Enforcer

Being a vampire enforcer with a new dependent werewolf pup would have been a lot easier if the pup's adopted mother wasn't an important ally. As much as Cain wanted to write off the mate-sick wolf as an annoyance he was better off ignoring completely (because really, it wasn't his fault the idiot boy had imprinted on him, how was he supposed to know that was even possible?! It was ridiculous), the half-demon girl and the old witch made excellent allies, and thus would have been deeply inconvenient to have as enemies. So he couldn't just leave the werewolf boy to malinger, not if he wanted to maintain any sort of friendly relations with the rest of the pup's family.

So, when Cain was sent on his next enforcement mission, he made sure to 'accidentally' leave his clothes with Grace for a 'laundress' to pick up and wash for him. She winked at him so hard it made her whole face twitch as she retrieved the small pile of shirts. He hoped the demon girl appreciated the effort he was going to. 

After a moments' consideration, he paused in the doorway of the thrall laundry to inform Grace, "Also, see if I can't get back those shirts I lost a few weeks ago, too. I'm going to run out of clothes soon."

Grace had nodded enthusiastically, and Cain had considered the matter as good as done. 

His next step was to hunt down one of the lesser vampires that had gone rogue a few weeks prior - at least, that was the best guess, at the moment. The vampire had been sent to a smaller border town to retrieve several thrall candidates - even if the vampires treated their thralls well, eventually they broke, and very few vampires in the Solveig clan bothered to treat their thralls well - and had not returned. Now it was Cain's job to learn if the vampire had run off with the thralls (a not uncommon situation) - lots of vampires believed they had what it took to go underground and hide from the Solveig clan, and live out the rest of their vampiric days happily feeding on thralls that were intended for the clan as a whole.

Cain had a 100% success rate in locating runaway vampires. He had a somewhat lower rate of success in cases where the vampire hadn't run off willingly, though. The Solveig clan was not without enemies, and though the vampires sent beyond the castle walls were typically quite powerful, they were not invincible. It was possible for them to be taken for any number of reasons, and by any number of enemies. While Cain had little trouble following the trail of a runaway vampire (the motives and behaviors tended to be predictable), enemies came in many shapes and forms and were far more challenging to predict. 

Even so, Cain was good at this. That's why his sire insisted on sending him out, time and time again. 

Rolling his shoulders, Cain futilely wished he could transform into a bat, like the rumors said. It would be faster than traveling overland, he was sure. And less messy, probably. He hated the muddy, rutted roads, and hated crawling into hidey-holes each morning when the sun rose. Surely it would be easier to travel and find shelter if he could reshape himself. But unfortunately, if there were such a vampire, they had not taken it upon themselves to explain the magic to their kin. And so, Cain set for himself a cruel pace, running along the muck-covered roads, winding his way eastward towards the town where the missing vampire had last been seen.

He hoped the unlucky bastard had merely run away - he didn't feel like fighting any real challengers, and an enemy of the Solveig clan was likely to give him more trouble than any lesser vampire could ever hope to cause.

By the time the sun began to rise, he'd made good time, and actually managed to stumble into a town before daylight. Now the trouble would really begin - finding an inn willing to invite him inside. Cain wasn't a rude guest - he would never feed on the innocent residents of an inn. It was a surefire way to ensure he wouldn't ever be invited back, and too many vampire guests made even the friendliest sorts leery of extending invitations to weary travelers. It not only affected vampires, but anyone who had a similar sort of look about them - pointed ears and fangs were not exactly unique traits, and humans rarely put significant effort into learning the distinctions between various supernatural creatures. A vampire was a demon was a fae - any sort of appearance that diverged from the norm was enough to make them flinch and slam the door right in the face of their visitor. 

So, it was with measured caution that Cain rapped lightly at the door of the nearest inn, only after he'd shrugged a hood up and over his head, tilting it forward to conceal the red gleam of his eyes and the peaks of his ears. He kept his lips close together, well aware that although vampire fangs elongated in anticipation of feeding, there was still more sharpness to them than the average human's. 

The door opened slowly, revealing the confused expression of a young girl - likely a laundress or cook, as they would need to be up early to do the housework before the guests awoke. "May I help you, sir?" she asked.

"If you would," Cain said, not really needing to feign exhaustion, given he'd not fed all night and he'd been running at top speed. He looked a haggard mess, and he felt it, too. "I've been traveling through the night, I just need a room for a few hours," until nightfall, he didn't say. It would be too telling. 

The girl glanced over her shoulder uncomfortably. "I'm not the innkeeper," she said softly. "Let me go ask. Can you wait?"

