Who: Ezra & Nazareth What: Valentine’s Day surprises When: Feb. 14th - late (backdated) Where: Their home Rating: High - NSFW (violence, blood, gore) Status: complete
In the wake of an untimely death, Nazareth had left the hiring up to Banksy. Banksy was a smart man, or at least the vampire would like to have thought he was a smart man. He hired him for his discretion and his decision making. When he heard a commotion upstairs, the undead rose from his dark corner and appeared in the shadows of the foyer. Someone was arguing upstairs and just at the edge overlooking the bottom floor. His eyes lifted to the source, gathering his information. One particular map of vascular system was different than the other. The other he’d never seen before.
Someone was arguing with Ezra, or the other way around. Either way, Ezra was in charge when Nazareth was hibernating in the darkness. His footfalls were non-existent as he left the archway and tipped his gaze back to eye the arguing couple. Cranky was not the word to use when he was unceremoniously woken up from his slumber. One leap up and he was crouched on the railing like the acrobatics had been nothing- teetering on the edge. He stood up with all the grace of a cat, his eyes flashing dangerously.
He didn’t ask what was going on, his gaze had silently commanded answer. He was dressed very simply in a black turtleneck and the same dark skinny jeans. His head had been shaved again very recently, leaving the top long and curling over one eye as he leaned forward, “Well?”
“Stop,” Ezra commanded again.
“And what are you going to do about it, bird brain?” Came the reply. Ezra was bleeding from the mouth from having been struck. Someone had hired this goon and the guy was totally taking advantage of the empty house. It’d taken a few days for Ezra to catch on but once he’d discovered it all hell had broken loose.
A hand lifted, smearing the blood from his gushing lip across the back. It throbbed and hurt. “I don’t have to do anything.” The words were soft.
And they’d earned a haughty laugh. “So you’re gonna wake sleeping beauty, is that right? And what’s he gonna do? Everyone knows you don’t mean nothing here. May as well be an empty house.”
Those words stung him deeply.
He didn’t notice that Naz was there until he felt the presence. And then that cold question came. Ezra backed off, lowering his head, mouth still bleeding. The new servant’s knuckles were spotted with that blood where he’d punched Ezra in the mouth.
Where Ezra had fallen silent, the new servant had started babbling in defense, “He was being rude to me. I’m new, I need time to adjust and how the heck am I supposed to work with this harassment.”
No good ever came from that smile. Nazareth hopped down off the railing, the goon in question may have been a little broader in the shoulder, but Naz didn’t seem too bothered. The vampire took the servant’s hand, his breath ghosting over his knuckles. His tongue darted out for a taste. Treasure shouldn’t be wasted after all.
He licked over his lips slowly, his gaze lifting to meet those of the man causing trouble in his home. He twisted his arm until the cartilage in his wrist started to snap beneath his fingers. He left him no escape.
He jerked him forward, closer and closer. “You see him?” He asked, pointing in Ezra’s direction. “That’s my property. Banksy explained to you about my policies. There are rules in place for a reason and I will not be taken for a fool in my own home. Guess what, sweetheart? There are no second chances here. You did some damage to my property and sleeping beauty is a little less than pleased.”
“This is his home and what he says goes- unless he’s planning a revolt. You aren’t planning a revolt are you, little bird?”
Ezra had lifted his head as he stood there like a statue in the hallway, only enough to observe that predatory stalk. “He was —“ the servant began, tone accusatory, when that arm was taken and twisted. Ezra heard the bones grinding together and he winced.
The servant shuddered, eyes wide as he surveyed the tall, dark haired, lithe man that seemed more like a shadow. Ezra locked eyes with him for a moment, no pity and no remorse for that current situation.
Shaking his head Ezra sighed. “I couldn’t fly away even if I wanted to.” His wings had been clipped, the feathers crucial to flight had been chopped and now he was lucky to make it from the floor to a tree branch without banging into something. The band around his ankle wouldn’t let him get further than allowed, either.
No revolts. Not today.
His head ached.
In the library there was a book on the floor with pages torn out, a few things in the hallway in disarray from their struggle.
Nazareth had seen all of it. Sacred books being ripped apart. Or rather, Ezra’s favorite. He would’ve had to pry that from his fingers. It was infuriating. He leaned in very close, his lips nearly against the servant’s, “The strongest bone in the body is the femur. It takes about 2,500 pounds of force to snap it.” His fingers flexed on the man’s wrist, twisting further. He’d break his bones first and eat the marrow.
Options, options. That fear coursing through the man’s veins was feeding into that predatory posturing. Over the railing, and over he went. He swung him around, and when he didn’t immediately go flying over the bar- he took the opportunity to test that 2,500 pounds of force, snapping his femur in two before he sent him to the marbled floor below.
He cast his gaze to Ezra, his eyes dark with hunger as he took his time in walking down those winding stairs to the servant shaking in shock from the pain. It had been a long way down. The vampire whistled low, surveying the scene as he closed in on it. Blood as pooling around his feet. Warm, sticky. Visceral. He moved to straddle him, hands pressed into his sternum as he pushed the air from his lungs, “Ezra, come down here so the nice man can apologize before he takes his last breath.”
He wanted no part of this.
Unable to help himself Ezra turned away. He knew how much Naz hated that, hated seeing him avert his gaze when he was acting that way but he couldn’t help it. Ezra wasn’t a violent person.
