Wrong

As much as Damien hated to admit it, the few minutes he'd spent in the presence of his mate (not to mention whatever time they'd had together when the vampire had carried him to his room) had an obvious and dramatic effect on his ability to function. Ellen noticed right away when he returned, about five minutes after the morning meal had been served. Damien found a seat and practically shoveled down his food, feeling hungry for the first time in days.

"Well that's surely a sight for sore eyes," Ellen exclaimed, placing her hands on her hips and watching him eat.

Damien swallowed roughly, feeling immediately self-conscious. "I'm sorry," he said, "I'm a bit later than I planned-"

"Oh hush, boy," Ellen said immediately. "Everyone here knows when a vampire calls you've no choice but to follow." She was eyeing Damien with a hint of curiosity. "I must admit, Mister Einhardt doesn't strike me as the type to enjoy sickly humans' blood, but I need to ask anyway. Did he feed?"

Damien shook his head, setting down his spoon long enough to answer, "No, he just wanted to warn me about some, er…" he frowned, trying to think of the best way to describe the conversation. "Logistics, regarding my treatment."

Ellen's expression, which had seemed a bit hard, immediately softened. "Ah, so it was Cain that Grace worked with," she said, mostly to herself, before glancing at Damien. "You seem a bit more lively this morning. Does that have anything to do with the treatment Mister Einhardt is coordinating?"

Damien nodded slowly. "If I can get regular… treatments," it was such a weird way of thinking about it, but he supposed mate-sickness was called that for a reason, after all. It was very like a disease. "I should be able to live somewhat normally."

"Maybe you'll even get the chance to be fed from again," Ellen said encouragingly. She couldn't know how horrible such a thing sounded to Damien, though, so he tried to take it as the encouragement it was meant to be.

"Maybe," he agreed weakly.

"If you do manage it, you be sure to take the afternoon off," Ellen said firmly. "We don't need you falling faint from blood loss in addition to your wasting disease."

Damien nodded slowly. "I'll be sure to let you know," he said. But hopefully I'll never need to, he thought.

"Good lad," Ellen said, making as if to ruffle Damien's unruly curls before pausing, apparently thinking better of it. "Finish your plate, now," she said, and then wandered off to speak with another of the thralls still finishing her meal.

Damien had no difficulty fulfilling the request, picking his spoon up once more and attacking the food on his plate like a man half-starved.

* * *

When Cain appeared at his door that night, Damien noted that he looked even more haggard than he had that morning. He was carrying a rumpled shirt, which he pressed into Damien's hands without a word.

Damien accepted it, casting a quizzical look in the vampire's direction. "Are you all right?" he asked. He hadn't meant to ask, but the vampire looked terrible. It wasn't anything about his appearance that Damien could put his finger on. His hair was nicely braided, as it had been that morning. He was still a bit sunken-cheeked with deep circles under his eyes, and he was pale, but those all seemed to be rather standard features, rather than something out of the ordinary. Perhaps it was the slope of his shoulders or the way he held himself? There was something wrong with him, Damien knew it, even if he didn't precisely know how he knew. It ached, somewhere in his chest, just to look at him, like the vampire was suffering from something invisible and weighty.

"Fine," the vampire answered brusquely. "Will this last for the next few days?"

"It should," Damien answered. He tried not to pry, but couldn't seem to quite stop himself. "You're sure there's nothing wrong?"

The vampire stared blankly at him, blinking slowly. "Does it look like something's wrong?" he finally asked, in his typical wry, just-this-side of neutral tone of voice.

Damien wanted to throw the words back in his face, but he gritted his teeth, and said, "No, I guess not. Just wondering."

"Well maybe you should wonder less about me and wonder more about how to resolve your wasting disease more effectively," the vampire replied, almost snidely. His eyes widened a bit, and he blinked a few times in rapid succession after he spoke. Damien wondered if maybe he hadn't meant to say the words aloud. He wondered what that might mean for the vampire, if he was accidentally saying things out loud that he was intending to keep as private thoughts.

"...anyway," Damien said, clutching the shirt a bit closer, valiantly resisting the urge to inhale the scent that it carried, "I'll be going to bed now." He moved to shut the door.

Cain stuck his foot in front of it, effectively halting Damien's motion. "I mean it," he said. "This isn't a feasible long-term solution. Figure out a better option."

"If I could do that, I would have already," Damien shot back, now feeling genuinely irritated. "Maybe you can think of something."

Cain stared at him for a long moment, before sighing. "Very well," he said. "If I think of anything, I'll run it by you."

Damien hadn't expected him to agree, nor did he expect it when the vampire pulled his foot out of the doorway and slowly shut the door in his face. He wasn't sure if he was pleased or insulted by the action, either. On the one hand, he appreciated all the help he could get. On the other hand, he didn't want to accept anything from the vampire - not even his help. Though, he thought dismally, glancing down at the shirt bunched up in his grasp, he'd already given in on that front. What was a little more help, in the grand scheme of things?

Plus, why had the vampire gotten so defensive about being asked if he was all right? Did nobody actually worry about him? Sure, everyone was quick to talk about how Cain was some high-ranked vampire but they were equally quick to talk about how he had enemies. What if someone had poisoned him? What if he'd been fed more of that stupid blessed blood that had led him to mother's cottage in the first place? Though, he supposed, if someone had fed Cain bad blood, certainly he would have been falling on the ground in agony all over again. So it probably wasn't that. Or at least not the same sort of taint. He wondered what sorts of ways vampires fought one another - did they use holy implements and silver, or did they resort to trickery or hiring assassins to do the dirty work for them? He wasn't sure. He also remembered being warned about vampires who made a habit of abusing the thralls of those vampires they saw as enemies. So he probably should try not to appear too close to Cain, or he might end up with a target on his back.

He just wanted to lay low and figure out how to live his life without having a mate. If Cain could help him solve the problem, he would accept that help, just as he accepted the shirts. He wasn't ungracious, per se, but he also wasn't exactly looking to throw himself at the vampire's feet and thank him profusely - if for no other reason, than because the vampire owed him a life debt several times over, for every single member of Damien's pack that he'd slain.

Sighing, Damien returned to his bed, arranging himself under the covers and tucking the shirt up to his chin so he could easily scent it, before rolling over and carefully dousing the lone candle in the room. Deep in his chest he could feel the light tug of his mating bond, which could sense the nearness of his mate, even as he tried to ignore it. Another part of him turned upwards, to where the moon looked down on the castle and all the residents within it. Maybe he would find the moon's favor again, and would be given insight into how he could stay alive while keeping his distance from his mate. (Somehow, he doubted that the very moon that had ordained this bond in the first place would really help him to resist it. But he had hope, and he refused to give it up, no matter how foolish or unlikely!)

Sighing to himself, Damien rolled over, and tried to sleep. It came swiftly, but not swiftly enough to stop him from wondering, one last time, what was wrong with the vampire, and why his instincts were convinced there was a problem when his eyes could see no evidence for concern.

Maybe, Damien thought absently, one hand lightly massaging over the light tug in his chest, it had something to do with the bond. Maybe it allowed him to sense things that weren't visible to anyone else.

Or maybe that was just wishful thinking on his part, and the vampire wasn't actually in poor condition after all.