Chapter Text
The gorgeous melody of the organ filled the high arched walls of the church. Outside, the night crawled with the other residents of Oakhurst capital, the Manorlord’s denizens as many townsfolk call them. Inside was a sanctuary from the hungry beats, holy ground preventing even the weakest of vampires to cross though. Only one vampire could enter, yet no one ever saw him near the town.
Stained glass windows reflected the moonlight, pouring in a colourful array of light over the quiet figure walking through the aisle. Empty pews exemplifying his solitude with the gentle breeze making the crimson tapestries dance to the organ's song. Old wooden rafters embellished in golden details creaked with each subtle movement of the church, signifying the ancient presence of the building in the scheme of Oakhurst. Only one building stood older than this church, the castle on the hillside, both built in the same Romanesque gothic style. They could honestly spend hours studying every intricate detail of the bricks, yet their main goal was to seek assistance.
They lowered themselves further, resting his arms on the crimson carpet of the stairs leading to the altar. His coat sprawled out behind him as they pulled their hands together for a prayer. The statue of their god and saints stared down at him from all edges of the church, squeezing their eyes shut as tears threatened the edges of his eyes.
“F-Forgive me, gods…” Their voice cracked, muffled into the carpet as they struggled to maintain composure. The only comfort seemed to be the resonating melody of the organ, a warmth that the terrifying night and cold stone walls of the church sucked out like a vampire’s fangs, “I-I don't know why I feel so… hostile towards Czeslaw… I don't want to hurt anyone…”
“What should I do?” They lifted their head, meeting the pale, lifeless eyes of the marble statue as if it would come to life and guide him. If only, “Please… please hear my prayer this time… I can't keep seeking help that never comes while I still get abused and berated by them!”
No one answered. They wanted to cry, to scream, to beg for anything just to prove this religion wasn't false proclivity in the name of something they couldn't understand. Since they were just a boy, he'd come with his parents and pray for a friend. A true friend who wouldn't hurt them. Yet no one answered.
“Please… I want to believe in you…” Their voice was wet, hands shaking as they landed on the carpet, giving up in their futile prayers. They refused to move, refused to acknowledge how bitterly upset everything about this church’s religion made him. Humans were still sacrificed like lambs to a slaughter for the faceless beast hidden in his gothic castle. This was all futile, trying to grasp any control over their life was pointless, “Bastards…”
“Well that's no language to use in a church,” The silky sweet voice broke away any unvarnished thoughts they had. Their head shot up from the small stairs and carpet, almost giving himself whiplash at the sensation as they met the smug smirk of a regally dressed man with pristine, snow white hair lounging rather promiscuously on the altar.
“Oh… s-sorry sir… I didn’t mean to speak candidly…” He stuttered, pulling on the sleeve of his coat to dry his wetting eyes. When did this man come inside the church? How had he not heard the heavy wooden doors open? They hadn’t seen him before, yet something about the man’s presence felt so overbearingly familiar to them.
[Art by NoodleTheGay]
“You’re excused, I’m not the biggest church guy, either,” His smile seemed far too sharp, kicking a leg over the other as he leaned forwards. The clothes the man wore was eccentric at best, a high, sharp collar framing his head in velvet blacks and silky reds, gold embellishing the trimming of the long cape as it pooled visibly behind the altar, “What are you doing up so late, dear? You know its dangerous around Oakhurst at night~”
They stumbled for words, an array of noises until he cleared his throat. They could feel the warmth of blush spreading across his cheeks, shunning himself for even thinking of the lavishly dressed man in any light other than respect, “Just… needed to get out of the estate, sir…”
“And you came to the church of all places? You humans are so intriguing…” They couldn’t make out the words from the man’s mumble, pulling themself back to their feet and patting out his clothes to try and look more put together. It became a little more obvious he was in pyjamas, only wearing their nice coat as it blocked out the cool autumn air.
