into the village square where he settled on a bench drawing his cloak around him, his green eyes never leaving the man's slim form. Truth be known, he'd actually spotted the man several days ago, upon first entering the small Italian village and had decided he was beautiful. Fascination had compelled him to seek the young man out each evening and watch him.
Setting his basket down beside him, the man looked up at the growing clouds in the sky. With rain coming in, he'd not sell much this night. Trowa drew in a breath as he studied him. Tall, almost as tall as Trowa himself, his skin was the same dusky olive as the rest of the people in this area, smooth and clear. His hair was the black of a raven's wing, almost blue in its sheen, and he wore it past his shoulders, tied into a thin tail at the base of his neck. What had caught Trowa's attention the most was the brilliant blue of his eyes, hinting at his blood being not quite pure. He was obviously from the poorer sector of the village; his clothes were ragged but well kept and varied little.
Every evening he'd venture out into the upper end of the village bearing a small basket of carvings that he attempted to sell to the passer bys. He didn't ever sell much, but he always seemed grateful for what he did, carefully tucking his precious coins away into a pocket sewn inside his cloak.
With a little prodding from the local peoples Trowa found out that he did such to care for a younger sister who was ill. He worked regularly during the day and then sold his little creations in the evenings to make enough money to purchase the medicines she needed.
And Trowa had decided he wanted him.
Newly freed from bonds that he had endured for nearly a century, the young vampire longed for an encounter that would tell him was truly free. Free from the twisted soul that had kept him in his thrall since before the time of his awakening. Free to exist where and how he chose.
The taking of a new lover would be just another step in securing his newfound freedom.
He was suddenly startled from his brooding thoughts as the object of his interest suddenly sat on the bench beside him.
"How long are you going to follow me?" The man said quietly.
"As long as I wish, there's no crime unless I attempt to harm you." Trowa replied settling deeper into his cloak.
"Am I, what?"
"Going to harm me," He settled those bright eyes on the brunette.
"No," Trowa raised his gaze to the young man's face. "I have no intention in harming you."
"Then what do you want?" He replied. "It's not my carvings or you would have bought one by now."
Trowa shifted on the bench, suddenly finding the cobblestones at his feet interesting. How did one tell someone that they wished to bed them? These things he did not have experience in. Before he'd been pursued... he'd never done the pursuing himself.
The young man watched him in silence before shrugging. "My name is Thomas," He finally said.
"You're not very good at this are you?" A short laugh.
Trowa started and turned his face to stare at the young man.
"One night... but it'll cost you." Thomas held out his hand. "I have expenses."
"I'm aware of your expenses," Trowa replied dryly. "Do you do this often?"
"Only when I'm desperate," The black haired man leaned forward on his knees. "And I'm getting desperate... there's not enough money to buy more medicines for her." He gazed out over the square. "I could offer to one of those high born ladies I saw watching me also, but I prefer you."
"What if I told you I wanted something more than one night?"
"It would cost you even more," Thomas settled his gaze on Trowa. "But, I would consider it. Have you a place we can go?"
A light breeze ruffled through Trowa's long bangs as he stood and silently gestured towards the small villa he had purchased and Thomas stood to follow him. When they reached the door of the small building, the man turned to Trowa smiling.
"I hate to be more forward, but it's a dangerous world you know." He said leaning against the door.
Trowa raised an eyebrow and smiled. "You've nothing to worry about,"
Thomas studied him for a moment before seeming to come to a decision. Stepping out of the way, he waited for Trowa to enter the house before wandering in behind him. One inside, Trowa gasped as Thomas removed his cloak and turned to press himself against him, his fingers going to the buttons of Trowa's linen shirt.
He moved away from the man long enough to light a candle beside the bed. Turning around he reached for the blue-eyed man, his lips claiming him with a crushing kiss, tumbling them both onto the small bed.
Red. It was the first thing Trowa saw upon opening his eyes in the early hours of predawn. Sitting up he stared at the scene around him in horror. The bed and his body were soaked in the bright crimson of fresh blood; the walls around him spattered with crimson drops.
What had happened? He frowned; he couldn't remember anything past waking earlier that evening and going out to feed and then follow...
