Neymar was a vampire. Abel was sure of it.

Not that vampires actually existed, according to common belief. At least, not in a way that was magically significant to anyone.

But if the vampire of fables and urban legends did truly exist, Neymar would be one of them.

Abel arrived at the Fenharrow Inn a little after sunset.

The inn was an impressive four-story building with ornate tile roof, a well-kept garden, and a chandelier in every room, which painted patterned blue and cream wallpaper in perpetual gold light.

The building bustled with constant movement of self-assured businessfolk in suits, harried delivery boys making their runs of the newspaper and packages, languid elderly taking a rest on lobby seats before heading into the brisk outdoors, couples retreating to private quarters, folk who wore hats indoors carrying suitcases and constantly looking over their shoulders— it was every bit of the city inn Dmitri made it out to be. A mix of the refined and the unsavory.

Madam Reyna Fenharrow stood at the center of it all, greeting every new face she saw, with a gusto that could blow a house down, despite her small, round stature. Her voice carried enough weight to smash through walls, perhaps even entire buildings. She leapt at Abel the moment she set her eyes on him, taking him by the hand.

“You must be the lovely Abel. My god your hair is like a cloud! And so long, too. How are you? Have you eaten? You’ll be plenty full by the time supper is over, I promise you that!” The power of her energetic smile nearly knocked Abel over. He felt overwhelmed and inadequate all over again.

He rushed through thank yous and her prodding questions without listening to them, doing everything to get to private quarters as quickly as possible.

“You will be set up to stay here while your citizenship papers get processed and you get settled in the city. Your room will be with the rest of our family unit in the west wing, Room 104.” Reyna dropped a key into Abel’s hand.

“Room 104 is this way? Thank you—“

Dmitri was the one to hold him back.

“Mama will be handling most of the transition while you get settled in the city.” Dmitri explained, “She’ll be your main contact and official guardian after I leave.”

“You’re leaving?” Abel froze in place, the fuzz leaving his brain all at once.

Dmitri crouched slightly to meet Abel’s gaze, a bittersweet smile on his lips.

“I have to keep trying to find more like you on the warfront, Abel. Perhaps you’ll meet another of your kin here soon, if I work hard enough.” Dmitri reached out, his hand drifting above Abel before gently placing a firm hand on his head. “You’ll have me for a few days more, at the very least.”

The gesture felt strange. Abel wanted to slap away Dmitri’s hand as phantom sparks of anger flashed within him. At the same time, the touch was warm, kind, genuine. He couldn’t help but feel disgruntled by the news.

“I should find my room.” Click. Abel gave an appeasing smile. Before Dmitri could react, Abel fled down the hall Madam Fenharrow had gestured towards just moments before.

That is where Abel first saw the vampire.

Well, moreso collided with the vampire. He was turning the key over in his hand when he crashed into a tower of a body exiting another room just in front of him. The being’s firm hands grabbed onto his shoulders to steady him, then kept holding him, refusing to let go.

Great. Just when he thought he could mope in peace. Abel lifted his head to regard the looming form in front of him.

The figure was a boy built like a man— he was all muscle and thickness and height, towering over Abel, whose lean frame seemed like a bundle of sticks in comparison. He had deep-set dark eyes, sharp features, short-cropped hair and a strong square jaw with gaunt cheeks, which only further exaggerated his stern persona.

Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

“The guest suites are in the East Wing.” The boy’s voice croaked with a rumbling warning that caught Abel’s attention.

What’s with that suspicious tone? Abel was almost offended. He peered at the room number beside them. 105. A neighbor. Which also meant he was part of the Fenharrow household.

Ah.

Neymar.

“I’m just as much a guest as you, my friend.” Abel lifted his head to smile face-to-face. Click. “I’m Abel.”

Neymar took a moment to observe him, gaze thick with scrutiny. His hands clenched just a fraction tighter around Abel’s shoulders before releasing him roughly.

“Keep out of trouble, and you won’t find any.” He grunted, and sauntered past Abel without another word, but not before firmly locking his own room.

Oh, so that’s how it is.

Dinner was no better. Dmitri and Reyna attempted to engage in small talk, but the creature of the night named Neymar was stoic and silent, his plate deliberately scarce— a few spoons of beef curry and rice and two baby tomatoes.

