Chapter Text
Four pages sat atop his desk, a sleek glass thing that didn’t fit with the rest of the decor in the room. It had a nifty trick where the height adjusted, so he could use it sitting or standing. Eventually, he’d get someone to make him a desk that could do this and be aesthetic. For now, it would have to do.
“Mr. Ancunin? Are you still on the line?”
“Yes, Daniel, I’m examining these dossiers you sent over.”
“Resumes, Mr. Ancunin. You are hiring them for a job, after all.” The crisp tones his solicitor sent through the speaker on his Iphone were meant to be an insult, he recognized. He ignored the correction. At one time, he’d have flown off the handle if an employee had talked down to him like that. Centuries removed from slavery, however, had granted him perspective. That, and Daniel was currently well over three thousand miles away.
He looked again at the pages. Three men and a woman. All between twenty-one and thirty years of age. All in peak physical health, proven with a thorough physical the likes of which they’d probably never received before, all willing to take a job whose description they probably didn’t believe. They’d even signed a rather dreadful binding agreement just to get an interview.
“Why doesn’t the woman’s resume have a picture, Daniel?” He asked, skimming it. Octavia. A rather dour name for a young woman.
“She refused, stating that requiring her appearance constituted potential discrimination for a job that was not related to entertainment. Legally, she is correct. As this position is in a rather tenuous legal area in your current locale, I assumed you would prefer not to risk involving the government, and didn’t exclude her. You could move to Las Vegas where that would be less of an issue, as I advised you. Or simply repatriate back to the UK, where paying for blood donation is perfectly legal, albeit untested as a private employee versus an organization.”
“And as I advised you, Daniel, I’d rather be flayed. And I say that with some experience in the matter. Tell me that she isn’t hideous, at least. I don’t need to find her attractive, but I’d rather not be repulsed by my dinner.”
“She was perfectly reasonable looking. At least a five out of ten in London. Possibly more if she bothered with putting a little more effort into herself. A little on the athletic side for my tastes."
“Fine.” He sighed. “I’ll interview her last, then. Did any concerns pop up in their background checks?”
“Well, I’d prefer you not pick Mr. Paneer. We turned up a massive gambling problem in the deep background check only yesterday. He has somehow avoided any traceable debts, but it appears it is only a matter of time before his habits catch up with him.”
Astarion picked up the first resume and flipped it over. “Done. And the other three?”
“They meet all the criteria we put together. Clean bill of health. No kids nor partners. Nothing to make them overly desperate. No vampire fetishes, not even a penchant for romance novels in which they feature."
“Well then, Mr. Bramstom, do be a darling and setup my interviews. As soon as possible.”
Daniel might be annoying, but he was a very effective agent. The interviews were set for the next day. He was even a bit excited, a rarity for him but this pandemic had put a major hitch in his dietary preferences. He had plenty of blood available. His personal assistant, Nina, who was perfect in that he rarely ever had to talk to the woman and she performed her duties impeccably, picked it up each week from the butchers and put it in his fridge mixed with the special ingredients that prevented clotting. He had plenty, but animal blood left him weak over time, and while he could eat food, it provided no nourishment.
This was usually not a problem. Once a week or so, he'd swallow his disgust and go out to some swanky bar. Charm someone who looked lost and lonely, throw in a whisper of compulsion, take a harmless nip, and then tell them to forget. By the time he'd left they didn't know how they'd gotten the bite marks and he was more than satiated.
He didn't like compelling people. He'd gotten over the heady feeling of power it gave him after only a few months, and instead it left a wave of disgust. He'd prefer a willing donor. But the only willing donors were the fetishists, the worst people on the planet, as far as he was concerned. He’d stopped mixing sex and feeding since, well, since he’d left Toril. It was too painful a reminder of all that he had lost.
The first interview was a disaster. Ethan had answered the questions well, had decent personal hygiene, and a tolerable personality. Everything had gone fine right up until he’d told him the final part of the interview was being bitten. He didn’t want a live-in snack who couldn’t handle the job, and he also wanted to taste-test. It had to be palatable. Ethan had a fucking vampire fetish. As soon as he bent over him, the man had nearly passed out and then spent himself in his pants like a teenager. At that point, he had sent him on his way.