Twisting suddenly in the bed, his eyes were greeted with the sight of the body of a young man lying naked on the mattress, his throat ripped open. Clutching his head with his hands, Trowa doubled over in the bed as memories flooded into his brain.
He remembered the man, Thomas, approaching him and them coming to his home. He remembered them together on the bed, leisurely exploring one another. Groaning as his head pounded, he remembered rolling the man over and slowly taking him.
And then everything was a blank...
What had he done? He raised his head and stared at his bloodied hands in horror. Had he actually killed the man in the height of passion? Just like he warned I would.
It's our nature to kill, Barton. No matter what you want, you can't go against that.
He shook his head and bolted from the bed landing on his hands and knees on the hard wooden floor as he recalled his mentor's harsh words.
Sex is the most potent form of hunger there is... a mere human can't withstand our attentions. That's why you must always be with me, only I can satisfy your lust; unless of course, that's how you wish to hunt.
"Nonononono," He groaned as he crouched on the floor, shaking his head back and forth.
You can't leave me, Barton. I'll always hunt you and bring you back to me. I created you to be with me. I'm the only one that can keep you satisfied.
He had to get away from this. Grabbing his clothes he quickly pulled them on, not caring that he was still covered in his victim's blood. Shaking, he wrapped his coat around himself and fled the horror in the house.
For that day he hid in a narrow cave outside of town, sleeping off the day until he could emerge again. When the moon finally rose in the sky, he crept out of the cave and bathed in a nearby river, his expression never betraying the grim horror that he felt, at what he was. As he drew on his damp, but clean, clothes, he knew he could never return to the small house he had bought for himself.
But he would make sure the girl was taken care of. He owed the young man that much. And after he had seen that taken care of, he would have to find somewhere else to go. He would not go back to him no matter how rough it might get. He would never allow him to have that hold over him again.
And he would never allow another person to die because of his own lust. As he stared up at the moon he silently vowed to himself. I will never touch another person again. He would shut off his heart and desires for the rest of his existence.
Quatre's voice echoed through the bleak gardens as he stumbled blindly through the driving snow. His heart aching, he brushed away tears as the howling wind drove the snow into his face, stinging his skin and freezing his damp clothes to his body. What had just happened between them? What had he done so wrong that the brunette had reacted to him like that?
All he wanted at this point were answers; something to help things make sense in his bruised heart.
He wrapped his arms around himself, shivering violently, and looked around. He didn't know where he was anymore. The snow had closed around him like walls of solid white. He couldn't see the house anymore. And it was bitterly cold.
Stumbling forward, he cried out Trowa's name again before his toe caught on something and he fell forward. The deep snow broke his fall, but it didn't prevent him from wrenching his ankle as he fell. He sobbed and started to get up, trying to ignore the searing pain that throbbed in his leg. As his weight settled on his ankle, he cried out and fell again, this time curling up in a ball on his side in the snow.
Lying there, he felt his tears start to freeze on his face and a numbness start to creep through his limbs. Maybe this was what he was meant to pay for the things he felt.
"I'm sorry," He whispered as a dark form loomed over him in the blinding white.
"You fool," Trowa murmured as he knelt beside the unconscious boy.
Only an idiot would venture out in a storm like this and without even a jacket. And an idiot was what Trowa considered himself to be, he never though that Quatre would try to follow him. Of course Quatre didn't know that although Trowa could feel the cold, it didn't affect him in the way it did others. Gathering the boy in his arms he headed back to the house, using his uncanny abilities to find his way.
"Sebastian!" He yelled as he kicked open the door and strode down the hallway with Quatre cradled carefully against his chest. "Sebastian!" He yelled again as he reached the stairs, impatience getting the best of him.
The old servant rushed from the kitchen. "What is...?" His words fell of as he saw Quatre. "Mother of God! What happened?" He demanded as he rushed forward to check the boy.
Trowa flinched at the tone in the old man's voice. "He went out into the storm," He replied, holding Quatre closer. "I don't think he's frostbitten but I'm not sure. I have to get him out of these clothes." He whirled around and headed up the stairs. "Get me hot water and cloths. Find as many blankets as you can and bring them to his room and then make something warm for him to drink... if I can get him to wake up!"
