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The house on the church grounds was old and run-down, and on nights such as this one, with the rain coming down in sheets and the wind howling through the trees in the nearby graveyard, it seemed to Thanatos that it remained standing only by the grace of God. Hence it was with a prayer on his lips that he ran across the muddy yard and hurried inside, grateful to have shelter from the storm, if not from the cold which had already seeped through his drenched vestments and into his bones. He closed the door behind himself and heaved a sigh of relief, which turned into an utterance unbecoming of his station as he heard, in the darkness of the chamber, the creak of a floorboard as something approached.
"It's just me," said a familiar voice, and Thanatos sagged against the door and released his reflexive grip on the cross-blade necklace under his cloak.
"Zagreus." In his exhaustion, he had forgotten about his guest. A guest who, had he wished it, could have been upon Thanatos and torn his throat out in a heartbeat. Any other of his kind certainly would have. But Zagreus had instead made a point of stepping on the loose floorboard to alert of his presence, ever courteous.
Lightning flashed through the window. Thanatos got a monochrome glimpse of his features, starkly delineated light against shadow. The roar of thunder caught up. Zagreus had his inhuman eyes trained on Thanatos, and he was smiling.
"You're back late. I hoped you wouldn't get caught out in the rain, it looks positively miserable out there, but you're soaked through, aren't you." In the dark once more, Thanatos nodded, and heard Zagreus chuckle sympathetically. His heart was still pounding in his ears—a fact he blamed solely on his earlier scare—and he scowled in an attempt to school his expression. "Why don't you go change into something dry? I'll get the fire going."
"Alright," Thanatos agreed, eager to escape his guest's uncannily comforting presence.
He toed off his shoes and crossed the room blindly, aided by muscle memory to avoid bumping into the scant passed-down furniture, and leaving a trail of wet footprints in his wake. He counted the steps to reach the door against the far wall and, finding the knob by touch alone, turned it and slipped inside. He was keenly aware of Zagreus behind him moving conscientiously loudly as he took the poker by the fireplace and set about relighting the hearth.
Thanatos closed his bedroom door behind him with a shiver. He felt colder upon entering. With unsteady hands, he found the matchcase on his bedside table and struck one stick to life. This he took to the candle beside it, and smiled as the wick caught flame. The simplicity of it brought him peace. By the flickering light, he could have fancied himself just an ordinary priest, an ordinary man coming home at the end of a long day of work, secure in his beliefs and harboring no devotion in his heart that may infringe upon his duty to God.
A mere few months ago, before Zagreus, he would have believed himself such a man. Perhaps not truly ordinary, considering the particulars of his professional skill set, but certainly steadfast in his calling, not quite so eager to make exceptions. But that simplicity felt a lifetime away. Thanatos wished he could truthfully say that he missed it.
He tore his eyes from the candle's flame and began to strip, hanging his sodden garments from the sturdy doors of the open wardrobe. As the clothes came off so too did the various weapons strapped discreetly underneath, all of them damp inside their holsters from the punishing downpour. With a soft rag he wiped dry his blessed blades and the clear vial of holy water. He dedicated special attention to his favored curved dagger, which required a prayer to cleanse the dried ichor along the edge.
Once they were all clean, he contemplated them for a tortuous moment, trying to remind himself of all the good reasons why he ought to strap them back on—not the least of which was the presence in his home of a being of the sort his implements were designed to kill. His guest had given him no cause for hostility, in fact quite the opposite; he treated Thanatos with a fondness and easy familiarity that never failed to lift his spirits from the gloominess he was prone to. He caught himself being careless around him constantly, behaving like prey so easy it stung his professional pride, and yet Zagreus had touched not a hair on his head without his explicit permission.
So it became that, although he knew that some of Zagreus' ilk delighted in striking only after their victims were lulled into a false sense of security, he let his guard down often in his company, and demurred at his God-ordained obligations which demanded action. He could not help believing that Zagreus was different, that he alone was good amongst his evil kin, or else he would have already attacked, and likely succeeded.
