Page 49 of Captive
"Things were different then."
"Were they?" Oakspear stepped closer. The moonlight caught the fresh wounds on his shoulder; evidence of the fight he'd just described. "Border raids. Vampire scouts. Warriors lost. How is now any different?" His thumb traced Boarstaff's jaw. "Except for what you feel for this prisoner."
Starlight caught Oakspear's knowing smile. The expression had beckoned Boarstaff so many times before. The warrior moved closer through shadows with a hunter's intent. "The mighty warchief, lost inthought instead of seeking pleasure?" His voice dropped lower, intimate. "Time was when battle's end meant only one thing between us."
Before Boarstaff could respond, Oakspear's mouth found his. A kiss that carried years of shared understanding. For a moment, Boarstaff let himself remember simpler times. Let his hands recall the familiar terrain of Oakspear's chest, the strength in his shoulders. The warrior's presence enveloped him, leather, pine, the musk of recent exertion.
Oakspear pressed him against the wall, deepening the kiss. His calloused fingers followed well-traveled paths down Boarstaff's arms, across his back. This was known territory, the comfort of warriors who understood each other's needs.
"Let me help you forget," Oakspear murmured against his neck. "Just for tonight."
But even as his body responded, Boarstaff's mind drifted elsewhere. To brass transforming at his fingertips. To blue eyes that watched him with unexpected depth. To complexities that transcended physical release.
He broke away, breathing hard. "I can't."
"Can't?" Oakspear studied his face in the moonlight. "Or won't? This vampire prisoner of yours..." His thumb traced Boarstaff's lower lip. "He's more than just another captive, isn't he?"
"Things change." The words emerged more honest than intended.
"They do." Oakspear's voice held no bitterness, only concern as he stepped back. "I've seen how this one changes you."
Boarstaff expected anger, accusations. Instead, Oakspear's expression softened into something closer to worry.
"Our people have stories about those who trusted vampires before," Oakspear said quietly. "About promises made, then broken when hunger took over. No matter how they appear to change, their nature always returns in the end."
The warning wasn't new, but the genuine concern in Oakspear's voice made it land differently. Generations of conflict filled the village archives with tales of betrayal, of vampire cunning that preyed on hope and trust.
"Sebastian is different." Boarstaff immediately wondered why hefelt compelled to defend his prisoner.
"Maybe." Oakspear adjusted his vest, moonlight playing across battle scars. "Just remember - some hungers can't be trusted, no matter how they transform." His gaze met Boarstaff's once more. "And some comforts are simpler than others."
He left without waiting for response, feet silent on familiar paths.
Boarstaff remained alone beneath the red moon, his body still humming with unfulfilled desire. The wise choice would be to follow Oakspear. To seek the uncomplicated pleasure he offered. To lose himself in something he understood.
Instead, his feet carried him away from home, toward the Heart Tree's depths.
The guards straightened as he approached the sealed chambers. "Warchief. The prisoner rests."
But Boarstaff caught the telltale catch in Sebastian's breathing; a pattern he'd memorized during their feeding sessions. The vampire was awake, measuring his presence beyond the threshold.
Crystal light shimmered across Sebastian's still form. The brass at his transformed collar seemed to pulse with a gentle heat, no longer just metal but something evolved. From where he stood, Boarstaff felt the pull of something that challenged generations of certainty.
He could turn back. Could seek the familiar consolation of Oakspear's company. Could cling to everything his ancestors had taught about the nature of their enemy.
Instead, he waited in the shadows, listening to each uneven breath. Each moment drew him further into uncharted territory, places no warchief before him had ventured.
Night stretched toward dawn. Above, his people slept safely in their beds. Below, a prisoner waited, becoming something no one had imagined possible. And in the space between, Boarstaff faced his own transformation.
He had nearly turned to leave when Sebastian's voice carried through the crystal-lit shadows. "Tonight has been interesting for you, and yet you chose to come here instead."
The words held no synthetic modulation, just quiet certainty that made Boarstaff's step falter. He should continue walking. Should maintain the distance his role as warchief demanded.
Instead, he moved closer to the threshold. "You were waiting."
"For the right moment." Through the shadows, Sebastian's transformed eyes caught the crystal light. His nostrils flared slightly - enhanced senses picking up the lingering traces of sword oil and forest herbs that clung to Boarstaff's skin. "For when you might be ready to hear something... complicated."
"Complicated." Boarstaff let dry amusement color his tone. "After rejecting simpler options?"
