The question haunted Sebastian's empty hours, providing focus when boredom pressed too heavily against consciousness. What did Boarstaff see in him that warranted such risk? What possibilities did the warchief imagine that justified defying centuries of justified hatred?
What was Sebastian becoming that could bridge worlds his father had kept deliberately separate?
He had no answers. Only hunger, isolation, and the memory of Boarstaff's touch against his skin. Only hours to fill before the next feeding, before brief connection alleviated solitude's weight.
Sebastian settled more comfortably at the cave's entrance, preparing for another day of watching a community he could observe but not join. Another day of counting patrols, tracking movements, studying natural rhythms his father would have found abhorrent.
Another day of waiting for Boarstaff's return, for the warchief's steady presence that made isolation briefly bearable. For the connection that sustained more than merely physical hunger.
Chapter Five
Boarstaff squinted against the morning sun as he walked the eastern boundary with Thornmaker and Rockbreaker. Another day, another patrol. These morning checks had become routine since Sebastian took up residence in the eastern cave, though Boarstaff found himself anticipating them in ways that troubled his warchief's conscience. The path took them close enough to glimpse the cave. Close enough that Boarstaff could imagine Sebastian watching them pass, waiting with that aristocratic patience that had somehow survived his transformation.
"Dwarven traders say vampire scouts are pushing deeper into the northern passes." Thornmaker broke the silence between them.
"Cornelius is getting desperate." Boarstaff scanned the tree line. "Every day his son stays out of his control is another crack in everything he's built." He understood that desperation all too well. The need to maintain order, to protect one's people. But where Cornelius sought control through brass and mechanical precision, Boarstaff pursued it through connection, through understanding the fears and hopes that moved his community. Two leaders with the same goal but methods as different as fire and ice. moved his community. Two leaders with the same goal but methods as different as fire and ice.
"You know," a voice called from above, "you three take exactly the same path at exactly the same time every single morning. Not the best security practice."
Boarstaff's head snapped up.
Sebastian sat perched on a low-hanging branch, bare feet dangling carelessly. His hair was damp with sweat from the morning heat, and the simple linen pants they'd provided were his only clothing. Sunlight played across his skin, highlighting where metal now flowed beneath like liquid ore.
The sight sent an unwelcome warmth through him. Each time he saw Sebastian, the changes were more evident, not just physical transformations as brass gave way to something new, but shifts in how he carried himself. The rigid noble precision replaced by something more fluid, more natural. More alive. Boarstaff wondered if anyone else noticed these subtle changes, or if his attention to Sebastian had grown too focused, too personal.
Thornmaker's spear was instantly in position. Rockbreaker's stance widened, war hammer rising slightly.
Sebastian rolled his eyes. "Really? We're still doing this? If I wanted to attack you, I wouldn't announce my presence by critiquing your predictable patrol routes."
"What are you doing up there?" Boarstaff ignored his warriors' tension.
Sebastian shrugged, the motion rippling through lean muscle. "Saw you three walking. Thought I'd wait." His eyes fixed on Boarstaff with intensity that made the air between them feel charged. "Had a question for you."
"Could be setting up an ambush," Thornmaker muttered, eyes scanning the surrounding trees.
Sebastian's laugh was short and cold. "If I wanted you dead, spearmaster, you wouldn't see it coming." The casual threat carried all his former noble arrogance, but when his gaze returned to Boarstaff, his expression softened slightly.
Boarstaff stepped forward, signaling his warriors to stand down. "Come down from there. My neck's getting sore."
Sebastian slipped from the branch with fluid grace, landing soundlessly on the moss-covered ground. The changes in him were striking. Beyond his resistance to sunlight, his body more vital somehow, more present than mechanical precision had ever permitted.
"What's the question?" Boarstaff tried to ignore the way his pulse quickened as Sebastian approached. It was becoming harder to maintain the careful distance his position demanded,harder to remember that this was once an enemy, a vampire noble who had participated in raids against his people. The transformation had done more than change Sebastian; it had somehow changed how Boarstaff saw him.
"I want my things back." Sebastian stopped just close enough that Boarstaff could smell the lingering sweat on his skin.
"Your things?" Boarstaff raised an eyebrow.
"You took everything when you captured me. My clothes, my knife." Sebastian gestured at his simple pants. "These are fine for running, but they don't exactly fit right."
Boarstaff's eyes betrayed him, tracking down Sebastian's chest to where the linen pants hung low on his hips. He'd become more substantial somehow, lean muscle where once there had been aristocratic thinness. The physical changes mirrored something deeper, as if in becoming less mechanically perfect, Sebastian had somehow become more whole. The irony wasn't lost on Boarstaff; the vampire "improvements" had diminished Sebastian in ways that went beyond brass components.
"We gave you clothes," Boarstaff said, his voice rougher than intended.
"Orc clothes," Sebastian clarified with a half-smile that did strange things to Boarstaff's insides. "I want my own."
Thornmaker stepped forward, inserting himself between them. "You want weapons, vampire? After we've let you stay here?"
Sebastian's gaze flickered to Thornmaker with barely concealed disdain. "I'm speaking to your warchief, not his shadow."