Two hours later, he had Nina answer his door again, and send Luke Brown up to his study.
“Mr. Ancunin?” Nina’s voice floated in from the hall.
“Send him in, Nina.”
The door to his study opened, and an attractive young man walked in. “Hello, Mr. Ancunin. I’m Luke. Luke Brown.”
“Please, sit.” He stood up and gestured at the leather sofa. Luke immediately went and sat down. Good. Obedience was a useful trait for the position. He draped himself on the wingback chair across from the boy. “Tell me, why are you here, Luke Brown?”
The boy blinked. “I’m looking for a job? I’m tired of not being able to work on my art because I’m too tired after working all day.”
“An artist. How delightful! Tell me about your art, darling.”
Luke blushed delightfully. His nostrils flared automatically at the sudden increase in the scent, but he got it back under control quickly. “I make sculptures. I’ve even had a few sales, but I’ve had to turn down several commissions because I don’t have the energy to be on my feet all day and then keep going at night making my art. I specialize in human figures, cast bronze.”
“How nice. I can understand how a position with so little work involved might interest you. You understand, of course, that you will have to live here, what with the pandemic. Be on a specially monitored diet, take supplements and medicines. Meet with a doctor weekly. I do not wish to compromise your health in any way, but it is the nature of what you’ll be doing that there is a risk.”
“I did read the disclosures, but… Mr. Ancunin, why are you in need of a personal blood donor?”
“Please, call me Alistair. Now, tell me, Luke, do you believe in the supernatural?”
“Not really. I mean, I keep an open mind. There’s so much that we don’t understand, but I trust in what I can see.”
“Ah, so then I suppose I’ll have to give a little show and tell. Do remember your NDA, darling. A word about what I am and what I’m about to share with you gets out and your life will become a living hell.”
Luke nodded, his eyes slightly wide, his heart racing like a rabbit. He could smell the fear on him. Good.
“Luke,” He smiled, letting his fangs show. “I’m a vampire. But an ethically-minded one. I refuse to murder for the sake of my appetites, and being unable to go out and charm the occasional snack has made my life quite difficult. So, I’m in the market for a personal blood donor.”
“Oh. So like, this won’t involve needles, then?”
“No, darling. You believe me, then?”
“Well, either you’re the real thing, or, you’ve got red eyes and fangs because you’ve really committed to the bit. If you’re paying to bite me, it’s a job all the same. I don’t care if you desperately need the blood or not.”
“How delightful. I do appreciate the mercenary attitude. The job involves one donation per week. I’d prefer Thursday evenings. The doctor will visit on Monday mornings. Your diet will be provided and delivered to your room. Nina already gave you the tour, yes?”
Luke nodded.
“And they were to your satisfaction?”
“More than, Sir.”
“Excellent. Let’s see. I hate rap music and Russian composers. If you must listen to such things, do so in your bedroom where I can't hear it. The first floor is open to your use but I expect you to buy your own food. You can use the catering fridge in the butler's pantry. The wine is off-limits. Buy your own. No guests at any time and don’t talk to me except on Thursday evenings. You can email me otherwise.”
The boy looked bewildered but nodded in the affirmative.
“Well, then finally, a taste test.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“A taste test, darling, are you hard of hearing? I want to make sure you are palatable enough to be worth the coin.” He was growing tetchy. “Now, lie on your side on the sofa. I’ll warn you of what I am doing. And I promise I will only take a taste.”
He got up and went to his desk, grabbing the bandage and gauze he’d set out. He turned around to find Luke on his side, compliant.
He walked over and kneeled on the floor beside him. “Now, I’m going to touch your neck with my lips. Don’t get excited. I’ll just be finding your vein. Once I stop moving, try to relax. It will hurt far less if you don’t tense. I’ll wait a moment and bite. I’ll take a swallow, and then I’ll put the gauze over the wound. Do I have your consent?”
“Um, yes.” The boy squeaked it out, clearly fearful but still, he consented.