“Y-yes sir… I just find solace in the architecture… and the organ music is nice,” They admitted, guilt weighing down on their shoulders at the admission of not finding comfort in the religion. The man hummed at that, pushing himself off the altar, allowing them to drink in his whole appearance. The ruffle collar seemed to exaggerate his chest, a red corset vest adding to the definition that matched with loose silk black pants, sheer, almost lacy bishop sleeves and tall black heeled boots, “My uh… my family also comes to church frequently…”
“Your family? And what might your name be, dear?” The man mused, a melody humming in his words that just enticed him closer. He paused in front of them, more intricate details in all his clothes becoming visible with the beading on his corset vest and fleur royal swirls across the length of his cape, each point looking like the swooping edges of bat wings. They even noticed the sharp red nails decorated in golden designs and the striking blood-coloured irises.
“Um… Jack von Pyroscythe, sir…” Pyro hummed, pulling his gaze away from the man’s eyes as the judgement of marble statues bore into his back, “My father is Janusz von Pyroscythe…”
“Ah, you’re Janusz’s boy?” At the familiar mention of his name, the man’s sharp smile seemed to fade as Pyro was expertly studied like a dissected animal on a laboratory table, “He’s mentioned you before… though you’re nothing like what he described.”
“I… is that a good thing, sir?” Pyro winced, hating how meek their voice was and the overwhelming instinct to run seemingly falling to his feet being stuck to the carpet. Two pointed nails lifted their chin, forcing their gazes to meet once more. Prey and predator.
“I’d say so,” The man cooed, more fingers wrapping around their chin as his head was tilted from side to side, “I do like a black sheep.”
Pyro blinked, his face flushing deeper at the peculiar compliment. The more they looked into the eyes of the man, the more inhuman and familiar he seemed to be. And then it clicked. This wasn’t a man, it was a vampire… and not just any vampire, this one was allowed in the church. Their instincts went into overdrive, trying to run and flee before any harm came to them, “Lord Goldsmith…”
“Hmm? Oh, finally realised?” The vampire’s smile grew, nails slightly digging into their skin as he was locked in place. It felt so ironic, staring into the face of unholy death while standing within the supposed sanctity of a church, “Oh, don’t worry dear, I’m not hungry tonight. I was here to talk to the pastor, yet… he seems to be a little busy with the barmaid, just thought I'd listen in from the rafters. I mean, it’s not very often I can meet people without them being a meal~”
“I-I uh…” Pyro swallowed a lump growing in his throat at whatever implication the Lord was giving him as they were hit with an understanding for what the large stained glass window behind the altar meant. It was of Goldsmith and his brood, “I-I don’t want to die…”
“Who said you were?” A quick glint of falsified concern etched the vampire’s brow, moving his hand to gently card through their unkempt brown hair. It felt romantic, even with the petrified, rabbit quick heartbeat pounding in their ears, “I might be a vampire but I’m not a monster, Jack~”
Their name sounded nice on the vampire’s tongue, a pit in their stomach forming at all the sacrilegious thoughts toying in their mind. Father would be so displeased, “Tell me, Jack, what do you do around the town? Are you working with your father?”
“I… I'm a student, sir…” Pyro managed to squeak out, trying to keep himself calm as he was being circled by the shark in an ocean, “I’m a scholar, um… I'm currently writing my thesis on the importance of city infrastructure in sewer systems to prevent the outbreaks of disease and famine…”
“Oh that's very interesting,” They couldn’t tell if there was genuine interest or sarcasm in his tone, standing still as the hand that was behind the vampire’s back landed on his hip. They met Goldsmith’s eyes again, feeling so small under his gaze, “I could always use a little architect researcher for my castle, Apo would enjoy the company.”
“S-sorry sir but… I’ll have to refuse, I’m meant to inherit my father’s company once I graduate…” Pyro apologised, shrinking at the sharp frown he was met with in response.
“Has Janusz not told you? Oh you poor, sweet, innocent thing,” the condescending words sank deep into Pyro’s bones as he was crowded by the vampiric lord, “Your father isn’t passing the company onto you, apparently he’s giving it to the Mielnik boy…”
“Czeslaw?!” Pyro gasped, any fear briefly disappearing as he stared up at the man, begging for this to be some vampiric joke. It wasn’t. Their shoulders dropped in defeat, a battle he didn’t realise he was fighting in for the approval of his father lost to the man who relentlessly bullied and maimed him, “I… I thought he…”
The Manorlord sighed, far too used to the petty emotions of humans as he pulled on Pyro’s hip, forcing their bodies against each other, "Don't get your head so wrapped up in it, dear. Your father is a stubborn man to please, let alone deal with.”