He tucked the weapons under his bed, where they would be within easy reach once he went to sleep, and told himself that was sufficient caution. Then he finished drying himself off, quickly, and shrugged on a clean cotton shirt and pants. He took the wet vestments to be hung near the hearth and left his chamber before he could have second thoughts.
In the living room, Zagreus sat on his haunches in front of the fire he had lit. His eyes were closed and he rocked slowly back and forth on the balls of his feet with almost childish delight. His profile was bathed in golden light, and Thanatos felt the breath catch in his chest.
The sound made Zagreus open his eyes and turn to face him, his smile as warm as the flames.
"Hi again. Are you hungry? I got some food out for you." At his words Thanatos noticed for the first time the dishes set on the low table in front of the fireplace: a bowl of stew, some bread and wine.
"Thank you." He hung the sodden clothes from tarnished hooks near the fire and padded over to sit in the time-worn armchair by the table, the only proper seating in the room. He allowed himself to sink into it and rest, unmoving, for a second before he leaned forward to say a blessing over his meal. He had not realized quite how ravenous he was until he began to eat.
"Busy few days, huh," Zagreus commented, observing him. He said this wholly without reproach, despite being aware of what Thanatos' business was.
Still Thanatos was hesitant to speak of it with him. Such talk would have easily conjured the remembrance of plunging a stake between yellowing ribs, or the putrid smell of corrupted flesh dissolving in holy water—things he did not want to associate with the creature before him. "You could say that," he replied simply.
He wondered if Zagreus felt any measure of sympathy for his bloodthirsty kin. It was apparent that he harbored not a shred of hatred in his soul; the darkest humor Thanatos had ever seen from him was resentment toward his uncaring sire, of whom he spoke rarely. Perhaps his exceptional kindness was an act of rebellion.
"I hope the food's good," he said, breaking Thanatos' reverie.
"It's good." At this confirmation, Zagreus perked up, whatever worry had momentarily taken him immediately lifted. Thanatos cast down his gaze and continued to eat in silence.
The awareness that he was being watched pricked at his senses, but he could not bring himself to confront it. Desolately he prayed that his hands would not tremble and his countenance would not betray his sudden nerves. And, all the while, he pictured in his mind Zagreus' beautiful mismatched eyes, the lovely lines and dimples in his face that made his smile seem so irrepressible, so impossibly alive for a creature so long dead. That paradoxical warmth was what he knew he would see if he looked up, and he yearned for it and feared it in equal measure.
He dropped the last piece of bread in the empty bowl and used it to mop up the remains of the stew. He did this methodically, clockwise and up around the rim of the bowl. Then he finished the wine with a measured sip. He put down the cup. Words spilled from his lips unbidden.
"Have you eaten at all since I've been gone, Zagreus?"
The response was a sheepish chuckle. If Thanatos looked now—and he did not—he was certain he would see Zagreus avert his eyes, hands fidgeting in his lap.
"Your friend the nurse came by yesterday. Meg." Thanatos made a note of the diminutive, and glanced up in spite of himself. There was a wistful fondness in Zagreus' face that embedded itself sharply in his chest. "She, uh, called me a fool. Said she just knew I wasn't taking proper care of myself. It's not like I was starving or anything just yet, mind. But she... shared a little of her blood with me. So I'm okay."
"If anyone's a fool here, surely it's me," Thanatos said, and meant it in more ways than one. He ought to have made preparations before his departure, and indeed had intended to do so, in order to preclude the possibility that Zagreus may be forced against his wishes to seek unwary sustenance in the village down the hill. Such a predatory act, even committed by necessity, would have demanded holy retribution. But Zagreus had proven himself once more above the basest instincts of his kind, even to the detriment of his health—and it was Thanatos who had driven him to such a penance, all because he had been too ashamed to provide for him. He sighed. "I'll be sure to thank Megaera when I see her next. Still, she shouldn't have insulted you."
Zagreus laughed softly. "It's alright. I've been called worse." A shadow seemed to pass over his face, so quickly Thanatos could not be sure it hadn't been a trick of the firelight. "Besides, she's a lot nicer than she seems at first. A bit like you, Than."
