Tame

Cain didn't know what had overcome Damien, but it had to be some sort of escalation of the mate-sickness. He was calling it mate-hunger in his mind, because it resembled the frenzy of a blood-hungry vampire more than he thought any werewolf would be comfortable admitting. Unlike a blood hunger frenzy though, it had come on with alarming rapidity. 

Cain hadn't realized there was a need for concern until it was too late to do anything substantial to resolve the matter. He had, of course, sensed the arousal coming from the wolf, and hadn't thought much of it - from what little he knew, there was typically a sexual component to the mate-bonds of werewolves, and he wasn't surprised that seeing someone as your mate included a certain level of sexual compatibility. He didn't see the appeal himself, as he found his cold undead body rather disgusting and unattractive. Sure, his body gave a decent mimicry of life, but it was still an undead monster's form at the end of the day, and he wouldn't want to sleep with that. 

The werewolf seemed to lack any such inhibitions, and had clearly been finding some level of enjoyment in Cain's ministrations. This had honestly come as something of a relief to Cain, since the few tastes of blood he acquired in the process helped him keep his mind steady despite the newly-resumed blood hunger. He'd been grateful for the pleasure, because some part of him had thought that, even if the werewolf didn't particularly care for him, if he found Cain at least sexually tolerable, perhaps Cain could negotiate for a taste or two of blood here and again - just enough to keep him from the brink of madness, of course. He doubted Damien would be comfortable sharing more than that. The fact that he was being allowed as close as he'd gotten was already more than he'd truly expected.

Then, when he'd realized the werewolf was nearing some sort of peak of pleasure, he thought better of his plan, and pulled away. He'd intended to apologize, or at least check in and make sure the wolf was still comfortable with the proceedings. He hadn't tasted any new discomfort, but it was hard to tell with all the lingering distress and anguish from Damien's time spent in Crowe's loathsome presence. But it had all quickly gone to pieces when he saw the glazed, empty expression the werewolf wore on his face, even as he gulped in air like he'd been holding his breath.

"I think you could use a break," Cain told him, trying to sound calm and gentle, and not at all disturbed by the look of the wolf in that moment. 

"Yeah," Damien said, after a long and dreadful pause wherein Cain briefly panicked, wondering if the werewolf was so far gone he'd hit a nonverbal stage. 

"Most of the injuries here have been healed," Cain said, trying to redirect the conversation in a constructive direction. "Your back, though…" he could tell, even as he spoke, that it was too late for words to make a difference. Something deeply wrong was happening with the werewolf, and while he didn't know what it was, he could sense it was going to be a problem. "Damien," he said, mostly to see if he could recapture the werewolf's attention, or if the boy was well and truly lost in the recesses of his mind. 

The young man shivered, a groan escaping his lips as he said, "Yes." He sounded utterly debauched and Cain hadn't even done anything but lick his wounds! He hadn't intended for the wolf to lose his damn mind like a blood-hungry vampire. That was certainly a worst case scenario that Cain hadn't considered. He'd known that the thrall of a vampire could create this sort of vague, out-of-body sort of state, but he'd never been led to believe that such a thing could be achieved through licking wounds. Then again, had any vampire ever bothered to heal their thrall without feeding on them, too? Perhaps he was being naive, expecting the dark, possessive magic of a vampire to ever do something right. Instead, he'd ended up with what he could only hope was some odd form of temporary enthrallment. This sort of state rarely lasted long on a true thrall - usually only a few minutes after the feeding concluded. But Cain wasn't sure if that would be true for Damien, because he hadn't actually bitten him! He had no idea whether it was his own magic, or the bond magic that was causing this. He hoped, for his own sake, that it was the bond magic. Mostly because he didn't want to deal with an enthralled werewolf, and bond magic was something the wolf could sort out on his own, hopefully.

"Damien?" Cain tried to call the young man's name again, hoping that those few seconds' pause might give him the opportunity to bounce back and find his bearings. But no, the glazed expression worn by the wolf hadn't improved at all and in fact seemed to be growing worse.