Pyro flushed as he was overwhelmed by the sharp cold of the man’s body matched with the fragrant smell of wine and rosewater, choosing to ignore the metallic scent of blood, “I… I’m sorry for being so… dishevelled, sir…”
“It’s fine, I’ve always been a sucker for a pathetic type,” The play on words wasn’t lost on Pyro as they truly registered the closeness of their bodies. He was such a mess, emotions overbearing every thought and action as his face remained a deep shade of crimson, “But my ‘offer’ still stands, Jack. If you would like permanent residence at my castle, a very handsomely rewarded job and safety among my kingdom, I will happily snatch you away from your miserable life.”
Was it really an offer? Pyro knew, in the back of his mind, that if they disagreed he wouldn’t get a choice in his fate. He could be killed or made into nothing but a bloodbag for the elder vampire until he got bored of them. It sounded nice at least…being wanted and offered something they never got from their family all for the knowledge of infrastructure.
“Well? I don’t have all night, dear…” Goldsmith urged, lifting his chin once more to meet the unholy gaze of his fate. He came to church to pray for guidance… maybe the god finally was answering his cries. If vampires could breathe, Pyro was sure the other’s breath would be ghosting his lips right now.
“I… I accept…” They spoke, trying to carry any confidence in his timbre that only faltered in the air. The knowing smirk of the other sealed his fate. A paperless contract signing away his life to the vampiric lord that ruled over their town of Oakhurst. He came to church seeking the holy, only to leave with the unholy.
“Good boy… Why don’t we head home?” Goldsmith cooed, stepping away from Pyro as a frigid cold was eased from his chest. As the man walked past him, towards the wooden doors exiting the church, Pyro stared back up at the stained glass window. Each figure made sense now, with Goldsmith’s sharp smile edged in glass at the top.
“S-should I grab my belongings from the estate, sir?” Pyro asked, finally turning his back on the religion that failed him to follow into the dark sanctuary ahead of him.
“No, I will get one of my coven to handle that, you’ll just need to give them permission to enter your house,” Goldsmith hummed, waiting for Pyro at the door of the church, surprisingly holding them open for someone with a menial status to him. Pyro nodded, exiting the church and tailing the vampire once they started to walk again.
They remembered people fretting about the days the Manorlord came to town, whispers and prayers for mercy that Pyro found in the man they feared. He could imagine in the morning when the reports of their absence spread through rumours that his parents would just dismiss it. He’s just off chasing fairytales again, they’d say, never batting an eye to where they would sit at the dinner table reading a book or philosophy paper, never acknowledging if he had a good sleep.
“When we return to the castle, I will get you to drink my blood,” Goldsmith started, the air to his form making Pyro want to just fall to his feet, “I will make you my thrall to become apart of my brood and drink from you until you are ready to be turned into one of my fledglings and join my coven.”
Thrall, fledgling, brood, coven. All these terms Pyro would become quickly accustomed to, keeping his head down so as to not draw more attention to himself, “Ok… will it hurt?”
“Being fed from? Briefly… my newest fledgling said it reminded her of a doctor’s needle drawing blood,” He explained, waving his hand around in circles as they reached the palisade surrounding the town. There was no turning back once they crossed, “It will be uncomfortable, but you will get used to it. You can ask the fledglings on their experiences with it, Shelby was the most recently turned after five years, so she’ll give you a clearer idea.”
Shelby. The name rang familiar to the first ceremony Pyro’s name had been put in for sacrifices. Thankfully, he wasn’t pulled yet he vaguely remembered standing next to a girl with wild ginger red hair and chunky glasses who did, “She was one of the sacrifices…”
“Yes, a lot of my thralls are picked within a five year period, or if I find one that stands out to me… just like you did~” His hand was on Pyro’s lower back, crossing through the town’s gate into the forested path ahead.