His voice grew softer on the nickname, and there again was that warm fondness dancing in his eyes, only for him. Thanatos silently prayed, please, Lord, have mercy.
"If I didn't seem nice to you at first, you could have found someone else to torment," he said, frowning in self-defense. "Besides, I'd say I've been overall nice to you, haven't I?"
"You have, of course. You didn't have to be, considering, but... Well, I'm glad you are. I wouldn't want you as my enemy."
By all rights, I should be. "Happy to hear it. Listen, I'm sorry I was gone nearly a week. My assignment this time took quite a bit longer than I expected."
Zagreus shook his head, dismissing the apology. "Don't worry about it. You're home now, that's what matters."
Home. It sounded so simple, the way he said it. Perhaps it was only Thanatos that agonized endlessly over the contradictions between them. He sighed, mentally begging forgiveness as he resolved to put those quandaries out of his mind for the time being, and make amends.
"Zag," he said, almost steadily, "would you like to feed?"
The ichor of vampires was so dark as to be nearly black. It did not flush the skin pink like human blood did. And yet sometimes, like now, Zagreus appeared to forget this, and in bashfulness would unconsciously bring up a hand to rub the back of his neck; then, at the contact of cold skin where he had expected warmth, he would recall himself, and his eyes would widen a fraction, and he would let his hand fall, looking for a moment deeply, heart-wrenchingly sad.
"You don't have to feed me," he said after a pause, forcing a smile. "You must be tired, and I don't want to push you. I can last a few days longer if I have to."
"I want to," Thanatos confessed.
This is beyond careless, he chided himself, for a pleasant thrill had run down his spine at the look on Zagreus' face. He was rather obviously trying not to appear too eager at the prospect of a meal, but Thanatos didn't miss the way his eyes flickered to Thanatos' neck nor the bob of his throat as he swallowed. They stared at each other for a moment longer before Zagreus said, "Are you sure, Than?"
It sounded like the type of question asked of someone balanced on the edge of a precipice, about to jump, but Thanatos felt like he already had. An eerie presentiment washed over him, that the question was being asked not solely of him—and unease ran chilly fingers down his nape. He willed his expression to remain calm nonetheless. "I wouldn't be offering if I wasn't sure," he said, certain of this truth for better or worse.
"Alright. In that case... I would be honored, Than." Zagreus' voice was lovingly earnest, as if he were accepting the most precious gift in the whole world, but a narrow focus had sharpened his features. Thanatos tensed and drew a shuddering breath. Wafting from the sullied vestments, the smells of freshly-dug earth and carnage invaded his nostrils inauspiciously.
"Get to it, then," he said, ignoring the protests of his instincts.
Then Zagreus approached. Quiet as the grave, and just as inevitable.
One moment he had been sat by the fire and the next he stood over the armchair, so swift that Thanatos nearly missed the movement. But his reflexes, keen from birth and honed further through battle, caught up before his consciousness did. He shook out his right sleeve, opening his palm to receive the hilt of a concealed stiletto, thrice-blessed—and his hand closed around empty air.
He remembered then, as the vampire loomed over him with fangs bared, that he was unarmed.
"God... Zagreus," he whispered, fully believing that he would die, and uncertain in his last moments which of the two names on his lips he was praying to.
God was silent, but Zagreus heard, and stopped.
He blinked, and the predatory glint in his eyes dimmed—and then he drew in a rattling, unnecessary breath and covered his mouth with his hands. "No," he gasped, stepping back. Struck by his horrified realization he became no longer a hungry beast on the hunt, but Zagreus, the gentle and caring soul Thanatos had come to love. "Oh, hells—Than, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to—I'm—"
Thanatos couldn't speak. If he opened his mouth he feared his heart might jump right out of it. In his mind he begged the Lord's forgiveness for having failed to arm himself, and at the same time thanked Him for it. Had he found the hilt in his hand, he might have been quick enough to plunge the holy weapon into Zagreus' breast, and thus survived long enough to hear his cries of agony as the flesh of the wound burned and struggled to regenerate. As he pictured it he could almost taste that sour stench at the back of his throat.