"Of course," Cain agreed, and waited. He glanced anxiously in the direction of the eastern mountain range, not liking the way the sky's color was lightening. The sun would be cresting them any minute. If this request didn't work, he wouldn't have time to try another inn - he would have to throw together a lean-to and hope none of the locals discovered him. 

Finally, an heavyset middle aged woman yanked open the door, planting a hand on her hip and looking him up and down. Cain did his level best to look haggard and also non-threatening. It must have worked, because the woman sighed heavily. "You got coin?" she asked.

"I do," Cain said, patting the purse at his side.

"Come in," the woman said, pulling the door the rest of the way open and stepping aside so there was room for him to enter.

Cain stepped over the threshold, and into the inn. "Thank you," he said. 

"You want breakfast?" the woman asked.

"Do you have anything ready?" Cain asked. "I don't want to be any trouble."

"Nothing fresh," the woman admitted. "But we have some bread from yesterday."

"Sounds lovely," Cain reassured her. "Will it take long to ready a room? I must admit I'm so exhausted I can barely spare room in my mind for the thought of food."

"I'll get you the bread," the woman told him, "and Greta," here she nodded in the direction of the young girl, "will prepare your room."

"You have my gratitude," Cain said. 

The woman waved the comment aside.

"...and my coin," Cain added.

She looked much more interested at this. "Five copper pennies for the room," she said. "One copper for the bread."

"How about I give you a silver crown now, and I come down for dinner after I've slept?" Cain suggested.

"Done," the woman said, and Cain dug into his purse, retrieving and pressing the silver crown into her palm. She quickly tucked it away, and then gestured for him to take a seat at one of the long tables lined with roughly-hewn benches.

Cain slipped into the one furthest from the door (just in case anyone else walked in or out - it wouldn't do to start charring in the sunlight once he'd finally managed to get an invitation inside. That would have his permission to stay revoked sooner than he could fumble his way through a pathetic explanation). 

The woman bustled back in a few moments later, dropping a plate with a thick slice of bread and a slab of butter smeared across it. She plunked a steaming mug of what appeared to be a strong brew of black tea beside the plate, and said, "we have honey if you like your tea sweet - no milk yet, we're one of the last on the milkman's route."

"It looks lovely as-is," Cain lied, eyeing the food and mentally sizing up how much he'd be able to stomach before his body rejected it. He would probably be able to hold it down long enough to make it to the room. Then he could just vomit into the chamber pot. If he emptied the pot out the window himself, no one was likely to notice the vomit. Given that there were plenty of drunks populating local inns and taverns the whole world over, his vomit would hardly stand out as unusual. Mild alcohol poisoning was a constant of humanity, one which made it easier for him to conceal his true nature, even if he did hate the way it made blood taste. Alcohol had no effect on vampires, but that didn't mean it tasted good in a human's blood. The same way that a sick or poisoned human's blood was not enjoyable, intoxicated blood often left a bitter taste in Cain's mouth. Then again, he'd heard some vampires developed a taste for the stuff. So perhaps his lack of interest was unique to himself, and not indicative of his kind as a whole.

"I'll have Greta show you to your room in a minute," the woman said, "but if you need more time just let her know."

"Thank you," Cain said, picking up the bread. He sniffed it, and imitated an appreciative sigh. "Smells great," he lied. 

"Enjoy," the woman said, and then made herself scarce.

Cain was just washing down the last of the dry, tasteless bread with several large swigs of bitter tea when the young woman - Greta - returned to the main room.

"Your room is ready," she said softly. "If you're finished…?"

"I am, thank you," Cain said, draining the mug and setting it beside the empty plate. He stood, picking up the dishes. "Where can I take these?"

"Oh, just leave them on the table," Greta said quickly. "I'll take care of them, but thank you."

Cain nodded, setting them back down. 

"Your room is this way," Greta said, once he'd turned back to face her. 

Cain followed her up the stairs, grateful to see that the window was not facing east and seemed to have a decent set of curtains draped over it. "Thank you," he said, stepping into the room and turning to face the young woman once more.

"You're welcome," Greta said. "Sleep well."

"I will," Cain said, and shut the door, waiting until he heard her walking down the stairs before turning and stumbling across the room, grabbing the chamber pot and hunching over it. Violently expelling the human food he'd swallowed, Cain was finally able to straighten up after about a minute, his body shuddering a bit in the aftermath of the forceful purge. He crossed to the window, tossed the vomit into the street below, closed the curtains, and threw himself onto the lumpy straw mattress before drifting into a much-needed slumber.