An ever-growing sense of dread started to overwhelm him. Did he make the right choice? Would he have even been given the choice if he said no? His thoughts were abruptly interrupted when he felt the Manorlord’s hand move slightly further down his back, quickly looking up at him as if he said something blasphemous. This was blasphemous… the church didn't like this stuff…
“Oh, I apologise I should've asked,” Goldsmith hummed, moving his hand back up to their lower back as if this wasn't against everything the pastor preached, “Would you, as my thrall, be comfortable with my romantic and intimate advances?”
This was ludicrous. Pyro stared up at him blankly, inner turmoil fighting on whether or not he was allowed to give into the pestering demon craving this type of affection, “The church–”
“I don't care what the church says, they made up that stupid rule when they established the religion because they didn't like me,” Goldsmith interrupted, his finger on Pyro’s lip to silence any more words of rebuttals, “I'm a homosexual man and they wanted an excuse to hate me more.”
“Oh… wait… the religion isn't even real?” If any more world shattering revelations occurred, Pyro’s head might explode. While part of him knew something was heavily wrong with this religion that Oakhurst made, he chose to not question it too far in case his parents found out and punished him. However, hearing it from a vampire that many knew to be millenniums old was… devastating honestly.
“Sadly yes, they made it up to try and combat my original ruling when I first took over Oakhurst,” Goldsmith hummed, gently rubbing circles into his back with a frown, “They made that rule to justify killing my thralls and lovers in the eyes of their false god. Any other casualties not related to me were just a bonus to them.”
“Does… that mean I'll die if I…” Pyro didn't finish their sentence, too busy trying to catch up on all the information they've just learned and realising how fucked up his whole life had been to this point.
“No, I will make sure of it, Jack,” Goldsmith promised, a sternness to his tone as Pyro met his eyes once more. Crimson.
“Ok… I… I do want this but… I need time to get comfortable first…” Pyro said softly, leaning into the old hand resting on his cheek. They closed their eyes as a soft kiss was pressed against his temple, flinching slightly at the affection.
“Thats fine, I'll try not to rush you, dear,” He said, moving back once more as the hand returned to his lower back, “Remind me to find you some actual clothes as well. I don't want you walking around my castle in stripped pajamas and a dusty old coat when you're mine.”
Pyro flushed at the memory of his current attire, pulling the coat around himself tighter as they continued, “Right… thank you, sir…”
“Please, call me Scott,” The vampire lord smiled, a lot more comfortable with how he held Pyro’s body instead of the ghostly light touches. Before Pyro could respond, a rustle nearby drew his attention as a figure approached the two from the wood line.
“Got yourself a new pet?” The woman had a larger build, white hair billowing out behind her as she adjusted the sleeve of her royal purple robe. Pyro felt small again, trying to hide himself away as the new vampire stared him down with a similar scornful judgement of his mother.
“Thrall, Cleo, please put some respect on the title,” Scott huffed at her, rolling his eyes as he kept walking up towards the castle on the hill, “Like how your puppy is a thrall of yours.”
“Well someone seemed to be in a more generous mood then, you barely pick thralls,” Cleo seemed to become a lot more airy and calm after that, patting his shoulder as they seemed to eye Pyro off with suspicion, “What got you in the giving spirit? It's not even close to Yule yet.”
“You're very nosey, you know,” Scott tutted, smiling at her with the same alleviated expression of old friends greeting each other again. Pyro felt like an observer from the distance, awkwardly pulling his coat tighter to try hiding his lack worth clothes.
“You're a von Pyroscythe, right?” The question was directed at them, glancing up quickly to meet her more amaranth in tone eyes. Was he meant to know who she was?
“Y-Yes ma'am…” Pyro responded, flinching back at the brief look of disgust. Did he say something wrong? Did she not like his family?
“Oh you definitely are…” Cleo grimaced, muttering something to Scott which had the other whip his head back to the tow gates and… say something in a language he could recognise, “Ok kid, firstly, the only person you use titles like that on is your master or sire who is Scott. Secondly, what your cunt of a father taught you about 'respect’ is completely absurd and outdated.”
“I… sorry you know my father?” Pyro asked, conflicted on whether he should believe the lady or not on the ‘respect' point.
“Hah! Who doesn't…” Scott let slip, covering his mouth quickly with an apologetic glance, “Sorry, a lot of the vampires turned within the last 200 years have had and experience with your family, they were the ones to buy Cleo’s farm when she was still human and then–”
“Hung me out to dry with nothing, you're lucky I didn't kill your bloodline once I was turned,” Cleo smiled, a threat borne in sharp teeth.