Astarion leaned over, smelling his neck. It was decent. Clean, at least, but the smell was overly sharp for his liking. He ran his lips lightly along, noting that Luke didn’t seem to either enjoy it or hate it, which was perfect. He found the vein and stopped, counting to twenty slowly in his head. Then he bit. His teeth parted the boy's skin, and a rush of gamey warmth flooded his mouth. He took a single swallow once his mouth filled, then grabbed the gauze and pressed it against the wound after he pulled off of him.
He flicked his tongue across his teeth, sampling the leftover blood for any other flavor. It was sharp and gamey, a step above the pig's blood in his fridge and the cow's blood he’d had the week before but not even amongst the top fifty human vintages he’d tasted. It would do, was the best endorsement he could give.
That was probably perfect. If it was too good, it tended to kickstart his desires, and he didn’t mix sex and feeding. Not since... Well, not for a very long time.
He stood up, watching Luke put the bandage on himself. “You were perfectly adequate. I’ll have Nina see you out, and you’ll hear from my solicitor in a day or so.” He walked back over to his desk, already bored of the boy. An ideal outcome, truly. He didn’t want someone he’d grow attached to.
He texted Nina to come get Luke. Then he picked up his phone to call the girl and cancel her interview, typing in the number from her dossier. No need to interview someone else when he’d found a perfectly suitable candidate. He decided to walk out on his balcony to make the call, to catch the last of the sunset while he was at it. He always tried to catch a little sunlight each day. It was how he made peace with what he had done. Sacrificing seven thousand souls to the Hells hadn't seemed all that hard at the time, but over the centuries, the weight of what he had done had grown. He figured he owed it to all of those unfortunates to at least enjoy what their suffering had purchased.
The air was almost balmy, global warming raising its ugly head as it was far too early for decent weather this close to Chicago. The sky was still orange, streaked purple and pink. Pollution at work, yet beautiful nonetheless. He sighed and pressed send on the number he’d typed in earlier.
Then he heard ringing below him, and a strangely familiar voice below him swear. He hung up. She was already here, too late to cancel. He walked back inside to find Luke and the bandage wrappers gone. A new set of bandages lay on his desk, next to the woman’s resume. Octavia Martin. A very serious name for a twenty-one year old.
The doorbell rang, and he let Nina answer. “Mr. Ancunin?” floated in from the hall fifteen minutes later.
“Yes, Nina, send Ms. Martin in.”
He was already standing this time, having just finished winding the clock he kept in here. It would have been better had he been sitting when he saw her.
“Oh, hello, Mr. Ancunin. I’m Octavia Martin.”
The first thing he saw were her eyes. That peculiar shade of blue that was all over this room, all over his life. In the shades of the rug. In the paintings of storms upon oceans. In the shirt that covered him. A blue-gray that was slightly more blue than gray, but steely nonetheless. Then the face that held those eyes appeared and blurred out his mind entirely.
He was standing in the bright light of day, befuddled that he was alive, at the top of an escarpment, desperate and distrusting. There she walked up, side by side with that bitch Shadowheart. Of course, he hadn’t hated the cleric then. She smiled at him, offering to help in that same sweet voice.
He’d pointed, “Over there. One of those brain things. Can you kill it?” He’d said. She’d smiled again, telling him he’d be safe. Ha! He didn’t even know what the word meant then. As she strutted past, he’d grabbed her, pulled a knife up to her neck.
Gods, he missed her. His chest began to ache with a longing he’d forgotten he was capable of.
“Mr. Ancunin?” That sweet voice pulled him back to the present.
“Ah, yes. My apologies, Ms. Martin. I suffer from these episodes from time to time.”
“Oh! I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. Do you need to sit down? Should I go get your assistant?” Her words tumbled out of her. She was adorably flustered. His heart felt like it was trying to beat out of his chest. What was happening to him?!
“Ah, no. Why don’t we sit down and have a little chat, darling,” He sat down in the chair and gestured at the sofa. She even moved like her, he noticed. Graceful but strong. Athletic, as Daniel had said. His chest burned. He hadn't even noticed anything but her face. She was a replica copy, short and willowy, but strong. Pale skin kissed with freckles across the nose. Dark brown hair fell in waves around her heart-shaped face. She was wearing a modest dress, navy blue, and flats with cat faces on the toes.
