Chapter Text
Jacob
He remained silent for a couple minutes after Carlisle finished his story. Because, frankly, he didn’t know how to respond. Obviously, Carlisle meant to give him comfort by telling him of his own struggles with his earlier spiral, but there was a feeling in his chest, like an avalanche made of fire and envy, at the thought of Carlisle having feelings for someone else. It’s kind of hard to focus on the point one’s not-boyfriend was trying to make when all one can think of is, ‘Why did he stop the story there? Did he go back to this Vyl? Do things with him?’ He tried to picture this person that caused Carlisle to question his sexuality. How handsome was he? How beautiful? How different from himself was this Lithuanian, white man that managed to apparently shatter Carlisle’s reality? How could he, an emotional trainwreck of a sad-puppy, poor, rez teen, ever compare to that?
This Vyl was human. Did he die? Did that weird Count guy finally kill him and Carlisle was so broken-hearted that he didn’t dare have another relationship, even all these centuries later?
“Jacob?”
He looked up at Carlisle’s worried face, his concerned eyes.
“Breathe, Jacob, breathe with me, please.”
He was breathing, wasn’t he? What a silly request.
Carlisle was motioning with his hands, calms up, then slowly down. It was endearing, but Jacob didn’t understand why he was doing it, so he just stared back dumbly at him. Why was he so worried? It’s not like Jacob was the one who’d just told him that all these years ago there was some guy that had so completely rocked his world by his fucking looks and personality that he’d let himself fall off a cliff in despair, or whatever the fuck.
And why the fuck was it so hot here? It’s not like they lived in the middle of the fucking dese—
Exquisite, icy lightning grasped at his nerves as Carlisle held his face between his palms and it was then that Jacob realized that yeah, he was breathing, but it was too fast, too hard and yes, it was hot, but it was coming from within. And when in the hell had he gotten on the ground? His body was trying to shift. Shit.
“Carlisle—” he managed to gasp, trying and failing to swat him away, “get away from me. I-I think I’m shifting.” He recalled how, twice now, his temper had led him to bear his teeth and claws at his own father. And yeah, maybe Carlisle wasn’t human, but Jacob’s wolf form was designed for hunting and killing vampires.
“No, Jacob, I’m not going anywhere, just breathe with me, shift if you need to, but please, just breathe,” he said stubbornly.
“Please go,” he bit out, his muscles tensing, “don’t want to hurt y—” The words were seized in his throat as his body began to tremble with effort. He pleaded with his eyes, afraid to even try to move.
“I’m not leaving you in this state, Jacob. I have faith in you, and I know you will not hurt me, so please, try to breathe for me, okay. Deep breaths, okay?” The pad of his thumb caressed his cheek, and it felt like bliss.
How did he do it? How did Carlisle just hold such unwavering faith in things? In people? Fuck, in him? But as he continued to stare in his molten gold eyes, and the clear trust and faith in them he knew that he could do the same. Have faith in Carlisle, at least. So, he took a shuddering deep breath, stuttering through it as his body resisted against the peace he was trying to force upon it.
Breathe by breath, he matched Carlisle’s rising and falling shoulders, letting their cadence becoming his own, and slowly, the heat in his blood began to cool—well, at least to its normal fever-state in any case.
Carlisle gifted him one of his small, tender smiles, “See? I knew you could do it.”
Jacob gave him a weak attempt of a smile in return and nodded, looking away in partial shame.
“I’m sorry if I said something that triggered this response. Can we talk about what it was so I can be more careful about that in the future?”
Jacob wanted to bury himself where he stood. He knew that he could easily say no and that Carlisle would respect that, but this would just kick the problem for another time, wouldn’t it? And if he was a coward and bowed out of the conversation now, then he might not get answers that he needed. He sighed and nodded, missing Carlisle’s touch as he shifted to sit next to him.
They sat in silence for longer than Jacob expected. Truthfully, he was hoping that Carlisle would prompt him, so he knew where to start, but he stayed silent and let Jacob gather his thoughts instead. But how could he start explaining what caused him to react so strongly without sounding so immature? He didn’t want to set himself further apart from this mature and handsome man in Carlisle’s past by sounding like a damned teenager.
He sighed and groaned as he let his head fall back against the tree, “It’s going to sound stupid, but…” the words refused to come out, his pride holding them back like a damn.
“But…? It’s alright, Jacob, I promise you that whatever it is, I won’t judge you for it,” he said sincerely.
Under his breath, though fully aware that the other could hear him just the same, he muttered, “You say that now…” But he took a deep breath anyway. If Carlisle could be vulnerable and be open about his own struggles with coming to terms with his sexuality to help, then he could get this out.