“I… didn't know we did that… I'm so sorry…” Pyro apologised, finding it interesting how starkly different the reactions of townsfolk to vampires were at his family’s name. The town respected them, the vampires seemed to carry vitriol.
“Just don't pull the same shit and you're fine, kid,” Cleo hummed, turning their gaze back to the path ahead. The castle started to become more visible as they reached the top of the hill, its imposing gothic architecture seeming to be more inviting than ever now.
“I won't… my family didn't really like me…” Pyro mumbled, the revelation still weighing heavy on his soul. Did they ever love him?
“Same fate as everyone else,” Cleo sighed, walking off ahead before her body warped and cracked, turning itself into a large ginger bat. If Pyro didn’t know the kismet he had gotten himself into, they would’ve shrunk away at the very image of the graphic transformation.
“They’re a lot nicer once they warm up to you,” Scott added, a smug smirk painting his face that only spelled the worst for them. Maybe he should’ve declined Scott's offer and learnt to work alongside Czeslaw as his boss. Maybe it would’ve been better if Scott just killed him in that church.
“Be honest… are they going to kill me for being a von Pyroscythe?” Pyro asked, pausing once they reached a large stone bridge stretching to the dark sanctuary he would have to call home. Scott walked further, only turning to face him once he reached a lamp post designed into detailed stone railings, “Is this where I die?”
Scott exhaled heavily through his nose, a pointed ear twitching in agitation at their lack of following his footsteps, “I promise, no one here will kill you, Jack… if you wish, we can change your name to ensure that.”
Change your name. Pyro glanced back towards the forest as eyes started to bore into his back, “I used to be called Pyro… it was a tease nickname but… would that be good?”
Scott smiled, walking back over to him, his cape picking up in the wind until the distance was closed, “Pyro, are you ready to come inside now?”
Hesitation. This whole night had been full of hesitation, life altering decisions and now what seemed to be the preface of eternal servitude to the monster he was raised to fear. Pyro took a step towards Scott, the judgement of gods and vampires watching as he reunited with his new master, “Good boy.”
The praise made him float, following after the vampire like a moth to a flame as he was guided across the bridge. This was his new faith, dressed in glittering gold and velvets, white hair and a sharp smile that would never let them know peace. For all the town knows, Jack von Pyroscythe died that night.
The doors to the castle swung open, two vampires Pyro recognised from the sacrifice ceremony giving him curious looks. The atrium of the manor. A large round window reflecting crimson moonlight into the room, old wooden rafters filled with bats watched as they continued into the main hall.
“What do you mean you have a new thrall?!” Before Pyro could truly take in the room, a familiar girl with faded red hair and glasses pushed atop her head came in from the side entrance. Her skirt was puffy, ruffled, almost looking like a ballerina as the white petticoat overflowed from the black and red trimmed fabric. The blouse almost matched Scott’s though colourfully embroidered with little flowers and a butterfly shaped jabot, more reddish, almost pink detailing done down the bodice. Her socks were uneven on her legs and her black shoes were scuffed from wear.
“Good evening to you too, Shelby,” Scott hummed casually, approaching the younger vampire as he gently took her hand and kissed it. It seemed to calm her down, even though her pout persisted.
“Cleo told me you have a new human to make a thrall and it's not even a ceremony night!” Shelby huffed at him, their eyes briefly meeting as Pyro froze under her competitive glare, “Is this him?”
“Hi… I'm Pyro, it's nice to um… meet you,” Pyro was careful with his words, not wanting to misstep and end up with a knife to his neck.
“Wait… Jack?” Shelby squinted as if it would make their vision better before she moved past Scott to get a closer look at him. She was shorter than Pyro by at least a head, getting on her tip toes as her hands landed on his shoulders, “You were in the roster for sacrifice the same day I was!”
“Oh uh… y-yeah I was…” Pyro hummed, surprised at how chipper they sounded for such a traumatic experience in their lives.