She sat demurely on the sofa, her legs carefully together, her posture immaculate. “Are you sure you’re alright, Mr. Ancunin?” She asked, seemingly genuinely concerned. It made her resemblance even more uncanny. She was always a bleeding heart.
“I’m fine, Ms. Martin. I apologize, you gave me quite a fright. You resemble an old… friend. One who died quite some time ago, I’m afraid.”
“Oh! I’m sorry. That must have been unpleasant.” She blushed, wringing her hands and seemingly unsure of what to do. “So, what do you want to know about me?”
“Well, for starters, why did you apply for this job, darling?”
“Well, I've been supporting myself waitressing and recently bartending, but with the pandemic - all the work is gone. I’ve got enough savings to cover the month, but my lease is up at the end and without a job, I can’t get a new one.”
“I see. Any hobbies?
“I like medieval weaponry. I teach rapier fighting at a club on the north side. And I write songs.”
“I see. And you expect this to be remunaritive in the future?”
“If it isn't, my backup plan is a life of crime.”
He couldn’t stop himself. It was so… her . He laughed his true laugh. Which meant…
“Holy shit! Are those fangs? Are you like, really, actually a vampire? I thought this was some weird sex thing.”
“Yes. I have fangs. I am a real vampire, and no. This job is most definitely not any kind of sex thing. Let me be perfectly clear about that.” He might have been a bit too forceful because she shrunk back.
“I’m so sorry. I wasn’t trying to offend you, I was just surprised. And kind of glad. I was already feeling kind of iffy after your lawyer argued with me about sending a photograph. I don't think sex work should be illegal it just isn't something I want to participate in. But... well, it was this or selling feet pics.”
“So I would expect that the terms of the position are amenable to you, Ms. Martin? Or at least more amenable than selling photographs of your appendages.”
“Yep. The diet, the living arrangements, all that. I read it very carefully. None of it is a problem. Oh, and you don’t need to be so formal. You can call me Octavia, or just Tav. That’s what my friends call me, and I mean, you’ll be drinking my blood so I suppose we ought to be on friendly terms.”
He was sitting on the edge of the light from the campfire, drinking a bottle of what might have been straight vinegar, waiting for the two women to finish talking. Tavriel got up, walking in his direction. He put on a pretty face. His introduction had made her quite pissed off, she’d barely said two words to him all day, and the cleric hadn’t even wanted him to come with the group. He needed to get this little bard on his side.
She’d sat down next to him and grinned. “Hello. I’m Tavriel.”
“Yes, I know. We’ve met, darling.”
“Well, it kind of went to shit, so I was thinking, what if we tried it again? I think we were both not at our best after what we went through. So, hello. I’m Tavriel.”
“Hello, my name’s Astarion.”
“You can call me Tav. All my friends do, and I’d rather have a friend watching my back, if it’s all the same to you.”
“Mr. Ancunin, are you ok? You were staring off into space again.”
“I’m fine, darling. And - well, you may call me Astarion. If you’d like.” He couldn’t believe he just said that. He hated anyone using his name. He hadn’t used it since he’d left Faerun. He needed to remember this was not his Tav. Perhaps he should just end this interview now. He clearly couldn’t have this Octavia around. It would be a disaster.
“Alright, Astarion.”
He froze. Hearing his name in that voice. In her voice… He felt a yearning he had thought dead inside him rise up like the tide, inexorable and dangerous.
“So, what else do you need to know about me?”
He swallowed, forcing all the feelings down. “Well, there’s just one part left.” Was he really going to do this? Yes. She’d inevitably taste wrong. Then his bloody mind would understand this wasn’t her. Could never be her. And all this stupidity would dissipate and he’d hire the perfectly acceptable Luke. “I’d like to have a taste. A sample, if you would. To make sure that you can handle the job and that your, uh, vintage is worth the price.”
“Oh. Oh! You want to…” She suddenly seemed flustered. But he scented the air, it was nervousness, not arousal. Thank the Gods it wouldn’t be a repeat of earlier in the day.
