Archive of Our Own ^beta

From the moment Ciar took his first immortal breath, he has been endebted to vampires.

Endebted to Methas for finding his scored, bleeding body. Pausing. Deciding to save him. Scooping up Ciar’s cold, wheezing body off the dirty stone altar slathered in his blood. Bringing him home to Ramil.

Endebted to Ramil not only for making him immortal, but for making that eternal chill in Ciar’s body that he’s known from birth both familiar and safe.

Mekhin is the only other soul who will ever understand how deep loyalty like that goes. But where Mekhin has pledged a universal vow to his patients, Ciar has no loyalties outside their family.

Before Ramil’s gentle hand touched his neck, Ciar associated all physical touch with pain. Only the vampiric have shown him humanity.

So when he shows Ramil the photo, when he tells him about the text from the other hunter on Punn’s phone, Ciar’s motivation is less his hatred of humans and more crazed, animal fear of any further harm coming to the one being he treasures most in the universe.

But the shock and devastation Ciar expected to see aren’t there on Ramil’s face, nor does Ramil lower the arm he threw out to shield Punn from Ciar. The living room of Ramil’s suite drones with electrical noise too subtle for human ears.

Punn doesn’t outwardly react, and Ciar suspects that’s because he expected to be discovered at any moment. He stares at Ciar steadily, holding one leg tensed behind him. Not to run. To launch forward.

Punn’s heartbeat—the only one in the room—might as well be a war drum.

Ciar’s only regret in all of this is not moving faster the first time he attacked. Ramil’s willingness to trust humans has always been his greatest blind spot, and now they have an assassin in their home.

“He wants to kill you,” Ciar repeats. He can feel Methas and Mekhin standing behind him, quietly supportive. “He’s already killed others!”

Punn doesn’t even have the decency to blink.

Ramil tells Ciar, quietly and softly, “I know.”

It hits Punn before it even registers in Ciar’s mind. Ciar, already glaring at Punn, sees his body twitch backward and his face slacken with surprise as he changes focus from Ciar to Ramil. The miasma of confusion and disbelief there spikes the column of fire in Ciar’s throat higher and hotter.

Ramil places his palm against the tips of Ciar’s outstretched claws. “Stop, Ciar,” he says. “I’ll explain.”

Ciar says, “No,” and knocks Ramil’s hand aside. “Enough of this.”

Ramil is fast enough to stop him, and Ciar made his choice to attack knowing he’d have to get through Ramil first, but Ramil…steps aside.

Punn has a little over half a second to shift gears and defend himself. He’s remarkably agile for a human, but Ciar has many times the experience and strength. Punn manages to catch Ciar’s wrists and push against both of Ciar’s arms, but he’s clenching his jaw and exhaling hard through his nose from the effort.

Ramil says, “Leave them,” presumably to Methas and Mekhin, sounding tired.

Ciar can’t tell what that’s supposed to suggest—surely Ramil isn’t going to watch while Ciar kills his beloved parasite? He can’t actually think Punn will survive Ciar?

If he does, he’s going to be disappointed.

Ciar twitches his arms to throw off Punn’s expectations and then, as soon as Punn tightens his grip to prevent what he thinks is an attack from above, Ciar shifts his weight onto his left leg and cuts out at Punn’s knees with his right foot. Punn dodges by releasing Ciar’s wrists and pivoting to one side, quick enough to avoid Ciar’s punch but too slow to prevent the next kick coming for his side.

Punn goes down hard, catching himself on his forearms, then jerks his head out of the way of Ciar’s boot.

“You can’t even fight,” Ciar sneers. “How did you take so many of us down? Cheap tricks? Manipulation?”

Hundreds of years later, Ciar can still relive the phantom ache of swollen hunger in his belly as he bled out to monotonous chanting. They cut deep sigils into his chest and left him there, tied to pegs hammered into the floor, to die alone.

They’d promised him a crust of bread.

Punn doesn’t answer his questions, rolling up onto his feet and eyeing Ciar with cold, blank indifference.

“Answer me!”

“Punn,” Ramil says, mysteriously serene. He’s seated on the couch with Methas standing behind it and Mekhin uneasily swaying back and forth at Ramil’s side.

Punn locks eyes with Ramil, and the sight of his expression melting into something complex and deep rips out the very last roots of Ciar’s self-control. With a bellow, Ciar rears back to kick Punn’s traitorous face in—

He coughs as his back and the floor meet.

Stunned, Ciar struggles to get back the breath knocked out of him. Punn’s hand around his throat casually pushes on his windpipe, and when Ciar thinks back half a second, he can’t remember how Punn moved to achieved this.

Ciar’s next sound is a sliver of fear encased in rage, but Punn’s knee finds the center of his sternum and lodges there hard enough that Ciar decides to save his breath for detailed profanity about Punn’s entire ancestral line.

“I’m not going to hurt any of you,” Punn says. His eyes flit to the hand he’s still got wrapped around Ciar’s throat and adds, “Probably.”

Ciar exhales slowly through his nose, trembling, and imagines drinking the blood directly from Punn’s heart just to spit it in his dying face.

Ramil’s hand settles on Punn’s shoulder, and Punn glances up at him, uncertain.

It’s enough of a distraction for Ciar to free himself, upending Punn into Ramil’s arms and launching himself over the couch behind Methas.

He’s not hiding.

Just gathering allies.

Methas’s hand subtly smooths over Ciar’s back and side while he keeps a close eye on Punn and Ramil. Mekhin asks Ciar with his eyes if he’s all right, and Ciar glowers back to confirm that he is.

Ramil helps Punn to his feet—help no vampire hunter deserves let alone from a vampire—and keeps hold of his left hand in both of his. “We should talk,” Ramil says. “About a lot of things.”

Punn watches him warily in return, but he doesn’t take his hand away.

When they’ve left the room without a backward look, Methas and Mekhin flank Ciar and the three of them have a thorough conversation without words.

If Ramil is this emotionally compromised…they may need to formulate a plan without him.