“Ok, I can excuse you this time Scott! But when he turns, no thralls for at least a year!” Shelby puffed out her chest, staring up at the vampire lord as if she were a much older, much scarier individual. Scott just nodded as he curled a finger, urging Pyro to follow after him.
“Promise. Why don't you go find Avid and Drift? They'd probably like to meet the new brood member,” Scott hummed, popping the collar of his cape before smirking a little, “And if you find our dear lumberjack and mayor, as them to find us so they can fetch his things from the von Pyroscythe estate.”
Lumberjack and mayor… no, Scott can't be referring to the mayor of Oakhurst right now, can he? Pyro was left with more questions as Shelby bounced away with a parting wave to find the vampires talking about, “Sir… is… is the mayor of Oakhurst a vampire?”
“Louis? Oh yes he is,” Scott hummed simply, grinning his teeth at the bafflement on Pyro’s face, “He's an elder vampire as well, about the same age as a few members here.”
Pyro swallowed, struggling to put the kindhearted mayor in the same box that Lord Goldsmith was in throughout his education. Though it made sense, the mayor treated the sacrifice ceremonies as a celebration and his appearance seemed to match that of Scott’s own higher level. Goodness, he would never have survived being alone. Scott gently lifted his chin with two fingers, their existential thoughts fading once he met the crimson gaze once more, “I do like the scholarly types, but I need you to stop thinking for a moment, dear. Just follow me to my room and we can get you situated as a thrall and some new clothes…”
The slight arch in his brow reminded Pyro of their current clothes, pulling the duster coat tighter around his body, “I still get to keep them, right?”
“Of course! When Owen and Louis get back from handling your belongings, you'll have your own clothes,” Scott tutted, his hand moving from his chin to their shoulders, giving them a little dusting, “But as mine, I will give you appropriate clothes for certain things as well. I'm not going to let you look anything but excellent.”
Pyro flushed at the promise, starting to wonder what type of clothing Scott would have him wear when they were once more interrupted.
“Oh, another human pet?” The man who spoke glared at them, his faded brown curls hiding the marbled skin of his face. They noted how much red he seemed to wear compared to the other vampires he's met, hiding away as they were once again called a pet. They had to wonder what they truly had gotten themselves into.
“Gosh you too? I swear you and Cleo have no respect for the title of a thrall! It's much more than just a pet, Owen,” Scott snapped back, any air of composure lost briefly as he stared down the sharp-edged man when a more familiar face came into view. Almost completely opposing the shorter man, this was the mayor with his rounder face and eyes, soft smile and long white hair tied into a braid.
“Oh, Jack von Pyroscythe… Does your father know you've become a thrall?” The mayor asked, his hand resting on the other man, Owen’s shoulder in a rather domestic manor.
“No sir… I… I don't think I want him to know either,” Pyro muttered, bowing his head to the mayor as a sign of respect even with the trust he had shattered once he learned of his true nature.
“Understood,” Louis smiled at him, warm and welcoming for a creature meant to feast on blood and gore, “Owen and I will collect your things… Do you want me to leave a note for your family?”
“Um… no sir… well– maybe say I ran away?” Pyro tried, shrinking in on himself from the lie his life was about to become and the consistent glare from the shorter vampire, “Oh… and I give you permission to enter the von Pyroscythe estate… my room is on the second floor facing westwards… there's a balcony.”
“Wonderful, we’ll place your things in the room Scott picks out for you,” Louis smiled, a beaming ray of sunlight next to the void of anger still brooding beside him.
“Thank you both, his room will be the one next to mine,” Scott finished, giving them a nod of dismissal before turning back to Pyro, “Where were we, dear?”
“Um… I-I think we were about to go to your room?” Pyro hummed, his eyes still lingering where the other two once stood before them.
“Right! Yes!” Scott smiled, wrapping an arm around his waist as they started to walk once more. Everything about tonight felt like a dream, but not one he sure wasn't a nightmare yet. He went to the church to pray, to seek guidance for his twisted thoughts against Czeslaw and now he was being guided to the chambers of a beast. Human pet. They weren't entirely sure being a thrall was the best idea anymore, taking note of the hallway they walked down to get to the large doors at the end of the hallway. Tapestries detailed the history of the castle and Oakhurst, picking out each figure made to represent Scott amongst other vampires. He was always the biggest, even though Louis and Cleo and even themself were taller than the manorlord, and he always had an eye purposefully weaved into the cloth. Each door bore similar details, carved in the intricate insignia Pyro had seen all over the coven members thus far, golden doorknobs and engraved push plates giving an easy understanding to who owned which room.