“Bite you. Yes. Just a taste, I promise.” He grabbed the bandage and gauze. “Lie down on your side and pull your hair out of the way if you don’t mind.”
She acquiesced, and when he turned around she was lying there, vulnerable and exposed. He felt his arousal grow suddenly, and he bit down on his lip to stop it. This was utterly insane. Even if it was her, that wasn’t going to happen, anyway. And it wasn’t her! It just looked and sounded like her. And they shared a name. A total coincidence was the only possible explanation.
He knelt beside her and walked her through what to expect, same as he had the last two times. She shivered as his face got close, but it didn’t upset him. He found himself wishing she was reacting to him and not her fear. He sped up, trying to shut up his mind. He found the vein easily enough, she was pale enough it was visible anyhow.
He counted out the wait and then bit. Her incredibly soft skin and firm muscles were so delicate his fangs slipped through with barely any pressure, and she didn’t tense at all, just let out a tiny, soft sigh, like she was sinking into a feather bed rather than having razor-sharp bones sink into her. When he pulled them back, the rush of blood was obscenely perfect. It was her. It was the taste he’d been searching for for four hundred years. She tasted sticky sweet and tart, with the warmth the sun left on the skin of an undead thing like himself.
Could you trust me, just a bit more? I only need a taste.
I… Alright. A taste. Only what you need. And not one drop more.
He’d leaned over her, still in shock that she had agreed. That she hadn’t simply staked him and been done with it. Or screamed for the cleric. Instead, here she was, lying on her back, exposing her neck to him, completely vulnerable and trusting. He’d spend more time appreciating it if the hunger wasn’t screaming.
As soon as her blood hit his tongue, the taste of her exploded in him. Sticky sweet and tart and heat and life. He’d had no idea what to expect from her blood but it was nothing he had dreamed of. His veins pounded and burned with life he hadn’t felt since he was turned. His cock had gone rock hard, a bout of desire hitting him like a brick wall. And the taste in his mouth was exquisite. Celestial. He felt his mind clearing of a fog he hadn’t been aware was there, a sudden clarity which told him she was pushing at him to let go.
Octavia’s hand was on his chest. He backed up. Shit. How much had he taken? He looked at her, she wasn’t too pale, her heart sounded strong, so clearly, not too much. He grabbed the gauze, pressing it to the bite as his brain came fully back online.
“I’m sorry. Truly. I got a bit lost there for a moment. You are… very good.”
“Thanks, I think?” She smiled as she put the bandage on herself. “It’s a little odd to feel good about being told your blood is tasty.”
He turned, texting Nina to come and get her. He wanted to keep her here forever. He also wanted her to go away and stop existing. What in the Hells was he going to do?
“Darling, thank you for your time today. My solicitor will be in touch.” He kept his face turned away, certain that if he looked at her again he’d lose his nerve and beg her to never leave.
He heard her stand up. “Oh. Well, thanks. It was nice to meet you, Astarion. I hope you find what you are looking for.” She sounded slightly hurt. Why did that burn? He didn’t know this girl. This was insanity!
Nina came and led her out. Astarion walked over to his bookshelf and pulled a small wooden box off of it. He touched the fingerprint lock and waited for it to pop open. He opened the lid to gaze at the paper within. The charcoal drawing, hastily done by a campfire, on paper that would shatter if he touched it. His face, rendered by her hand. He could remember how her hands had moved, the way she’d blown that tiny bit of her grown-out fringe out of her eyes as she worked, the way the firelight had danced in the reflections of her pupils. Gods, he missed her. He used to think it would end someday, but it never did. He just kept living, and she just kept being dead.
He picked up the phone and dialed Daniel’s number. The obvious choice was clear, he should hire the perfectly acceptable Luke. He intended to do so.
“Mr. Ancunin. I take it you have made a choice?”
“Yes. Send an offer to Octavia Martin. Double the pay.”
“I apologize, I must have misheard you.”
“Octavia Martin. Hire her. Double the pay. I cannot accept her saying no. If she wants more, give it to her. Give her whatever she goddamn wants, Daniel.”
He hung up, angry at himself. This was the stupidest thing he’d done in quite a long time. It was the only thing he could do.