The only way to explain his physique had to be vampirism, if this is his average meal.

Reyna and Dmitri also conveniently seemed to skirt around the observation even as Reyna piled Abel’s plate sky high.

Abel internally groaned at his predicament, unable to refuse but getting too full to finish. He subtly attempted to slip an extra tomato over to Neymar’s plate.

“Ah, Abel—“ Dmitri began, spotting the gesture.

Abel’s fork didn’t even touch the surface of the plate before Neymar forced Abel back with an icy glare.

“Don’t touch my plate.” Neymar growled.

“It seemed sparse.” Abel nonchalantly slipped the tomato into his own mouth.

What is this guy’s deal? Abel looked to Dmitri for answers, but Dmitri had other plans. Plans which included changing the topic.

“Abel, you mentioned wanting to resume your education.” Dmitri chirped. “I have an inquiry out to the city to place you in one of our local institutions, so we should be hearing from them about assessments soon.”

“It might be a good time for you to return to school as well, Neymar.” Reyna smiled encouragingly. The mention failed to pierce the bitter cloud hanging above Neymar’s head.

“Hm.” Neymar grunted noncommittally.

“Hm.” Abel mocked. “I’m looking forward to it. Maybe I’d find better conversation if a certain someone expanded his vocabulary.”

Neymar reached for his fork in a rush of sudden anger. Abel reached for his own, a warning gust of wind rippling across the dining table in anticipation of a fight. In the brief instant that Abel’s gaze left him, Neymar’s skin shifted from a smooth peach against brown stubble to dark brown scales that protruded out the sides of his cheeks, along his neck, and across the top of his arms to his hands.

Neymar was a mage too. Curious. And from the looks of it, he carried an amplifying or protective ability. Those scales looked tough and coarse.

“Neymar, breathe.” Dmitri intervened, coming to a stand. Neymar released the fork and a deep exhale that Abel was surprised to notice he was holding in. The scales receded back into Neymar’s skin, shifting as if they had never appeared to begin with.

“I’ll be in my room.” Neymar picked up a lid that was placed off to the side of the table, and placed it upon his plate, then fled the room.

And the only thing Abel could think of was that this wasn’t the first time he’d left without eating.

He had a whole damn ritual.

“You provoked him.” Dmitri scolded, falling back into his seat.

“It’s hard not to.” Abel pouted. “He’s done nothing but threaten me since we’ve met.”

“Sweetie, don’t take it personally.” Reyna chimed in. “He blames the war for his parents’ passing. It’ll take a bit for him to warm up to the idea of you. He never follows through on his threats anyway.”

“More like you strongarm anyone who tries to threaten you, Mama.” Dmitri clarified. Reyna merely shrugged.

“Abel’s a former soldier. He knows how these things work.” Reyna waved him off.

“Were his parents soldiers too?” Abel piped up.

“Heavens, no. They were merchants. You see, the Empire was hosting a war parade at the capital to induct some new group of mages— blocked up a good portion of the main roads to do it, too. The story is that his mother was ill and needed a doctor quick, so they set off on some backstreets at a breakneck pace. But backstreets aren’t exactly meant to speed on.”

“One bad move on a bridge above the river road, and they tumbled into the drink. His mother was too weak to escape, and his father spent his last moments trying to help her.”

“Wow. That’s…” Abel mumbled.

“A tragedy, indeed.” Dmitri sighed.

“… very stupid.” Abel finished.

What a ridiculous way to die. What ridiculous ceremonies war goes through. A war parade indirectly killed them? To find that the boy who looks like a man is an orphan, and one made by something so absurd as a wrong bump in the road— well, if he were in that situation, Abel himself would start pointing fingers anywhere he could just to make sense of all the anguish left in his hands.

And perhaps that stupidity was a consolation. It reminded Abel how irrational hatred could be, and that Neymar truly did have hatred for him in that moment, but such hatred was also impermanent.

Abel didn’t want another dinner of nearly flinging forks at each other, or otherwise choosing his words so carefully so as to not break the floor of eggshells.

He wanted to leave misery behind.

If he was going to live at the Inn any longer, he had no choice but to befriend the vampire.