Donovan woke slowly. Thanks to Gabriel drinking his blood he found himself gradually returning to reality. He was unsure what twist of fate brought them together but he wasn't about to complain as he pushed aside the lid to his coffin. Gnarled hands curled over the lip as he pulled himself up. His body ached and he knew he wasn't looking his best, couldn't be after so many years. Decades. He had spent so much of his time consumed by hate and vengeful thoughts, that he’d almost forgotten what real hunger and pain felt like.

It wasn’t pleasant.

He had something to focus on, a task aside from revenge. Gabriel. The thought of him was what allowed Donovan to move forward. His tomb was in the cellar, hidden behind a wine rack. Ruben must have placed him here at some point, perhaps to keep his body safe, or perhaps to ensure he never woke. At any rate, Donovan was too insensate to know exactly when he’d been moved. Too long ago to matter.

Ruben had at least kept the place clean. Perhaps his servant expected him to wake any day. Or night.

Step by step, Donovan made his way towards the stairs. He was immortal, and far from dying, but the pain of moving after so many years was more than unpleasant. Climbing the stairs themselves was another ordeal he didn’t enjoy, but far preferred to the seemingly permanent slumber he’d been forced into for so long.

Donovan’s senses had not dulled with time, thankfully, and he could already hear it: one steady heartbeat echoing throughout the house. Soon, he would have a very satisfying meal, which spurred Donovan up the steps even faster. Music filtered through the cellar door. Opera. Crisp and clear, as if it were a show being performed right in that very building. Donovan was soon greeted by a rather surprising sight in the parlor. A solitary old man seated in one of two comfortable looking chairs sipping amber liquor from a snifter.

Donovan advanced towards him, capturing the man’s attention with two rasping words, “hello, Ruben.”

The human might very well have leapt out of his wrinkled old skin if he could, as quickly as he jumped out of the chair to spin about and face him, “D-d-...Master! You’re awake!” Ruben spilled the contents of his snifter, and came painfully close to dropping it too when he took in the sight of the ancient vampire in front of him.

“Indeed.” Donovan moved around the chairs, settling into one of them. He may not have the full use of his reflexes in his current state, but he was still far more graceful than the human ever would be. It felt good to sit down, “now, have you forgotten how to be a good servant or must I find a meal for myself?” He was in no state to go hunting right now, and the old man would make a poor meal even if Donovan wanted to feed on him.

“No master,” Ruben bobbed his head up and down, pressing his free hand to his chest to still the annoying sound of his laboring heartbeat, “of course master. I w-will see to it at once. Please,” he gestured around the room, “make yourself comfortable. I won’t be more than a moment!” He rushed, or really hobbled quickly, towards the entryway with his snifter still in hand. Clearly he didn’t need any reminders of Donovan’s power. Though, likely most of that fear was due to the ancient vampire’s appearance. Donovan could only imagine what he must look like right now, given the state he was in.

His hands were more gnarled than Ruben’s, his skin was desiccated, rough and cracked. His nails were long, that would have to be taken care of first. Donovan didn’t want to inadvertently damage any upholstery. He could do with a good haircut as well. A bath. A change of clothes. So much to do. Yet it all paled in comparison to the waking beast inside him, growing more and more impatient to feed. The hunger was tearing at his insides, it had been difficult to refrain from eating Ruben when he had the chance. Perhaps that would have been better after all, but the old man had his uses. At the moment, for the errands he would have to run, Ruben was far more presentable to the public eye.

“Well, Mister Carter, I’m glad to help you fix your breakers, but it’s pretty late. Couldn’t it have waited until morning?” A muffled voice at the front door. So soon? Well, perhaps his servant was better prepared than Donovan had thought.

“It can not wait,” Ruben replied to the other man flatly. “I pay you exceedingly well to keep my home and garden in good condition. I expect you to do so at any and all hours I require. Now, if you’ll please go about your job, we can get this over with and then you can sleep.”