"This was a bad idea," Zagreus said, grief and self-disgust plain and unnatural on his face. He turned to leave. The movement this time was deliberate, every muscle telegraphing his intent.
Again, Thanatos' body reacted before his mind did. He reached out and grabbed Zagreus' wrist.
"Please," he said, a single word to buy himself a few seconds of Zagreus' attention while he struggled to understand what he meant to say. The skin under his fingers was always colder than he expected, and nothing beat underneath. Zagreus waited, tense as a bowstring pulled taut, but patient; he had all the time in the world. At length Thanatos continued, "You could have killed me. But you stopped."
He looked up and saw a bitter smile that did not belong on Zagreus' face. "I almost didn't," he admitted, and Thanatos was overtaken by a bone-deep chill. The storm still raged outside, and he imagined the wind must be slipping into the house through the gap under the door, or imperceptible fractures in the walls. Zagreus' expression turned imploring. "But you would have been able to stop me, if I hadn't. Right?"
"Right," Thanatos lied.
"Good. That's good. If I hurt you, I..." He let the hypothetical trail off, and for a moment looked on the verge of tears. Then he pushed a small smile through. "Well, I don't even want to consider it, honestly. I'm glad I didn't. I should probably go, though."
He tugged his arm gently away, like a question. He could have easily broken the hold, had he wished it, but he waited for Thanatos to release him willingly. The priest took a deep breath and steeled himself.
"You should stay. You said you can hold out a few days, but it's obvious you're hungry."
Zagreus' eyes widened. He scrutinized Thanatos' features, his posture, as though searching for confirmation of the words he had just spoken. Truly, they were the words of a madman—and yet Thanatos found that he meant them with every ounce of his being.
Zagreus sounded almost reverent when he spoke. "You would trust me that much, even after what just happened."
"What nearly happened," Thanatos corrected him. Then, "Yes."
Very slowly, his bare feet scuffling on the floor, Zagreus padded closer, so close his toes would have tickled Thanatos' foot if he had just wiggled them slightly. He twisted out of his grasp and, in the same smooth movement, reversed the grip so he may take Thanatos' wrist and bring it slowly up to his mouth, the veins facing upward and exposed. His eyes searched Thanatos'.
"Yes," Thanatos repeated, breath coming short.
But rather than pierce the skin with his fangs, as he had on previous such occasions, he pressed a kiss against Thanatos' racing pulse. Perhaps he was giving him a chance to change his mind even now, but Thanatos was rooted in place, mesmerized beyond all hope of rational judgment.
"May I move closer?" Zagreus asked quietly, and Thanatos could only nod, not knowing exactly what was being asked but certain of his answer nonetheless.
The intent behind the question unfurled slowly. Zagreus released his wrist in order to brace his hands on the armrests and, delicately, moved to straddle Thanatos' lap. The armchair, which had been made for a broader man than its current owner, left enough room for him to tuck his folded knees on either side of the priest's hips. He looked down at Thanatos with such tenderness that Thanatos had to close his eyes, afraid he might begin to cry. He felt cool dead hands cup his face, the thumbs brushing the arch of his cheekbones, heart-wrenchingly gentle.
"Is this okay?" Zagreus asked. His voice was barely above a whisper, yet he was all that Thanatos could hear. Outside the walls of the house, ominous thunder may have split the sky a thousand times and he would not have listened to it or cared.
"It's okay." Tentatively, he rested his hands on the vampire's waist. To push him away if necessary, he told himself—and immediately chuckled, for he could no longer make himself believe such lies. He knew he would not resist a death so lovingly delivered.
Above him Zagreus released a sigh—another stray remembrance of his previous life. "I missed you so much, Than."
"I'm sorry I made you go hungry so long."
Zagreus' thumb brushed over his lips, so soft he may have imagined it.
"I'm not talking about your blood, Than. Blood is just that, nothing more. I missed you."