Without a word Sebastian rushed off to collect the items, he knew as much as his master did that time was very important. Meanwhile Trowa rushed to Quatre's room, kicking open his door as well. Once inside he carefully laid the boy on his bed, supporting him with one hand as he quickly stripped his soaking clothes from his body.
Tossing the sodden cloth to the side, Trowa eased him back on the bed as Sebastian appeared in the doorway, carrying a bucket filled with water and several blankets. "I'll go an' start something warm for him and get you more water ready if you be needin' it." He said handing the items over to the brunette.
"He's twisted his ankle," Trowa replied, gently prodding Quatre's swollen and bruised ankle. "I don't believe it's broken, but I'll need something to bind it with." He stood and placed the blankets and some of the cloths on the hearth to warm.
Sebastian nodded and hurried back out of the room and Trowa turned back to Quatre. Checking his fingers and toes, he swore viciously and grabbed the bucket of water. Soaking several cloths in the hot liquid, he wrung them out and started to apply them to the boy's torso. Once he had them in place he grabbed one of the blankets and wrapped his upper body in it, helping trap the heat from the cloths inside.
By the time Sebastian returned to the room, Trowa was sitting on the bed wrapping warmed, dry cloths to Quatre's feet and hands. Although unconscious the stinging burn of his nerves coming back to life caused the blonde to cry out and thrash on the mattress.
"'Bastian, grab another one of those blankets to wrap him in and hold him down!" Trowa snapped taking up his other foot. "Don't cover his hands! And See if you can get some of that broth into him! We need to bring his body temperature up slowly, both inside and out!"
"I'm aware of that!" Sebastian grabbed a warmed blanket and wrapped it around the boy. Sitting on the bed he held the blonde tightly as he screamed out in pain. "There, there. It's alright," The old man crooned gently to him. "How long was he out there?"
"Long enough!" Trowa growled as he continued got up and grabbed more cloths from the hearth and started to wrap Quatre's hands.
His servant took up a cup of steaming broth and gently placed the cup the cup to the boy's lips. Pouring some of the liquid into Quatre's mouth he cursed as his head lolled limply back and the broth drained from his lips. "There's no way of getting it into him without choking him,"
"Here, take over here," Trowa said standing and moving to where Sebastian sat. Taking the servant's place, he grabbed the cup and took a mouthful. Sebastian took up switching the cloths on the blonde's hands and feet for warmed ones as they cooled down. Trowa cupped his head and pressed his mouth to his letting the warm liquid drain slowly from his mouth to Quatre's.
"Swallow damn you!" He massaged the boy's throat at the same time, forcing him to swallow.
Finally in the hour before dawn, they had the blonde wrapped in warm blankets in a dry bed in one of the guest rooms. His color and breathing were normal and his ankle had been tightly bound. 
"He'll be fine," Sebastian laid a wrinkled hand on Trowa's arm. "When he wakes I'll give him something warm to eat and something to help the pain from his ankle."
Trowa flinched away from his touch. "This is my fault," He said bitterly.
"I'm sure it is," His servant replied dryly. "But not in the way you be thinkin'. He loves you, he has for a right long time. You need to tell him."
Trowa turned and glared at the man, "I told you..."
"To mind my own business; I know. But you two are my business."
The sky was turning dim and Trowa felt a heavy fatigue stealing over him. "I don't wish to discuss it," He said wearily.
"Go," Sebastian turned back to the boy. "It's time for you to be seeking your bed. I'll tend Quatre until you wake."
As Trowa left the room he heard Sebastian mutter angrily under his breath.
 Um... the treatments they use on Quatre in this chapter... although they are the correct treatments for exposure to cold... DON'T TRY TO DO THIS YOURSELF!! You can cause more harm than good if not done correctly. Make sure that such things are done by a licensed professional. And NEVER, NEVER give liquids to an unconscious person... leave it for a Dr. to do. I've adapted some of it to reflect the time period they are in also.
Information was obtained from my textbook: Brady - Emergency Care 8th Edition © 1998 by Prentice-Hall, Inc.
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