Relapse

Damien should have expected things to fall apart again, but somehow he forgot that the only thing keeping him active and functional was the lingering scent of the vampire that his traitorous body had fixated on. Once the scent began to fade, so too did Damien's vitality.

That was when Dezzy dropped some information she hadn't brought up yet.

She took one look at Damien's miserable shuffle into the main room several hours too late for breakfast, stood up, clapped her hands together, and announced, "Guess it's time for another visit to the castle! I'll be back in like 3 or 4 days, Damie, so try not to die before then."

Damien blinked at her, feeling baffled. "...what?" he finally said.

"You need a scent refresh," Dezzy said, sighing and plucking at the tunic slung around Damien's neck, "So I should go pick it up."

Damien grimaced. "And risk your freedom to steal from that place again?" He hated the idea of Dezzy risking herself for him. How long was she going to keep going back there? Was she going to visit the castle once a week for the rest of Damien's life? He didn't want to force that sort of life onto her!

"It's really more of an adventure than anything," Dezzy said. "Some fresh air, catching up with old friends…"

"You met them less than a fortnight ago!" Damien protested. "Can you call them friends at all, much less old friends?!"

"I'll be fine, Damie," Dezzy insisted, lightly punching his shoulder. "You should come with, next time. Try the beer and the snacks at that tavern."

Damien gaped at her. "Come help you steal from vampires? I'm not like you, I have common sense."

Dezzy made a dismissive gesture. "Pah! Common sense is overrated." She grinned dangerously. "I prefer my fun with a hint of danger."

Stealing from vampires felt like more than just a hint of danger, though. "What if you get enthralled?"

"I won't," Dezzy replied.

"You don't know that!"

"Sure I do," Dezzy replied. "Enthrallment is all about the will of the victim. And I have a strong will to get back here, so…" She shrugged. "I'll be fine."

Damien wanted to argue more, but he also didn't have the energy. "Whatever," he grumbled.

Dezzy poked Damien again. "Stop worrying so much!" she said. "I promise it'll turn out okay."

Damien wasn't sure he believed her.

* * *

Whether he believed her or not, Damien couldn't deny that he did need a new source of the scent that had him by the throat. Before long, he was slipping right back into that horrible low-energy, listless state of existence, struggling to eat, to drink, to do anything but sleep longer and longer periods of the day. His whole body felt exhausted all the time and he couldn't find the energy to even care about the fact that this was all the damn vampire's fault. Well. Mostly he couldn't find the energy. He still spared a few moments out of his waking hours to mentally curse the fiend that did this to him.

Not much later, Dezzy returned, once more attempting to smother him with the shirt. "Here you go," she cheered. "One stank-shirt, as ordered! Next time I need to return the old ones, though," she added, retrieving the old tunic that had no longer served any use to Damien, though he'd clung uselessly to it anyway. "Apparently he's running low on tunics. Which is pretty wild, you'd think he could just get more, right?" She shrugged.

Damien wanted to tell her to stop acting so ridiculous. She was really treating all of this like it was no big deal, and it made him worry. "Did you have another heist?" he asked, hating how thready his voice sounded.

"I can't hear you through the shirt," Dezzy said, pulling the tunic down to look at Damien's face. "Try again?"

"Another heist?" Damien repeated, blinking at the sudden return of light. He wanted the shirt back up to his nose, but his hands were too clumsy to really pull it up effectively.

Dezzy seemed to understand what he wanted, though, so she tucked it up under his nose. "There you go," she said, and eyed him skeptically. "You sure you can stay awake for the story?"

Damien was going to protest that he was fine, but he thought maybe it might be nice to rest his eyes for a minute before doing that.

And then he woke up to the sound of birds chirping.

He hated it when Dezzy was right.

* * *

The scent wasn't working quite as well this time, and Damien didn't want to admit it, but it was obvious to anyone who knew him well. At first, he thought that was the main reason for the concerned glanced being tossed his way, until eventually mother sat him and Dezzy down at the dinner table for a serious talk.

"Damien," she said, her voice level and reasonable, and offering no logical explanation for why he felt the urgent need to run away and pretend she wasn't speaking to him.

"Mother," he said instead, because he knew that running away wouldn't solve anything. And also because where would he go? This was his home. And he knew that Mother wasn't trying to be cruel, and wouldn't be sitting them both down for a chat if it wasn't serious.