"Mate," Damien said hoarsely, his limbs trembling, his expression clouded with lust and mate-hunger? Well. It was probably the bond magic, since Cain was fairly certain thralls weren't the sort to view vampires as mates. They usually used words like sir or master when they were first enthralled. For that matter, newly turned vampires often used similar words to refer to their sire, too. Mates weren't a vampire thing, as far as he knew.

Still, that didn't mean that they were out of the woods yet, he recognized. Swallowing to try and wet his parched throat - dry from a mixture of anxious uncertainty and a lack of blood - Cain considered how to proceed from this point. Was this sort of behavior…normal for a mate bond? Abnormal? Could this sort of state be reversed? He didn't know anything about werewolves and the young man was barely verbal! Could he scare him into responding if he played at aggression? Leaning forward, Cain pointedly tugged at his restraints, making it clear that he was trying to get closer to the wolf. But Damien didn't seem to care at all, unlike how terrified he'd been mere minutes earlier.

"Damien. Talk to me," Cain urged, now tugging at the restraints because he was getting less and less comfortable with being tied up around a senseless werewolf barely a day or two shy of his transformation. What if they both ended up trapped here…? Would the wolf spare him, for being his mate? Or would Cain be torn apart by a slathering beast? He didn't know, and certainly didn't want to stay near the wolf long enough to find out. "What's happening?"

The wolf met his gaze, a look of recognition dawning across his features. For a moment, Cain's hopes soared - surely the young man realized the problem, and he was going to release Cain and they could leave before things got worse.

"Alpha," the werewolf breathed.

Cain felt as though his blood had frozen in his veins. "What?" He asked, feeling the harshness of his tone and unable to hold it back. As far as he knew, that was strictly a werewolf thing, vampires didn't have alphas and omegas. Was the wolf so far gone he no longer recognized him as a vampire at all?

Rather than answer Cain's question with a verbal response, Damien tilted his head back, baring his recently healed throat. The taste of the young man's blood still lingered on Cain's tongue, and the soft pulse he saw pulsing in the veins of the wolf's throat would be enough to tempt any vampire, much less a blood hungry one.

"Damien, stop," Cain said, feeling the increasing growl in his voice and helpless to stop it. "What are you doing right now?" Despite his best efforts to hold back, his instincts were screaming at him. He was tugging at his restraints now, as helpless to fight his instincts as he had been the first time Lord Solveig had tied him up to endure a blood-frenzy for punishment. "What is this?" He asked, trying to talk sense into the wolf. If he could make Damien see what was happening maybe the werewolf would snap out of it long enough to realize how stupid it was to bare his throat to a vampire! "Stop showing off your neck and explain what's happening." 

"Alpha," Damien said again, still baring his throat, a soft rumble in his chest sounding both pleased and aroused. "Please."

"I'm not a damn wolf, Damien," Cain snapped, fighting to keep his words now that the blood hunger was beginning to resurge. He tried to look away but couldn't bear to tear his gaze away from the pale column of Damien's throat. He wasn't strong enough to wrest back control of himself again. He was so tired, and hungry, and furious. He didn't want a thrall, no matter if he called himself something else. Thrall, mate, omega, whatever word you used, it all sounded like another damn problem for Cain to solve. He didn't want another Johann on his hands. "Stop showing me your throat," he demanded, already knowing deep down that it was useless to try. "Stop begging. Stop this." 

"Please, mark me." Damien said, the madness in his eyes meeting the frenzied hunger undoubtedly brimming in Cain's own gaze. "I want your bite."

That… was not something one said to a vampire. Particularly not a blood-hungry one. Cain felt himself move before he could fully process the situation. A snarl bubbled up from deep in his chest, his fangs burned with the need to sink deep, his throat itched with dryness and he wanted nothing more than to drink–

Suddenly, without warning, the headboard gave way, and Cain realized he was no longer held back by the bindings on his wrists. The momentum of his struggle propelled him forward, and he crashed into Damien, tipping both of them back against the bed. 

