When Night Comes

23. 𝓑𝓵𝓸𝓸𝓭 𝓦𝓪𝓽𝓮𝓻

The night had been long and exhausting, but this mattered little to him. Now that he had brought his child back and turned her, everything was well. Shortly after her first feeding, (Y/n) had fallen unconscious, the exhaustion brought by her transformation finally taking over her.

As a coffin had yet to be made for her, the child had nowhere to rest. She wasn't human anymore, a bed certainly wouldn't do. These things were too uncomfortable for greater beings like them. Dorian brought her to his own coffin and let her rest next to him for the time being.

Killian remained silent since (Y/n)'s transformation. He hadn't uttered a single word since. His eyes lingered frequently on the youngling, but he presented a vacant expression, his mind adrift. Dorian didn't mind; he understood that, despite Killian's stoic exterior, the blonde vampire felt a sense of responsibility for the newly turned child. Now, he would have to think of (Y/n) before trying to leave. (Y/n) would now factor into both their lives, a reminder that Dorian intended to keep at the forefront of Killian's thoughts.

A heavy silence hung in the air, pregnant with tension as Killian's accusatory words sliced through the room like a dagger. His dark gaze bore into Dorian, carrying with it a weight of both anger and disappointment.

"You should have left her. You never should have turned her," Killian stated firmly, his voice dripping with a foreboding darkness that resonated through the chamber.

Dorian couldn't suppress a growl of frustration that rumbled deep within his chest. He loved his companion, a bond that had been forged over countless years of shared experiences and challenges. Yet, their differing philosophies had always sparked discord. With a sarcastic hiss, he retorted, "Of course, Killian, you are absolutely right. I should have left her to wither away and crumble into the abyss of old age." The irony in his words was palpable, a thinly veiled mockery of Killian's unyielding principles.

The girl in question, still adjusting to her new existence, remained cradled in Dorian's arms, her eyes closed. Dorian hugged her tightly, his hands tenderly covering her ears in a protective gesture. He wished fervently that the newborn vampire didn't hear the words that had escaped Killian's lips, for in her eyes, he was the embodiment of virtue and goodness.

"I do not care how much you dislike this situation," Dorian sneered, the bitterness evident. "Rant and rave about it as much as you want, but don't you ever — and I mean it — say it in her presence again." The warning hung heavy in the air. "I was able to get my hands on a stake once and I will not hesitate to do it again, but this time– and I swear to all that is holy and unholy– I will make sure to complete the job."

She didn't need to know the depth of the internal conflicts that had arisen within the very beings she would have to look up to for guidance. They were her guides, and Dorian intended to shield her from the shadows that lurked within their immortal souls.

⊱ ────── {⋆𖤐⋆} ────── ⊰

The night unfurled around (Y/n) as she awoke, grappling with the disorienting transition from a human world to the reality of her new existence. She emerged from the coffin, the memories of the nunnery, the massacres, and her transformation flooding back. She distantly realized she couldn't feel any more pain in her leg.

The once mundane aspects of her surroundings now pulsed with life—the scents, sounds, tastes, and sensations overwhelmed her heightened senses. The onslaught of sensations became too much to bear. Blood pounded in her ears, her hands trembled, and her feet tingled. It was a whirlwind of clarity and chaos, leaving her desperate for reprieve.

She needed it to—

She gulped as her stomach churned. She felt as though a hand of ice had reached inside her chest, gripping her heart with a vice-like hold. She covered her ears, shutting out the cacophony threatening to engulf her. She just wanted it to stop.

Stop, stop, stopstop—

"(Y/n)," a voice, loud and grounding, called out to her. She winced in pain.

"Child, can you listen to me?" The voice, a lifeline amidst the turmoil, asked gently. Hesitant, she nodded, still overwhelmed and scared. "I want you to take three breaths with me. Can you do that?"

Hesitant but compliant, she followed his lead. Breathe in, breathe out—a rhythmic attempt to regain control. The creaking door and the aroma of food wafting from downstairs threatened to disrupt her focus.

"Breathe in... breathe out," he instructed, accentuating the motions. Slowly, through repetition, (Y/n) began to regain a semblance of calm. Trembling persisting, she clung to Killian, a strange calm intertwining with an unfamiliar sense of resentment.

As she followed his instructions, focusing on the simple act of breathing, the chaos within her began to subside, if only momentarily. The scent of food from downstairs, once a distraction, now mingled with the comforting presence. With each inhale and exhale, she felt herself slowly coming back to herself, the trembling lessening as a sense of control returned. Yet, beneath the calm facade, a knot of resentment twisted within her.

"I'm a monster," she confessed in a whisper, scorn lacing her words as tears traced down her face. "He made me into this."

Killian rolled circles in her back, a silent pillar of support. Dorian wasn't in the room, there was only her and the other vampire.

"I never wanted this," her voice cracked.

He enveloped her in a comforting embrace. "I know, child," he assured, his tone echoing the different emotions that enveloped them both.

The sound of approaching footsteps reached (Y/n)'s enhanced hearing moments before the door swung open. Her gaze, a defiant glare, met the vampire who entered. Despite Killian's protective arm around her shoulders, Dorian paid it no mind, smiling while cupping her face in his hand.

"How is my little fledgling tonight?" he asked in a singsong voice. "Show me your fangs, dear."

(Y/n) clenched her jaw and turned her head away in defiance. Dorian, undeterred, tightened his grip, forcing her to meet his gaze again. "Now, don't be—"

Instinctively, she bared her teeth and attempted to bite him, a surprising action even to herself. Dorian retracted his hand just in time to avoid it. Rather than anger, (Y/n) sensed amusement radiating from her sire, who rewarded her with a sharp grin, practically cackling in delight.

"Quite a feisty one, aren't you?" he commented gleefully. "Father is so proud." She glowered. "Freshen up; it is time to eat."

She left their room to go to her own quarters without a word. Anything to not be in direct contact with him. A maid had already prepared a bath for her and left, a fortunate occurrence. She was bloodied, her clothes stained by blood that had dried. The origin was unknown to her. Was it from Dorian, herself or even the nuns? She clenched her jaw, preferring not to think of that.

She just wanted it all gone. With meticulous care, she lathered her hands with soap. She thought of Sister Gloria and of the pain she must have felt as her sire sank his fangs in her neck, draining her life force. Or maybe, as he sliced her open– or as he ripped her apart ruthlessly. Her mind buzzed, each possibility running through her head. She could still hear the screams, could still see the red. The same red covering her. As the soap bubbled between her fingers, she scrubbed furiously. It had to leave. Did he play with them before slaughtering them? Did he make them partake in his twisted version of hide and seek? Hiding until he found them and spilled all their life fluids across their haven? Was it the same fluid she had on herself now? She scrubbed, her nails digging into her skin with a desperate intensity. She needed it gone. Was that what she was forced to become now? Would her existence revolve around spilling all that blood? Would it be consumed by the red? She scrubbed, she could have missed–

Someone knocked. "Miss," a soft, almost inaudible voice called, "the duke is requesting you."

She looked down at the blood tainted water and stood up. She paused for an instant. With a sigh, she reached for the hand towel, her movements slow and hesitant. Once she finally dried and dressed herself, she was ready to go.