“Honestly? It was… difficult to hear about the fact that you had feelings for someone else. I know it’s silly. It’s not like I expected you to have always known and been accepting of the fact that you’re attracted to men, especially since you’ve been around for such a long time. But I guess I never considered that you came to that conclusion because of a single man. Like, in retrospect, obviously it makes sense, because someone had to make you realize that you were attracted to men in the first place, but I guess I’d never actually considered that,” he said lamely.
“Oh,” Carlisle said, drawing his brows closer together and looking deep in thought. “I’m sorry, I hadn’t considered how you might feel about that. I suppose this happened so very long ago that I didn’t consider it to be an issue.”
“No, don’t do that. Don’t apologize for that. I’m just being stupid, I guess.”
“Jacob, no. Haven’t we talked about you talking ill about my friends before?” Carlisle asked humoredly. But it was the wrong thing to say, just then. Friend. He scowled and looked away, biting his tongue from saying anything reckless. It seemed Carlisle recognized his misstep thought, because he corrected himself, “Not that you are just a friend, Jacob. You know you mean more to me than that.”
But Jacob’s tumultuous teenage brain had to have its say so bit back with venom in his voice, “More than Vyl?”
“What?” The shock was evident in his voice. “Darling, of course more than him. This was centuries ago, not to mention that if I had any other romantic attachments, I wouldn’t do myself the disservice of just replacing that person with another. That would be cruel. To myself, and anyone involved.”
And this served as a bandage over his bruised ego, but the salve that soothed it was the earnestness in his tone and the ease with which Carlisle called him ‘darling’. He was sure that his heart had started to beat in a most embarrassing rhythm, or down right started melt. “Oh.” That was all that he could manage. He was equally flattered as he was embarrassed.
As much as that had abated his jealousy, the curiosity remained though, of whatever happened to Vyl and if, indeed, anything happened between he and Carlisle. Not that he expected not to feel any envy, but Jacob was curious as to what other experiences he might have too.
“Can I ask what happened after the mountain?” he said, getting the words out before he chickened out.
Carlisle took a second to respond, but ultimately responded, “Of course, but please let me know if I you get uncomfortable at any point. I don’t wish to cause you any discomfort.”
Oh, boy.
That didn’t sound like he was going to like this at all. He braced himself as he nodded. “Did you return to the castle or whatever it was?”
“I did, though not for weeks longer than I’d anticipated. I hunted and fed, wanting to be as strong as possible before returning. It felt rude to just disappear for such a long time without even thanking them for their hospitality, and even though I continued to struggle with coming to terms with my newfound discovery, I felt like I owed it to myself to not continue punishing myself for something I still didn’t quite understand.
“When I finally returned, I could immediately tell that something had changed though. The estate was quiet in a way that it hadn’t been before. I assumed that my hosts had gone into Vilnius again, as they often did when Anivalas felt like keeping up appearances or just wanted to hunt. As it turns out, that was not the case. Before I could settle into my rooms again, Anivalas had pinned me to the wall with a menacing look in his eyes. At this point, I knew better than to question him first, so I awaited my fate.”
Jacob frowned, “What was that all about?”
He chuckled dryly, “Well, I won’t say that it was completely unwarranted, after all, I knew that he detested rudeness above all, and I had disappeared with a threadbare excuse and for longer than I originally thought I’d be gone. But as it turns out, my rudeness had extended further than that. Unbeknownst to me at the time, Anivalas was gifted too, like Alice or Edward are. He has the distinct ability to almost smell or sense the intentions and moral texture of others. And whatever scent I’d left behind on my gift to Vyl was enough to make him even more protective of Vyl than he’d ever been before. He could read my moral conflict like it was written out in the air, and in his efforts to keep Vyl to himself, and away from me… he’d turned Vyl.”
At first, he was confused, after all, Carlisle’s intent was not to harm Vyl in any way, but as he considered that Carlisle himself had realized that the Count had a strange fascination with the human, Jacob found a perverse logic in his actions. Just as he was jealous of Carlisle’s affection for Vyl, so too must Anivalas have been. But still… “Why turn him? What would that change in terms of your attraction to him? Wouldn’t it likely make it more difficult for you to resist him if you were both vampires, being more beautiful and stuff?”