Thanatos breathed in, then out, to ensure he would not forget the rhythm of it. "How can you just say such things."
"I don't like misunderstandings, or leaving room for doubt. Life is shorter than it seems." Zagreus swallowed, so impossibly loud in their proximity. "Will you open your eyes, please? Look at me."
The fire crackled in the hearth, and Zagreus, with his back to it, was cast in shadow. But his eyes were bright, and when Thanatos looked at the curve of his mouth, he could make out the barest hint of pointed fangs consciously tucked behind his full lips.
"I missed you, too," he said, conceding to honesty.
Zagreus smiled, and his entire face seemed to light up with it. He pressed his forehead to Thanatos', softly laughing in delight, and time itself stopped in deference to him, and all the world held its breath.
"Oh, Than," he said sweetly, moving one inhumanly strong hand to gingerly tilt up Thanatos' chin, "would you bare your throat to me? I promise I won't hurt you, and I won't take more than you're willing to give."
Thanatos thought of the weapons abandoned under his bed, his vows similarly forgotten in Zagreus' company, the scriptures whose black-and-white morality brought less comfort with every passing day. If willingness is your condition, you might as well take everything, he wanted to say. He bared his throat.
"Thank you," Zagreus said, leaned in.
He first pressed his lips against the corner of his jaw. Thanatos' pulse soared at that single point of contact, and he fisted his hands in the back of Zagreus' shirt, gasping for air. He could not remember anyone ever touching him with such care, did not know it was possible for a kiss so feather-light to feel so much.
Zagreus stilled, questioning.
"Go on," Thanatos told him, and felt him smile against his skin.
His mouth branded more kisses down the line of his throat, then settled on top of the artery. He nipped at the skin without breaking it, perhaps intending to give Thanatos concrete knowledge of what he had agreed to, and Thanatos arched up into the sensation, unable to stop himself.
"Relax," Zagreus whispered, so impossibly close; strands of wild black hair tickled Thanatos' ear. "You're safe with me. I promise."
"I'm relaxed," Thanatos protested faintly, falsely. His own voice sounded faraway. He willed his body to still, and felt more than heard Zagreus' answering chuckle.
Then, with a reverent whisper of Thanatos' name, Zagreus bit down and began to feed.
Countless times had the priest felt a vampire's teeth sink into him in the violence of his work, or had his flesh raked by their merciless claws, or his bones broken by their monstrous strength. He had been afraid in every one of those fights, and had desperately prayed for the strength to survive and vanquish those enemies of God. But Zagreus' bite stirred in him a different kind of fright—the blood-curling realization that he wasn't afraid at all. Everything was consumed by a visceral desperation that told him he was right where he belonged.
With every drop that Zagreus drank from him, the thread of Thanatos' life became more inextricably joined to his. And yet that irresistible pull was not a forceful conquest; it was a welcome, a familiar greeting lovingly extended at the close of a long day. It was the warmth of Zagreus' smile by the fire, his conscientious steps on the creaky floorboards, the wild sound of his laughter the night he had climbed to the roof to fix a leak, running straight up the stone walls because gravity wasn't strong enough to hold him.
The enormity of his power laid over Thanatos like a mantle, and Thanatos lost himself in it, whispering blasphemous worship and clinging to his cold frame. He had no notion of how long it lasted. It may have been seconds or years. But he knew when it was over.
Zagreus ceased sucking at the wound, and lapped at it with his tongue to encourage the skin to heal. As the punctures closed, that strange connection between them drew further away, a resonant note that became an echo and then silence.
He noticed his cheeks were damp when he heard Zagreus say, "Oh, Than, I'm sorry," and felt his thumbs wiping away the tears.
"Stop apologizing," Thanatos begged him. He grabbed Zagreus' wrists to pull his hands away from his face, unable to bear the contact that now felt so empty. He swallowed around the tightness in his chest and said, "That felt different than the times you've drunk from my wrist."
"The aorta comes straight from the heart," Zagreus said, a sad smile on his bloodied mouth.