The door creaked open. Donovan was upon him the moment he stepped inside, driving his fangs in deep and drinking hungrily. Too fast for the man to even scream. Flesh and muscle were shredded under yellowed claws, while the vampire drank deeper and more viciously than he ever had before. It was good to be alive, or something like it.

Ruben shifted uneasily on his feet, just as nervous in old age as ever in his life, “y-you probably will be wanting more soon, master?” He rubbed his hands together as he watched Donovan feed, standing just a little too close. The vampire took his sweet time enjoying his hard-earned meal, letting Ruben stew in his nervousness.

Once he was somewhat satisfied, and sure that there was nothing else to be gained from the dead man in his arms, Donovan licked his lips slowly, “yes, I believe I will.” He dropped the corpse to the floor, turning his gaze to Ruben, “get to work.”

The old man hesitated, clearly shaken by the sight. It wasn’t likely he’d seen much death in the cozy little life he’d been leading, drinking Donovan’s brandy, spending his money. It was very clear he’d been doing that much to a disgusting degree. Donovan’s home was hardly recognizable for all the clutter that seemed to have collected. Even distracted by hunger, he’d noticed the gaudy decorations. The extra china cabinets packed with worthless little knick-knacks, lining the walls, filling every inch of every available table surface and corner.

“You want me to leave now? At this hour?” Ruben repeated, quickly stepping towards the body to try and lift it with little success. He very nearly threw out his back just hooking his arms under the dead man’s shoulders. Donovan’s first meal in what must have been almost fifty years was not a lightweight.

“Unless you have another way to bring a meal here, yes.” Donovan looked at his hands, watching the flesh sluggishly fill out, cracked skin rejuvenating ever so slightly, “I require more sustenance.” Donovan’s tone would brook no arguments.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

“Yes, of course. Yes, I understand. Sustenance…” Ruben trailed off, seeming to be struggling to come up with something to say and figure out a method of dragging the body out of the entry hall without injuring himself. “I don’t suppose you could help, just a little, master?”

With a heavy sigh, Donovan obliged, hefting the body up over his shoulder. “What do you plan to do with it?” At least his strength had returned. Somewhat. This would have been far easier if he were more revived. One or two more feedings would go a long way.

“I wasn’t quite sure,” Ruben replied helplessly, wringing his hands together, “I have a few barrels in the cellar, I suppose I could stow him there for the evening until I am able to purchase the proper tools.”

“Very well, show me.” It was quite fun to order him around again. He had forgotten how enjoyable it was to be in control. There were still, however, several issues to address.

“I knew you’d wake up one day,” Ruben remarked, hobbling ahead of him.

“Why did you give the bottle of blood wine to a group of hunters?” Donovan questioned, ignoring the human’s platitudes. There seemed little reason Ruben would have any sort of relation to the man in Donovan’s dream.

Ruben drew to a halt, his back still turned, “hunters?” He questioned innocently.

“Don't play coy with me, Ruben, answer the question or I shall drop this body and leave you to tend to it.”

The old man spun about, holding up his hands in surrender, “I’m sorry, I thought perhaps if they drank some of your blood, maybe they’d become enthralled,” he paused, “that is how it works, isn’t it? You give your blood to a human without biting him, and he becomes unable to resist you? It was a last attempt to wake you, before-” he hesitated, “-before I die. I’m not ill, but I’m not young, either. Not anymore. I tried everything else. Besides the fact, they charge entirely too much, and it seemed as if-”

“Tell me about the one called Gabriel.” Donovan cut him off before he could continue his babbling.

Ruben flinched, “that one? I don’t like him. One of the rudest men I’ve encountered, next to the older one who likes to dig through my liquor cabinet. None of them seem to know their place.” Despite his nervousness, there was no mistaking the old man’s sour tone, or the arrogance he had cultivated for the last few decades he’d had full reign over Donovan’s fortune.

“He was once on the cusp of turning, it is because of him that I am awake.” Donovan clarified, emphasizing Gabriel’s role. Ruben may have contributed to getting the blood to Gabriel, but if it had been anyone else, just a normal human, it was highly unlikely the blood-wine would have had any effect while Donovan was in his near-catatonic state.

