3. Blood (1/1)

another chapter. i hope you enjoy it - things get a little less thinky after this chapter... let me know what you think!

disclaimer: not my show.

it took a while for him to admit it, but vlad needed real blood now. he craved it, it consumed his thoughts; he finally understood what bertrand had meant when he spoke of bloodlust. he'd thought his tutor had been speaking of what

eathers knew as bloodlust – the desire to kill. this wasn't like that at all. he could feel how much he needed the blood. if the street-fangs could beat it, though, surely he could?the street-fangs had bertrand.

the chosen one tried to shake the thought off but it persisted, hanging over him until he caved in and ordered himself an entire vat of vintage blood. it had been bottled, he argued to himself, in the middle ages. there was no harm in drinking it – not to would, in fact, be a waste of the

eather lives taken to obtain it all those years ago. so the barrel sat in the cellar, and he opened it up now and then to dip a goblet in it and quench his terrible thirst before resealing it.

the count came across him as he filled his cup one day, and noticed the finger hanging from his neck."you're not wearing that disgusting thing, vladdy, it's probably got all sorts of germs." it was the sentiment, vlad knew, that his father really objected to, but he had given him a way to play along and the chosen one decided to take it."it's perfectly clean." the count raised an eye

ow, but then his mouth curved upwards into a smirk."then you won't mind dropping it into your precious blood supply." vlad opened his mouth to protest, but his father cut him off. "drop it, or get rid of it, vladimir. my school, my rules."

he really had to get himself his own place soon, he thought to himself as he held the necklace over the open barrel. there was a nail sticking out of the wood – above the bloodline – and if he aimed right he could drop the necklace over it, so he could still get it back. he had no desire to taint his delicious, unlife-sustaining blood, but if it came to a choice between going thirsty until he could restock and losing his one constant reminder of bertrand, he would take the bloodlust.

his father thought he'd won, that much was clear; either vlad would have to admit that his jewellery was insanitary and dispose of it, or it would land at the bottom of the barrel of blood and vlad would have to drink his way down to it or leave it there to rot, both of which outcomes suited the count perfectly. he probably didn't even realise the significance of it, vlad reflected bitterly, he just wanted vlad to obey him in all things.

well, this time he would. he opened his hand and watched the finger plummet into the deep, rich blood. gritting his fangs, and just to prove a point, he dipped his goblet again and took a sip. it actually didn't seem to have ruined the blood, which was some relief. he hooked the necklace back out – it had snagged on the nail just as he'd hoped – and held it up in triumph, glad for the lack of stains and drips, before slipping it back over his head and replacing the lid on the barrel."the necklace stays." his father scoffed."i don't know why he wore it, let alone you." vlad blinked at him."to remind me never to judge a book by its cover."