“Yes, well, turning Vyl against his will had been an error in judgement on Anivalas’ part. He thought that once turned, Vyl would have no reason to resist Anivalas’ advances and that he would have ‘won’ his prize. But that was not the case. Vyl was furious with Anivalas for taking his choice away from him. He would have happily accepted the change if he’d been given the opportunity to accept, at least eventually. As punishment, Vyl had begun ignoring Anivalas completely, pretending that he was merely a specter looming through the halls of the estate. So, Anivalas, naturally, blamed me for his decision and the predicament he found himself in. He was furious, more so than I’d ever seen him and I truly thought that I’d meet my destruction at his hands. Luckily for me, though I didn’t think so at the time, Vyl intervened. He made it clear that if anything were to happen to me while I resided with them, he would never forgive Anivalas and would depart the estate permanently,” he said with a wry chuckle.
“So, a logical person would just get the fuck outta dodge at that point, but knowing you, that’s not what happened is it?” Jacob asked with a roll of his eyes. “You wanted to fix whatever was wrong with those two because you felt guilty, right?”
Carlisle laughed good naturedly and looked away abashed, “You know me too well. Yes, I remained on the estate for far longer than any sane person might have, knowing that there was a murderously jealous vampire hosting them. It didn’t feel right that my presence had changed their dynamic so drastically, and I wanted to do what I could to ‘fix things’ as you put it.”
He shook his head in dismay, “How did you even go about that with Count Dracula wanting to dismember you?”
“I’ll admit that things were difficult the first couple of months, since I tried to keep to myself and avoid Vyl at all costs, given my personal conflict. But he wouldn’t have it. I could tell that he missed Anivalas as much as he was upset with him, so I proposed that he only speak with him if the three of us were present, so he didn’t feel like he was facing him alone. Although, I admit that I offered that solution with the same reasoning in mind. I didn’t feel like I could face Vyl alone, especially once he revealed that when he awoke, he realized he’d borne a gift too. He could perfectly mirror anyone he encountered, at least if he spent enough time in their presence. The way he explained it was as if he stepped into their skin, he could understand why they moved a certain way or why they took certain actions. I’d say that it is an ability that is not too dissimilar to Anivalas’ and Edward’s if they were put together.
“You see, that’s what made being near Anivalas so difficult for Vyl, because he knew exactly what led him to turn Vyl and he understood it. But that didn’t make it any less selfish in root, and that’s what Vyl could not accept nor pardon just yet. Because Anivalas had turned Vyl for selfish reasons, and without consideration of the consequences. In any case, due to a multitude of reasons, the three of us never sat down together for the rest of my stay. But my fear was that Vyl would be able to see my own growing affection for him and be disgusted, or worse in my mind, reciprocate it, which definitely influenced the lack of action for that particular plan on my part…” he drifted off.
Maybe he’d paused his story out of consideration for Jacob now. Knowing Carlisle and given his own reaction at just knowing that Carlisle had feelings for another guy at some point, he was giving Jacob the opportunity to inquire further, or to leave things there.
But curiosity continued to gnaw at him. Fuck it. Curiosity might have killed the cat, but he wasn’t a fucking pussy. He could take knowing more.
He hoped.
Jacob drew in a deep breath, “And did he?”
Carlisle stared at him for a moment, likely deciding how much to divulge, before nodding, “In his own way, yes.”
“What does that mean?”
“Well, does it suffice to say that before any progress could be made between them, things got worse?” He asked hopefully.
“No way, Doc. You can’t just say something so vague and think I’ll be satisfied with that answer. I’m… in control now, so don’t worry about sparing my feelings, I’m genuinely curious what happened now. So, fess up. What happened?”
⁂
Carlisle
Leikteras Estate, Lithuania, 1692
Since his return to the estate—after the threat to his existence at Anivalas’s hands and the wholly unexpected rescue by a newborn, red‑eyed Vyl—Carlisle had found himself in continual conflict with his own judgment. That his unfortunate predilection had played some part in Vyl’s turning, and had thereby sown discord between the Count and his fledgling, weighed upon him with no small measure of guilt. He could not determine whether remaining was an act of courage or folly; yet to flee and abandon the chaos he had helped create seemed an act of cowardice so profound that he could not bring himself to commit it. Thus, he lingered—sequestered in his chambers, avoiding both his hosts, and behaving as a coward all the same.
It was a most peculiar position. He longed to mend what had been broken, yet one of his hosts harbored a violent inclination toward him, and the other had, quite without intention, unsettled the very foundations of Carlisle’s being. With such obstacles before him, he could do little but devise some manner of approach in the privacy of his rooms. On one of the rare occasions he had spoken with Vyl, he had suggested that any future conversation with Anivalas might be eased if all three were present; but such a moment had yet to arise. Perhaps, he thought, there might be some way to speak with the Count without provoking his ire…
“Is there any particular reason you have chosen to estrange yourself from me?” Vyl’s voice drifted from the doorway, where he leaned with conspicuous intent.