“Because he drank your blood?” Ruben inquired, clearly misinterpreting Donovan’s response, “do you wish for me to bring him to you first, master? For your next meal?” His last question sounding entirely too hopeful.

Donovan’s eyes narrowed angrily, “no one will be eating him. No, I have plans. For now we will just have to keep an eye on him.” His voice was filled with malice, a warning. The hunter belonged to him. Untouched. Alive.

Visibly shaken by Donovan’s reaction, the old man took the hint and said no more, though he did not look happy. One need not bother reading his thoughts to figure that much out.

The journey down to the cellar was not a pleasant one. Though Donovan knew very little of fear these days, the very idea to return to the place he’d been interred so soon was repellent. Perhaps he would have this portion of the house boarded up in the future.

For a brief moment, Donovan debated the merits of putting the corpse into his old coffin. It was a sound idea, however he wanted to personally destroy that rotten wooden prison.

“Where are these barrels you spoke of?” Donovan was getting impatient, his hunger was still gnawing at his insides, unsated, and the longer he waited the more appealing his servant was looking as a meal.

Ruben slowly flipped on the light switch, peering with bleary eyes into the cellar, which was far worse for wear in the decades Donovan had slept. Layers of dust caked over racks and bottles had very likely been there just as long as him. There was evidence of some cleaning, some well-trodden paths where the better bottles were kept, and a few younger vintages. Still, it rather looked like a cheap set from some ghastly horror picture.

“I think they’re in the back.” The old man squinted, taking his sweet time in his descent towards the bottom of the stairs.

“If you take much longer, you are going to be on the menu for the night.” Donovan’s voice was icy as Ruben finally took the last step down. He was frail. Too frail. Were it not for his loyalty, he would not be worth keeping.

Ruben picked up speed, his slippers still covered in grass stains from his late night foray to fetch Donovan’s dinner, scuffing along the concrete floor and leaving tiny blades here and there as he made his way through the dimly-lit cellar. Towards the very back, hidden behind the tallest wine rack where a vast array of ports lay, there were a few disused barrels with half-rusted rings around their bellies. “Here,” the old man indicated, reaching for the lid of the tallest, “this one doesn’t leak.”

After depositing the corpse he turned his attention back to his servant, “how long will it take for you to acquire dinner for me? If it's too long I'm afraid I may have to go out myself.”

This gave Ruben pause, “I’m not entirely sure, master. I don’t know any of the neighbors…” he trailed off with a pathetic shrug of his shoulders. “There is a park nearby still, perhaps there may be a few-” he seemed to struggle to find the right word, “-youths there tonight. I understand it isn’t the most savory of place as of late.”

“If you do not feel confident that you can be successful I will take care of it. Why don't you rest? Perhaps after a night of sleep you will be more useful to me.” He turned, not sparing Ruben a second glance as he went upstairs.

Perhaps he needed a good hunt to take care of some of this energy. It never felt so wonderful to be alive as it did now. Maybe something good did come out of his long sleep. A new appreciation for his existence. An appetite to give his next hunt a whole new meaning.

----------------------------------------

“This stuff’s amazing.”

“Best on the market. Best price, too. All for you, baby.”

“How long does it last?”

The couple cuddled together in the grass beside discarded needles and plastic trash. Trophies. Remnants of days past when one vagrant or another found a new high to chase. Perhaps these two were still kids, or perhaps they were older. Hard to tell with so many scars and missing teeth. Candles burning at both ends.

“Do you…” the woman trailed off, squinting up at the sky. She didn’t remember what she was going to ask him. Didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Not even the weird old guy standing over them.

“You are both wastes of space but perhaps you can serve one last purpose.” The man stepped closer, moving faster and with more grace than a guy that looked as old as he did should. Before the girl could scream. Before the guy could laugh, because he’d had twice as much as her, they were scraps on the ground, blood watering the grass.

Across the city, while Donovan savored his meal, Gabriel woke in his office screaming. It didn’t last long, though. He was too tired to stay awake.