"Oh." He looked wonderingly up at the vampire, light-headed from blood loss, his eyes struggling to focus. And he thought, if any creature on this Earth should be charged to live forever, oh Lord, let it be a blessing rather than a curse, and let it be bestowed only upon him, the kindest among the kind, the worthiest of all your beloved children.
Zagreus said, "I might be leaving here soon."
Thanatos' blood froze. Reflexively he tightened his weakened grip on Zagreus' wrists. "Where?"
"I had news from... a distant member of my family. A cousin, or, well, the equivalent in terms of the hierarchy, I suppose." Zagreus spoke softly, his posture hunched and lazy, boneless as he always became after feeding. His eyes traced Thanatos' features like a caress. "She offered me a place with them, in their territory up north. If I wish it. They're an old family, and not without their troubles I'm sure, but their offer was sincere. And I must go somewhere, eventually."
Thanatos shook his head, panic rising inside him. "No. You don't have to go anywhere if you don't want to. You're welcome here, as long as you want to stay."
"That wouldn't be fair to you," Zagreus said. He shook Thanatos' tight grip on his wrists as easily and as gently as dislodging the touch of a butterfly. "I've already been here too long. I've turned your life upside down without meaning to, and I don't know if that's right."
It's right, he wanted to say, and would have said it with full faith and certainty such as he had never felt before, and not even the word of God Himself could have dissuaded him. He quaked in the grip of that conviction, and said, "Sometimes you terrify me, Zag."
"I know. I terrify me, too." He leaned in close, smelling of ash and copper and the grave, and kissed Thanatos' forehead. The press of his lips lingered like a holy anointment.
Then he was gone, disentangling himself and stepping away from the armchair before Thanatos could attempt to halt him.
"I hope you won't be too sad when I go. It won't be the end of the world, you know." In the dimness it was difficult to make out his features, though he stood only a few feet away. He was a creature of the night, and She would always shelter him when he wished to be unseen. "And you don't need to worry about me and this new... development. The family is technically my sire's clan, but it seems they're estranged, which is supposedly how they're only learning of my existence now, and—well, there's so many of them, Than, they can't possibly all be assholes, right?"
"If they treat you poorly," Thanatos said, desperately trying for humor and missing by about a mile, "I'm pretty handy with a stake."
Zagreus laughed. "Appreciate the offer, but let's keep that as a back-up plan, if it's all the same to you."
"Just say the word," Thanatos said, and meant it. Assuredly any hunter, no matter how experienced, would have to be stupid or crazy to strike at the entirety of an ancient, well-established clan, but it would be a worthy way to go. In the haze of his grief, it seemed the worthiest of all. "Will you come back, if they aren't what you're hoping?"
"Maybe. After sufficient time has passed, I could. I'd like to." Quietly, Zagreus took a step forward, to allow the flickering firelight to show his face. Thanatos leaned closer, holding out his hand like a supplicant, and heaved a sigh when Zagreus took it. Despite this acceptance his expression was conflicted, and after a moment he said, "Than, you're a hunter. You know what a glamor is, don't you?"
"A dark compulsion vampires cast over their victims to subdue their free will and instill in them fervent and mindless adoration," Thanatos recited, a perfect textbook answer. Then, "You're being ridiculous, Zag. You wouldn't do that to me."
"How can you be so sure? How can you know, when even I don't?"
Thanatos clutched his hand, feeling suddenly vulnerable, powerless and small. "I just know."
"You sound so certain. You hate vampires, but you always talk like I could do no wrong." Zagreus let out a pained laugh. "I keep thinking I must have charmed you without meaning to, and I don't even know how or when."
"No," Thanatos said, as though this contradiction didn't also haunt his days and nights. "The vampires I hunt are monsters. They hurt innocent people for sport, Zag. They rejoice in their victims' pain. You're nothing like them."
"Everybody's a little bit like everybody else, Than," Zagreus said quietly, and flashed a hint of his teeth, easily understood as a reminder of what he had almost done. Terror marched along Thanatos' spine. Kindly, the vampire continued, "My family is old and powerful; they could teach me to control what I am. Then I wouldn't be so afraid that I'm controlling you. I don't want to change who you are, Than."