Carlisle stilled, uncertain how to answer with both honesty and courtesy. “Whatever has given you that impression,” he managed, though even to his own ears the evasion rang feeble.
Vyl ignored the question. “I have formed my own theories, of course.” He did not meet Carlisle’s eyes, and the omission made Carlisle’s stomach tighten. “The only changes since last we spoke are my… alteration into one such as yourself and Anivalas”—he flinched almost imperceptibly at the name as it left his lips,—“and with it, my diet. Do you disapprove of my feeding upon humans? Does the practice so revolt you that you can no longer bear my company?” There was unmistakable hurt in his voice.
Oh.
In his struggle to confront his own affliction, Carlisle had not only withdrawn from Vyl but had inadvertently led him to believe the fault lay with him. “No,” he said at once. “Not in the least. It would be the height of hypocrisy to condemn you for what I do not condemn in Anivalas—or in any of our kind. My choice is the exception, not the rule.” He hesitated, then added, “Forgive me for causing you to think otherwise. I had assumed your gift might have revealed the truth.”
Vyl shook his head. “I cannot speak for him and his gift, but I have no command over mine. I do not know whether it must be learned, or whether it strengthens with time, or whether it simply appears when it pleases.” He gestured toward the room. “May I?” Carlisle nodded, and in a blur Vyl was seated opposite him.
“At first, I believed it depended upon familiarity, for I used it upon… him the moment I awoke. But that cannot be the case, for I have had no success with you, yet have with humans I have hunted.” He grimaced. “The first time it occurred, I felt nearly ill. As though I were hunting myself. Their terror, their revulsion—it was almost enough to turn me from the act entirely, had the thirst not returned so swiftly.
“In truth, I may adopt your diet simply to spite him. Given the disdain with which he speaks of your scent, I think it would serve him well to be troubled by mine also.” He plucked a quill from the desk. “But to return to the matter at hand: even if I could glean your thoughts, it would require your presence, and as you have been so determined to avoid me, I am left to wonder what offence I have given.” He finally met Carlisle’s gaze, and the indignation and hurt there made Carlisle shift uncomfortably.
He looked away first.
His shame—layered and varied—wrestled with his pride, and the struggle only deepened his mortification. What sort of man, striving to walk in God’s light, allowed pride to prevent him from easing a friend’s distress? And yet his entire existence now lay far outside any path God might have ordained. The irony made him laugh bitterly.
“I am pleased that you find this amusing,” Vyl said sharply. “Heavens, if only spirits still affected us. This conversation would be far improved with a strong drink.” He moved to rise, but Carlisle caught his arm.
“I meant no disrespect. And I agree—a drink would not go amiss. I was not laughing at you. Only at myself. You are correct: I have been avoiding you, and precisely to avoid this conversation. But it is not due to anything you have done.” He dragged a hand over his face. “I… feel responsible for the loss of your mortality. I know Anivalas acted of his own will, yet I cannot help but think that had I not—had I simply left, had I not returned to deliver that damned bread—”
“Bread?” Vyl repeated, baffled. “What are you on about?”
Carlisle groaned. “Blast it all, why is this so difficult?”
Vyl’s eyes widened. “Wait—that is what this is about?”
Carlisle looked up—and saw his own expression mirrored on Vyl’s face.
Then it vanished.
“Did you—your gift?” he asked, both terrified and relieved.
“Yes. For a moment. But it is gone now…”
Silence stretched as Vyl considered whatever he had glimpsed.
“I do not understand,” he said at last. “I sensed your… self‑reproach, but not the cause. Help me understand what changed between your visit to the village and before. I recall little from my human life, but I do not remember this weighing upon you.”
“What?”
“Well, someone must have said something to you. Something that made you despise yourself for what had not troubled you previously.”
Horror washed over Carlisle. If he understood Vyl correctly… then Vyl had known of his proclivity before Carlisle had even recognized it in himself.
“You knew,” he whispered.
Vyl studied him, then his brows lifted. “Ah. You did not. Is that what changed? Curious. I wondered why Anivalas had not sensed it before your departure. That bit had troubled me. But you did not know. How peculiar.”
How could he be so calm?