Cain's hands were gripping Damien's shoulders, and he was gasping for breath even though he didn't need to breathe. The werewolf's throat was still bared to him, and he could smell the sweetness of his blood, could still taste it on his tongue… he'd never wanted anything more than he wanted to feed right then. "You are going to regret this," Cain snarled, drawing closer to Damien's throat. 

The wolf only whimpered, baring his throat more obviously. 

Cain's fangs rested briefly there at the junction between the wolf's shoulder and neck. It would be so simple to bite down, and yet…

He didn't want another thrall.

He didn't want to take away the will of this stupid, reckless, idiotic, probably cursed werewolf. Damien was having enough trouble with the bond as it was. Surely things would only become worse if he actually bit the wolf, especially since that would probably signify something to the mate instincts of Damien, and they were a force that might be even stronger than his own vampiric ability to enthrall humans.

He wanted so badly to taste the wolf's blood again, but he'd had just enough to not have fallen completely under the sway of his instincts.

Still, he wanted to taste… 

With a groan, he pressed his open mouth to the place where Damien wanted to be bitten. He tried his best to keep his fangs away from the skin, but he did wrap his lips around the skin and suck, briefly, long enough to hopefully scare the wolf back into consciousness, the way it had when he'd first tried to heal Crowe's lingering bite wound.

Damien didn't shy away or attack him, though. Instead, he keened, arching his back and turning his head to give Cain better access to his throat. He was so far gone, and Cain was on the precipice of something he never wanted to do again. 

Groaning, Cain pulled away, rolled off of the bed and landing on the floor in a splay of uncoordinated limbs. Dragging himself to his feet, he staggered to his dresser. He'd done what he could to help the werewolf recover. Now his best bet was to leave.

He picked up the key to his room, and forced himself to walk out the door, one hesitant, furious footstep at a time. With every ounce of his will, Cain closed and locked his door before taking the key and sliding it under the gap at the base of the frame, created by an uneven bit of stone. He couldn't get back inside without it, not unless he felt like breaking down the door. Which, hopefully, wouldn't be for another day or two at least. His blood-hunger wasn't that bad, yet. The one thing he could say for Solveig's punishments, they certainly taught a vampire their limits. And while he'd been without blood hunger for a week or so, it hadn't been long enough to completely forget the hunger cues burned into his memory through repeated torture. 

With the door locked and key slid back under the door, Cain found himself at a loss, staring blankly down at his hands, still tied to two useless hunks of wood. He wasn't sure where to go from here, but he was certain he wouldn't be going back to his room for awhile, or at least until Damien came to his senses.

…If he came to his senses at all.

There was always a chance this was a progression of the mate-sickness, another way for the bond to exert pressure on him, and by extension Cain. 

There was also a very good chance the werewolf wouldn't survive his transformation. 

Cain wasn't sure what that would mean for himself, if the werewolf did not survive the full moon. Would his blood-hunger return to normal? Or would he also slowly descend into madness, like one of Solveig's failures? 

He would come back to check on the wolf in a few hours, and see how things were progressing. If the boy seemed to be dying, he'd have to weigh the choice to entrhall him with the chance of really, permanently dying if the wolf failed to survive.

He didn't like either of those options, but at least he knew the wolf wouldn't like them, either, once he was back in his right mind. 

Sighing, Cain picked up the two dangling bits of wood tied to his wrists, and started walking aimlessly down the hall. He needed to be somewhere far away from Crowe, and far away from Damien. Perhaps he'd take a moment or two to pop by Morgan's office, find out if there were any spare rooms in the thrall residences he could borrow for a quick nap.

He spared his room one last glance, hoping he was making the right decision, before turning and pulling aside a secret door, stepping into the thrall's hidden corridor behind the wall and making his way to the center of the keep.