"Do you understand what's happening?" Mother asked quietly, her eyes staring directly into Damien's.

He had to look away, his gaze falling to the tabletop, where he dug his fingers into the soft wood until his blunted nails dragged grooves into it. "The scent isn't working as well," he said slowly. He didn't want to admit it, but he knew if he didn't, one of them would say it. And it felt bad, coming from his own lips, but he knew he would hate hearing it from someone else even more. "The mate-sickness is growing stronger."

He wasn't actually sure about that last bit, but the lack of protest from Mother was all the confirmation he needed. To his left, Dezzy shifted in her seat, inhaling as if to say something. But then she breathed out, not voicing the thoughts likely whirling in her head.

"It's likely tied to the lunar cycle," Mother said. "Do you remember your last transformation?"

Damien lifted his head, then, because he realized with a measure of horror that, no, he did not remember it. Not any part of it. "No," he said slowly. "I… what happened?"

"You were very sick," Mother said, "the mate-sickness affected you more strongly as the moon's pull increased. I feared you would not survive your change, but…" Her expression twisted, an almost baffled look crossing her face. "The transformation was incomplete."

Damien blinked, twice, before he could find words to respond. "What?"

"I believe that your magic was so weakened by the mate-sickness that you were unable to fully transform," Mother said.

Damien wasn't sure whether to feel happy or disturbed by this news. As far as he knew, there was nothing to be done for a werewolf's transformation. He'd never heard of an incomplete transformation during the full moon. Not even when wolves were dying! "What does that mean?"

"It means you're incomplete without your mate by your side," Dezzy said, sounding resigned. She turned to look at their mother, even as Damien turned to gape at her. "Right?" she asked.

"I have no evidence of this," Mother said. "Most of the literature in my possession suggests that a sufficiently sickened mate-sick wolf who goes through the transformation process will… not survive the experience. I've never heard of a partial transformation." She frowned, then. "Although, I can't say I've ever heard of a werewolf imprinting on an undead creature before, either. We are in uncharted territory."

Still scowling, Damien poked Dezzy's shoulder. "What do you know about things like mate-sickness?"

Dezzy turned back to stare at him with an unamused expression. "Lust demons have pretty good instincts when it comes to things like bonds and romantic relationships."

Sighing, Damien conceded the point before turning back to Mother. "So if the transformation didn't kill me, then the mate-sickness won't, either?"

"It's kind of like the sleeping sickness," Dezzy said suddenly, slapping an open palm on the table and glancing between Damien and Mother with an almost manic look in her eyes. "You know? The curse-caused one? The one where you're immortal while you sleep but a kiss from your fated love can wake you?"

Damien cringed at the idea. "I do not plan on kissing that vampire," he said, "ever."

"You may not have a choice, at this rate," Dezzy snapped. "You clearly need more contact than whatever you've been getting from the scent."

"I'd rather sleep for a century," Damien shot back.

"Don't be foolish," Dezzy said. "Just… go to the castle! Maybe they'll let you live with the thralls. The whole place has to be chock full of his scent!"

"Desdemona," Mother said, sounding shocked. "I hardly think that's a reasonable solution at this point."

"Then what did you have in mind? Leaving him to sleep for a hundred years?" Dezzy was breathing hard, her fists clenched.

"I'd prefer that," Damien pointed out. Mother and Dezzy ignored him, the two of them staring at each other with probing looks.

"Is the vampire willing to accept him as his mate?" Mother asked.

Dezzy blinked. "What?"

"You know he is willing to share his scent. But that is a very easy thing, compared to what you suggest," Mother pointed out. "You can't take Damien to a clan of vampires and throw him on their mercy. It's not practical."

"If you have another solution, I'd be more than happy to hear it," Dezzy said.

"Sleeping for a hundred years sounds better," Damien said, just because it seemed like neither of them had really been listening the first two times he'd pointed that out.

Mother sighed, giving him one of her infamous looks. "We'll talk more about this later," she said, then turned to Dezzy. "We'll talk about your idea, too. Much later."

Dezzy scowled, then turned to Damien, a gleam of desperation in her eyes. "Think about it, Damie," she insisted.

Damien had thought about it for all of two seconds, and had already firmly decided there was no chance he would ever go to that damn castle.