The shadowed forest was still dark as Boarstaff made his way toward the northern boundary. Only the faintest glow in the eastern sky hinted at the coming dawn, illuminating his breath as it formed clouds that dissipated into the darkness. The air carried a bone-deep chill that matched his exhaustion, seeping through his bare skin as he approached the ancient oak where Sebastian waited.
Sebastian sat beneath the tree, back against the massive trunk, eyes gleaming slightly in the darkness. A hunter's reflection that still unsettled Boarstaff despite their weeks of uneasy alliance. The remnants of metallic implants at his throat caught what little light existed, thin threads of brass visible beneath his skin. Once, such obvious vampire markers would have triggered immediate battle response. Now, Boarstaff found himself more curious than cautious about their subtle movements.
Sebastian didn't move as Boarstaff approached, though his posture shifted slightly; a vampire acknowledging another warrior's presence without feeling threatened. The hunger was visible in his too-still posture, in the slight tension around his mouth, in the way his fingers curled against his thighs. Control, but strained.
"The council is unhappy," Sebastian observed, voice casual despite the hunger radiating from him. The night wind carried his scent… not the mechanical precision of vampire citadel, but something wilder, more primal. His transformation continued in subtle ways, evolving him into something neither world fully understood.
"The council is furious," Boarstaff corrected, settling onto the ground beside him. The cold earth leeched warmth through his leathers, but he welcomed the discomfort. It helped keep his mind clear, his thoughts focused on the complicated reality between them rather than the growing fascination Sebastian inspired. "Thornmaker wanted you banished. Others aren’t sure what to do."
Sebastian's gaze met his, his eyes’ color no longer the mechanical precision of his father's design. Not fully vampire, not fully something else. "Because I entered the settlement."
"Because you violated boundaries you agreed to respect," Boarstaff clarified. "You can't enter the village without an escort. Not ever. Not even if Sarah calls for you."
Sebastian's expression didn't change, but the brass threads at his throat pulsed once, betraying emotion his face didn't show. "And if she has another nightmare?"
"Speak to a guard. Send word. I'll come for you." Boarstaff held his gaze steadily. "But you cannot enter on your own again. The council won't permit it."
"The council," Sebastian repeated, a hint of his old aristocratic disdain coloring the words. "Always so concerned with boundaries and permissions."
"With good reason," Boarstaff countered, the weariness of the night settling into his bones. "You crossed into homes where children were sleeping. Where families believed themselves safe."
He didn't add that Sebastian's actions had made Boarstaff's own position more precarious. Every concession, every defense, every argument in Sebastian's favor chipped away at the village's trust in his judgment. Yet he continued to make them.
Something shifted in Sebastian's expression; not quite regret, but recognition. A flicker of understanding that Boarstaff hadn't expected. "The child needed me." The words were simple but weighted with complexity beneath.
"Yes." Boarstaff’s admission sat uncomfortably between them. "But your response endangered the trust we've built. If you want to stay here, you need to understand that."
Sebastian was silent for a long moment, his gaze drifting toward the village in the distance. "She calls for me." His voice carried a note of bewilderment Boarstaff had never heard from him before. "Why would she do that?"
"You protected her once." Boarstaff watched the subtle play of emotion across Sebastian's face.
"A tactical delay," Sebastian dismissed. "Not protection. Not kindness."
"She doesn't see it that way."
Sebastian's mouth curved in a humorless smile. "No. She doesn't."
They sat in silence for a time, the forest slowly lightening around them. Boarstaff felt the weight of the night's events, the council meeting, and the ongoing struggle to maintain peace within the village. Exhaustion pulled at him.
"When did they start your improvements?" The question emerged before Boarstaff could consider its implications.
Sebastian went very still. The brass threads beneath his skin darkened, not with hunger but with something else. Memory, perhaps.
"Younger than she is now." Sebastian’s voice was stripped of its usual aristocratic precision. "My father had specific expectations for his heir."
Boarstaff tried to imagine it… Sebastian as a child strapped to an improvement table. The surgical precision. The mechanical components gradually replacing natural function. His stomach turned at the thought.
"Is that why you responded to her?" Boarstaff asked carefully. "Because you recognize what she escaped?"
Sebastian's gaze shifted to the distance. "Perhaps. Or perhaps it's simply that she called for me, and no one came when I called."
The admission hung between them, unexpectedly vulnerable. Sebastian didn't look at him, and Boarstaff didn't press further, recognizing the rarity of Sebastian offering any glimpse into his past without calculation.
After a moment, Sebastian straightened, his expression shifting back to careful neutrality. "I need to feed."
The words instantly sharpened Boarstaff's attention.
"I should have come sooner." Boarstaff understood the situation.