That wet smack of meat against marble caused Ezra to jump visibly. Moisture stung his eyes, not out of pity for the servant but because that was a fall no one should endure. The guy was lucky to still be alive.
At that beckoning his feet began moving toward the stairs. His skin had paled visibly as he approached the scene at the bottom, pausing there to wait.
“....fuck...you….” the servant wheezed.
Nazareth chuckled at the words, “I’m flattered, sweetheart. I really am,” his palms kept digging in until blood bubbled up from his mouth and Naz leaned down to kiss him sweetly, tasting that blood. This was just what he needed. He was practically purring as he lapped the blood from the floor. The adrenaline in that blood was turning him on. His eyes rolled up to meet Ezra’s, covered from mouth to chin with red hot blood. His eyes had gone completely black.
He moved to lay next to him, watching him go through the throws and turning the man’s head to meet his gaze, “Was it good for you, too?” his words were slow, carefully chosen and the whites of his teeth were stained with red as he smiled. He swiped his tongue over them to clean away that bloody film.
He watched him die, the light go out behind his eyes and Banksy was at the bottom of the stairs, a soft sigh escaping his lips. He was going to have to dispose of another body.
“Banksy, don’t let this go to waste. Take him to the basement and bottle him.”
At some point Ezra had collapsed backward onto one of the stairs. His coccyx ached from the landing. Dazed by all of the blood he watched in silent horror as Nazareth practically bathed himself in it.
He shook, not even registering Banks standing there at the bottom of the stairs. The shock was too prominent.
Ezra lifted a hand and gripped one of the railings that held the bannister praying for some solidarity and strength. Something to help his feet find ground.
At least he hadn’t rolled in it- yet. There was still time. He licked his fingers as the old man hauled the body away, creating quite a trail in its wake. Nazareth wanted to keep it the way it was, let it dry and paint lacquer over it. It made for a very pretty image. He stepped away from the scene, leaving bloody footprints behind as he made his way over to the stairs. He patted Ezra’s shoulder very gently, then jogged up the steps to find the master shower.
“Cheer up, little bird, he had more than just giving you a fat lip on his mind,” no one touched his treasure that way. Nazareth stripped his clothes off along the way, letting them land wherever they touched. They were useless now, soaked in blood. He cast his gaze over his shoulder, leaning against the railing with nothing more than red painting him, “why are you angry? I did you a favor.”
That tap on the shoulder brought him tumbling back into a red painted reality. His heart was racing, the fear coursing through him was wild and free like the mustangs that owned the plains.
He clung to the railing, moving to stand. The smell of the blood was making his stomach turn and Ezra pivoted on the balls of his feet, racing up the stairs to evade the stench.
Those words weren’t false, the servant had been trying to fuck him for the last week and each time Ezra had resisted a book went missing. Something happened. It began subtle at first; the books vanishing, the servant popping up out of nowhere to harass him.
Stepping into the master bathroom, Ezra made a bee-line for the mirror. He paused and leaned forward to check the damage to his face. It was minimal. Not worth killing someone over.
“Why do you always assume I’m angry with you?” He didn’t look at that sheen of red over that pale skin. His focus remained on the swollen mass on his face.
“Because I can’t read your mind,” something about being a shifter was throwing him off. He couldn’t get into every crevice of the workings of his mind. He tapped his temple with those blood caked fingers, his eyes intense as he stepped over to the shower. He cracked the door and turned the taps on hot. He would scrub away the mess for Ezra’s sake. He scrubbed his hair and the caked on red, watching the color swirl down the drain. One less meal, one less fucker to worry about.
He pressed a palm to the cool glass, breathing in deep when he didn’t need to. He was trying to calm down from a near frenzy. He wanted to put a hole in the tile. How dare he put his hands on Ezra. The owl belonged to him, tearing up his property, scarring them. He ground his teeth until they ached.
“Fuck,” he turned his back to Ezra, there wasn’t any place to hide in a glass shower. Now his foyer was stained. They’d have to retile the whole fucking thing.
It was a relief to him that his mind was impenetrable to the vampire. There were perks to being part animal, things that kept him alive in the wake of captivity.
The skin was tender. He winced when his fingers brushed the split. With a sigh he straightened and his hand fell to its appropriate side. The sound of the shower warmed him, it was comforting. He didn’t look at the figure behind that steamy glass.
At least now he was safe to wander again in his own home without much harassment. “Thank you.” He managed, lifting his eyes to the shadow of the figure in the mirror. He was grateful that Nazareth stepped in and took care of that problem before things got too out of hand.
“For what? The rapist? Miserable human, he deserved it.”
Nazareth asked casually, when had he stepped from the shower? He was dripping wet. He slicked his hair back and padded out of the tiled room to find a place to dry. Like he’d never heard of a towel. It wasn’t unusual for him to walk around the house without a lick of clothing. There was a room he’d set aside for himself, a small room overlooking the atrium. His office. He settled into his chair and opened up his macbook to stare at auctions for hours.
He made a mental note to talk to Banksy, he was doing the hiring from now on. No more rapist fucks in his house. He found Ezra’s book and ordered another copy for overnight while lighting up a cigarette. One wrong move and he’d go up in flames. Ironic.
“For standing up for me.”
It was as simple as that. He couldn’t recall ever thanking Nazareth before for anything except the library. It was a known, silent thing between them - Ezra put up with him and Naz got him things. But today had been different.
As Naz left Ezra sighed. This was no life but it was his and he made good of what he had of it.