“I do not mean to diminish the matter,” Vyl continued, “but this is new to me as well. Anivalas has never concealed his inclinations, and I have had no one from whom to hide mine—save my father, and it was not a subject we discussed before his death, and so it was never a true secret. I know polite society condemns it, but I believed it one of those things tolerated so long as it remains behind closed doors and unspoken. That is how it is here, in any case.”
Carlisle’s thoughts reeled. If he still possessed a pulse, it would have thundered. Vyl was saying—plainly—that he was like him. That he was drawn to men. Carlisle’s mind split between elation and revulsion: elation that he was not alone, revulsion that he could feel such elation at all.
“I cannot discuss this,” he said quickly. “Not now.”
“But you wish to,” Vyl said gently.
“I do. But everything within me is tangled. I fear I would only make matters worse.”
“Very well. For now. But I trust this means you will cease avoiding me.” His tone allowed no refusal.
“Of course,” Carlisle said, forcing a smile. “It would be cruel to do otherwise. And perhaps, with more proximity, your gift may reveal what I cannot yet speak.”
“Good. Then it is settled. No more hiding in your chambers. Now—will you teach me how you hunt animals?”
⁂
Days slipped into weeks, and weeks into months, and in that slow passage of time they discovered a semblance of normalcy—at least, as much as could be expected with Anivalas haunting Vyl’s every step. At times he pleaded, at others he raged, depending upon whatever temper seized him, all in an effort to compel Vyl to cease his pointed indifference.
The summer proved uncommonly bright, its relentless sun curtailing their excursions. Ordinarily, Vyl explained, when summers grew so luminous, he and the Count would retreat to the mountains, where the smaller Leikteras estate afforded them freedom to roam at all hours, far from curious eyes. But in their present circumstances, Anivalas had departed alone, leaving behind a scathing letter declaring he would not endure further disrespect in his own household, and that Vyl—he made it abundantly clear that Carlisle was not included—might join him once he ceased behaving like a child.
It was on one of those quiet, sun‑drenched days that it occurred.
They had taken refuge in the library, engaged in a discussion of political philosophy, when Carlisle found himself unexpectedly charmed by the fervor with which Vyl spoke. The animation of his gestures, the way his curls brushed his temple, the curious glint in his eyes—neither wholly red nor wholly gold—seemed to kindle like embers. Carlisle chastised himself at once, forcing down the strange warmth that unfurled low within him. How shameful, how utterly perverse, that Vyl sought only a spirited debate while Carlisle struggled not to strip him bare with his gaze. God forgive him. This affliction nipped at his heels, and he felt increasingly powerless against it. Would this be the final unravelling of his sanity? Was he to be forever tormented by this demon that had taken root beneath his skin?
Vyl’s breath hitched. Carlisle looked up sharply.
Vyl wore the same expression he had worn the first time his gift had manifested with him—his handsome features twisted in a pained grimace, a perfect reflection of the horror Carlisle felt toward himself. Carlisle turned away, unable to bear the knowledge that Vyl could feel the full measure of his turmoil in that very moment.
“H‑how?” Vyl gasped, clutching his temples. “It is so much. Tell me you do not feel this at every hour. Carlisle?” His eyes flickered through a litany of emotions—desire, disgust, unworthiness, longing, fear, shame, guilt.
The very emotions flooding Carlisle’s own mind.
Shame blazed brightest, and in a moment of weakness, he fled.
He found himself in his chambers, pacing, raking his fingers through his hair in frantic agitation. The creak of the floorboards announced Vyl’s pursuit. In an instant, Vyl stood before him, hands firm upon his shoulders, halting his retreat.
“What have they done to you?” he whispered.
“Wha—who?” Carlisle stammered.
“The Church, of course. Who else?” Vyl’s voice trembled with indignation. “How could they fill your mind with such cruelty? What God would condemn His own creatures for something so natural?” Carlisle opened his mouth to protest, but Vyl shook his head sharply. “No. Listen to me. What distinguishes me from a woman? The presence of breasts? The ability to bear children? Is it a sin to lie with a barren woman, or one not blessed with a generous bosom? This is not God’s decree—it is man’s!”
A lifetime of sermons, verses, and admonitions rose to Carlisle’s tongue, ready to refute him. Yet the earnestness in Vyl’s voice stilled the arguments before they could form. Still, Vyl could sense that words alone could not topple the great Goliath of Carlisle’s teachings.
Had Carlisle not been drowning in that sea of scripture and condemnation, he might have noticed the resolve settling in Vyl’s eyes. But it was there—quiet, fierce—and in the space between one breath and the next, Vyl’s hands slid from Carlisle’s shoulders to cradle his face.
And then Vyl pressed his lips to his.