"If you've charmed me, it's not through dark magic," Thanatos insisted, desperately wanting to believe it—and yet doubt sunk its claws into him, echoing in his mind all the perversities that he had been taught vampires were capable of. "It's you, yourself. It has to be. You said it just now—I'm a hunter. I would know."
Zagreus' eyes pierced through him, grim and astute, as though he could read every thought running through his head. Likely, he could. "No, you don't." He squeezed Thanatos' hand once, then let go. "I need to be sure. I need to do this."
Before Thanatos could protest further, he approached and leaned over him once more, moving with a restrained agility just on the verge of passing for human. In the fractured firelight, he looked momentarily afraid. Then he bent down and pressed their lips together, so briefly Thanatos had no chance to react before Zagreus pulled back and away, once more out of reach.
"I won't go for a few days yet. They're sending someone to fetch me, I think." He was talking with renewed enthusiasm that sounded hollow to Thanatos, who had so often heard the real thing.
He tried to stand from the armchair and found that his legs wouldn't hold him. His vision swam, the red and orange hues of the firelight spilling across the drab browns and greys of the room's interior like water sloshing over the deck of a ship. Unsteadily he sank back into his seat.
"Oh, you should rest, Than." His voice was now full of genuine concern, and Thanatos found himself irritated by it. It just figured. Zagreus was leaving, but still he insisted on being excruciatingly kind to the last. "Hold on, I think there's some fruit in the kitchen, it'll help you get your strength back. I'll go fetch it."
Thanatos scoffed humorlessly. "Sure. Do whatever you like." He closed his eyes against a sudden wave of nausea, willing it to recede. He was beginning to sweat, the hangover worse than it had ever been before, and still he could not find it in himself to regret the feeding.
Distantly he heard the whine of rusty hinges as Zagreus entered the kitchen and started opening cupboards, searching. There came a frustrated huff, then a series of vicious sounds of something hard cracking open. Before long Zagreus returned with a ceramic bowl that he tenderly pushed into Thanatos' hands. The priest looked down to see two pomegranates split into quarters—the edges irregular, as if cut by the application of brute force alone.
"I couldn't find a knife," Zagreus said. "You should eat. I'll leave you to it. If you need me, though, feel free to call me. I'll hear."
"Sure," Thanatos said, resolving not to. He picked up one of the pieces and bit into the flesh of the fruit, sucking the juice and the tart seeds into his mouth.
Zagreus hovered nearby for a moment before making true on his word and walking deliberately away toward the stairs, his every footfall pinpointing with courteous precision the rotting sections of flooring damaged by the humidity and not yet replaced. Thanatos heard him take the lowest step and there stop, looking back. Peevishly he considered ignoring the weight of the vampire's attention and thereby proving that he was the master of his own will, but the thought that soon he wouldn't be able to see Zagreus at all made him glance up.
"I'd like nothing more than to be wrong, you know," Zagreus said.
Knowing that there was nothing he could do or say that would sway his decision, Thanatos merely nodded, making a pitiful attempt to smile which Zagreus returned far more convincingly. They looked at each other a moment longer; then the vampire turned around and climbed up the steps, and Thanatos resumed eating, drawing simple and insufficient comfort from the crunch of the hard pomegranate flesh under his teeth.
He touched two sticky fingers to his neck, wishing that he would find a scab to mark the spot where Zagreus had bitten him, but as usual, that immense power had healed the skin to pristine smoothness. Perhaps a natural protection to preserve his willing prey until the next meal—and Thanatos felt resentment rise like bile in his throat. His body was a roadmap of scars, each one a reminder of a near-fatal mistake. Just once, he wished he could have born the mark of something good and beautiful for the rest of his days.
The storm battered the house with righteous fury. A prayer rose to Thanatos' lips and there died, impaled upon the memory of Zagreus' mouth on his.
"I'll be here for you, so come back to me," he whispered, alone in the cold and dismal room, knowing that in the attic above Zagreus would hear, and listen.