Familiar names stood out to him, Cleo, Shelby, Owen and Louis, while others mentioned in conversation or not at all led to the final doors. To the left of the end corridor was the nameless door, “This is where you will be staying if you don't wish to lay with me. Louis and Owen will bring your belongings here once they're done.”
“Ok, thank you, sir,” The title earned them a sharp smile before Scott turned to stop at the larger door just next to Pyro’s new room. The wood was engraved in delicate patterns, details they never expected to see so small and precise with the medium of carpentry. Gold embellishments gave the door a sense of status, explicitly indicating who lived here. Once they entered, Pyro felt their chest go tight as thought overwhelmed his mind once more. They tried to focus on the architecture and interior design of the room, wanting to pick apart every piece of furniture to its original date of creation until his eyes landed on the large lavish bed.
Vampires can't sleep. He learned that in school, yet here was a bed that almost took up one whole wall of the room. Crimson sheets made from the greatest quality of fabric almost tempted Pyro to just fall asleep then and there, his late night escapade to the church finally catching up at the promise of a bed that was that comfortable. It was covered in throw blankets, animal pelts and pillows, sheer curtains blocking out the rest of the room to make it a more secluded space. They didn't leave Scott’s side, staring back from the bed to the man, flushing a little at the hungry look in his eyes.
“Are you ready to become my thrall dear? Cause I'm starting to feel peckish,” Scott cooed, closing the door behind them as a metal latch clicked into place, locking them inside. It was to stop them being interrupted, nothing else. Pyro stayed frozen by the door as Scott removed his cape, dressing it onto a mannequin nearby as more layers were removed. The vest, his shoes and the neck ruffle were placed eloquently by his walk-in wardrobe before he finally sat on the bed with the same lounging posture he had on the altar, “Come on, don't leave me waiting~ and do take off your coat and shoes, you won't need them for the rest of the night, dear.”
Pyro obeyed, placing his clothing items near Scott’s before finally approaching the bed. His parents would be so ashamed, watching as he sat down beside a man who quickly pulled them onto his lap. They couldn't help but tense up, gently gripping the sheer fabric of his bishop sleeves, “S-sir I–”
“Shhh, don't worry, just relax~” Scott cooed, a hand pinning their hips down on his lap. He brought his other arm to his mouth, moving the sheer sleeves up with his teeth before finally piercing his own skin. On their closeness, Pyro could smell the overwhelming sensation of undead sweetness in the black, thick blood, grimacing as the cut arm was brought to his mouth, “Drink up and become mine.”
They had nothing else to do but obey once more, heeding the command like the loyal pet he was about to become. Pyro awkwardly wrapped his lips around the wound, wanting to gag at the thick texture as he gulped it down.
Their body felt airy, a newfound dizziness that quickly subsided for the way his arms and legs started to tingle. He felt stronger, though, more awake and almost healthier. Pyro could spend hours theorising all the ways his body was changing from drinking the Lord’s blood, pulling away when Scott commanded with a quiet pant.
“There you are… feeling any better, dear?” Scott cooed, adjusting how Pyro sat on his lap as his hands rested on their hips, “Can you feel the bond?”
“Y-yeah… I… I feel great, thank you sir,” Pyro smiled, thinking back to what his fate truly would've been inside the church, blood seeping into the crimson carpets.
“Of course, that's one of the best benefits of being a thrall,” Scott hummed, his thumbs pressing circles into his sides, moving up from his hips just to where the band of his sleep pants ended. He flinched at the cold touch against their skin, glancing down briefly before back up at Scott who was pointedly ignoring their shock, “You might not be able to use vampire powers, but you get the benefit of immortality and a lack of illness.”
