Page 35 of Captive
Sebastian looked away. "I don't, particularly." But his eyes betrayed him, flickering briefly to Boarstaff before focusing on the far wall. He exhaled slowly. "I've seen enough death," he said finally. "Even among enemies."
"Five wounded," Boarstaff answered finally. "Silverflank took the worst of it, but they'll all recover." He watched carefully, noting the subtle relaxation in Sebastian's face before the vampire mastered his expression.
"All the effort my brother puts into his hunting, and he couldn't manage to kill a single orc?" He gave a short, humorless laugh. "My father will be displeased." Despite his dismissive words, the momentary relief had been visible.
"I'll return after checking our defenses," Boarstaff said, already turning to leave. "We may have more questions for you then."
Sebastian's body tensed suddenly, his face paling. "Wait," he said, his voice sharper than before. "I need to feed."
Boarstaff paused at the threshold. "Can it wait until I return?"
"No." The single word carried unmistakable urgency. Sebastian'sfangs had descended partially, his body rigid with effort to maintain control. "If you want me conscious for your questions later, I need blood now."
Boarstaff considered his options. Sebastian was weakened from shedding his artificial parts, but hunger made vampires unpredictable. Still, letting him suffer served no purpose if they needed information from him.
With practiced efficiency, Boarstaff drew his knife, made a small cut on his wrist, and approached. "Enough to sustain you, nothing more."
Sebastian leaned forward as far as his restraints would allow, his gaze locked on the blood. When Boarstaff offered his wrist, the vampire fed with the same measured discipline he'd shown in their previous feedings.
After a few moments, Boarstaff began to pull back. Sebastian, as he had done before, slowly licked the wound clean. Without thinking, Boarstaff reached out with his free hand and pushed a strand of hair from Sebastian's face. The vampire stilled at the touch, his eyes widening slightly.
Boarstaff noticed how matted Sebastian's once-immaculate hair had become, tangled with sweat and the residue of fallen brass. He'd never seen a noble vampire in such a state, they were always pristine, controlled, perfect. This disheveled version seemed more real somehow.
"You haven't asked to wash," Boarstaff observed, surprised by his own gesture but not withdrawing his hand.
"There are more important things than appearances now," Sebastian replied quietly, his voice rougher than his usual measured tones.
Their eyes met briefly, and Boarstaff saw something in Sebastian's gaze he couldn't quite name – a silent communication that felt increasingly less like captor and captive, more like something neither was ready to acknowledge. His hand fell away, and he stepped back, suddenly aware of how close they'd been.
As he climbed the worn steps toward daylight and duty, Boarstaff's mind wrestled with Sebastian's unexpected reactions. The noble vampire had shown just enough concern to be noticeable, justenough relief to be genuine. Was it possible that his transformation was reaching beyond physical changes? That something deeper was shifting behind those carefully controlled expressions?
The day stretched into evening as Boarstaff moved between watch posts, training grounds, and council meetings. Reports continued flowing in, vampire hunting parties withdrawing to regroup, scouts reporting increased activity at the forest's edge. Preparations that suggested more systematic assault rather than simple tracking.
When Boarstaff returned to the sacred chamber, it was full night. The guards reported that Sebastian had been quiet but alert, tracking movements above through subtle vibrations. Conscious and waiting, still confined by the rawhide restraints.
He descended the steps to find Sebastian watching the entrance intently. His physical evolution had progressed further since the feeding, several copper tendrils that had once threaded through his neck had worked themselves free, coiled like dead vines on the floor around him. The collar remained the most prominent piece of his former synthetic enhancements, though even it had begun to loosen where it joined his flesh.
"Back so soon?" Sebastian’s voice was steadier than earlier but still strained. Despite his attempt at indifference, his gaze immediately focused on Boarstaff with unmistakable attention. "Come to check if I've finally expired from this transformation?"
"The wounded are recovering." Boarstaff studied his prisoner's reaction. "Our shamans are skilled healers. Silverflank's condition has improved considerably."
Sebastian looked away, but not before Boarstaff caught the subtle relaxation in his posture. "Good for them," he said, the sarcasm in his tone half-hearted at best. "Though it ultimately changes nothing. My father won't stop hunting until he finds me."
"Why do you care?" Boarstaff moved closer. "About our wounded. Your reaction gives you away, even as you try to hide it."
Sebastian was silent for a long moment. "I shouldn't," he finally said, meeting Boarstaff's eyes with reluctant honesty. "It makes no sense. Everything I've been taught, everything I've believed about your kind." He shifted uncomfortably, his expression troubled. "Maybe it was easier to see orcs as enemies when I didn't have to watch whathappened to them. When I wasn't," he gestured at his restrained form, "like this."
Boarstaff settled on the floor at a safe distance, studying the vampire before him. What would the council say if they knew how he'd begun to see Sebastian differently? Not as merely a source of tactical information, but as someone undergoing a genuine struggle between what he'd been raised to be and what he might become.
"The council will want answers about these new hunting patterns. About why your father's search parties have changed their approach."
"And what do you think I owe your council?" Sebastian asked, some of his noble pride reasserting itself, though without the earlier venom. His gaze remained fixed on Boarstaff with careful assessment. "My brother should’ve been among the dead. Of all my father's sons, he's the one who truly deserves it."
The admission hung in crystal-lit air, weighted with implications Boarstaff hadn't considered before. The emotion in Sebastian's voice when he spoke of his brother sounded more personal than political, a glimpse into family dynamics he'd never imagined existed. Vampires had always seemed a unified force of mechanical precision, not individuals with complicated relationships and resentments.
As Sebastian shifted against his restraints, his expression moved between noble composure and moments of unguarded vulnerability. His physical rebirth had left him weaker, stripped away his synthetic enhancements, but it had also appeared to expose something else, something that mechanical precision had helped him suppress all these years.
Despite himself, despite years of justified hatred, Boarstaff found himself intrigued by what Sebastian was becoming. The noble vampire remained proud, resistant, at times defensive, but the subtle changes in his reactions suggested something was shifting beneath the surface. Something that made him care about enemy casualties while wishing for his own brother's death.