That made sense. Pyro decided then and there he'd spend his time at the castle learning more about vampires, preparing himself for whenever Scott decided to turn him, “T-thank you… again really… I'm thankful you decided to spare me, sir…”
Scott hummed, a hand leaving his side to tuck a few stray hairs from his brow. He decided it was best to ignore the other as it mapped out the curve of his skin, snaking under his pajama shirt to understand his body, “Of course, Pyro, it's like I've said, you're my type~”
The claws by his face trailed down, nails dragging against his throat as they caught on their Adam's apple, “S-Scott I… I don't wanna…”
“I'm not going that far, I just need to undo the top button so I can eat,” Scott cut in with an amused hum, flicking the button before carefully pulling it out and shifting the pajama shirt down so he had better access.
“Is it going to hurt?” They asked, staring at the fangs now protruding from Scott’s top lip.
“Yes, but I won't take too much,” Scott reassured, nuzzling his nose into the crook of his neck and pressed his lips against the hot flesh. He was so cold against Pyro, dragging his fangs across the flesh before finally sinking them in.
Pyro sucked in a sharp breath, pain shooting through his neck and shoulder as he gripped at Scott’s flowy blouse. He held back a sob when the throbbing overwhelmed their mind until the rather intense sensation of the blood being sucked from his body overtook. The dizziness of swallowing Scott’s blood and now losing his own was exerting, tiredness taking a further hold over his mind, “S… sir…”
They couldn't hold back the cry of pain as the fangs were slowly pulled from his neck, feeling sharply familiar to the shards of glass from a beer bottle, “Goodness, you're delicious. I'd say you taste like vanilla.”
“I… my blood tastes like vanilla?” Pyro asked, delirious as Scott lapped more blood from his neck. A hum of agreement was enough for Pyro to just accept his blood had a flavour to it. They leaned back from Scott’s chest, trying to gain a grasp back on his reality while blood loss and dizziness urged him to puke. Don't do it on Goldsmith.
“Here, lay down in my bed while you readjust,” Scott hummed, effortlessly moving his clumsy form down to the sheets. Old wooden rafters lined Scott’s bedroom ceiling. A similar arch to the church, “You've done very well for the first time, dear. It took Avid about six before he could form sentences.”
Pyro’s chest warmed at the giggle, leaning into the careful stroking of his claws through their hair, “I… used to get hit a lot.”
“Well that's not ideal,” Scott tutted, his skin more flush and colourful compared to his pale complexion back in the church and moonlight. They started to notice floating candles hidden between the old wooden rafters, wax never dripping down onto them, “Was it the Mielnik boy?”
“Y-yes sir…” Pyro croaked, fluctuating between consciousness and unconsciousness, “Czeslaw used to be my friend but… something changed and he started to bully me relentlessly… I believe he's the reason I was a part of the sacrifice candidates the year Shelby… yknow…”
Scott acknowledged it with a hum, curling a strand of hair around his finger with a small smirk, “Would you like me to, hmm… handle him?”
“I… no sir,” Pyro mumbled, his breathing relaxed and rhythmic as he tried to focus his eyes through the tiredness, “I went to the church to seek guidance in my… unethical impulses of revenge, I don't want to… upset the gods.”
“But they're not real?” Scott brought up, aware of the tiredness ready to overtake his new thrall.
“I know… it's just comforting to think they are…” Pyro mumbled, yawning before he met Scott’s gaze through heavy eyelids. The look they could barely read, yet they knew deep down it was a possessive expression. Pyro was Scott’s thrall, his property now, “Are you alright if I sleep here, sir?”
“I don't mind the company, just close your eyes, dear,” Scott cooed, lightly dragging two claws down his eyelids to keep them closed and make him sleep, “I will be here when you wake.”
“Thank you… again sir…” Pyro muttered, his breathing becoming heavier as the events of tonight's escapade finally overtook him.
Jack von Pyroscythe went to church seeking guidance, forgiveness for a sin he never committed , just a thought. Pyro followed the unholy offspring of death itself to its lair, lay in its bed and let it take possession over his autonomy all for the promise of a job and safety.
The town will wake up in four hours to learn that Jack von Pyroscythe ran away during the night, assumed dead as soon as he left the safe confines of his home. Few will actually grieve him. A headstone will be carved in the family’s crypt.
Pyro will live on for Jack von Pyroscythe.
Even if it means serving the beast he was raised to fear.
Even if he would go to hell for this.