Chapter Text
People can be divided into three species: humans, werewolves, and vampires. Humans have always lived at the bottom of the food chain, getting preyed upon by the latter two. Overtime, as humans became rarer, werewolves and vampires began to feast upon each other until it escalated into an all out war; a fight to become the only predatorial species. Generations worth of fighting eventually led to exhaustion and quelled numbers on both sides, leading to the current leaders of their respective races to attempt to come to an agreement.
A peace treaty in the form of a marriage–more accurately a mating bind between the two–which the leader and king of the vampires, Actavio, vehemently refused. Leading him to his present predicament: kidnapped and starved of blood until he agrees to the terms. In truth, the werewolves were against the idea of kidnapping him, but they had little say in the matter as the alpha of the pack, Sylas, would never listen to anyone but himself, and he was too intrigued by the vampire lord to let the opportunity pass him.
Essentially, Sylas had tied the vampires’ hands. The werewolves wouldn’t harm the vampires so long as they were in possession of their king and vice versa; however, the lack of a ruler left them squirming between each other. Rescuing their lord wasn’t a clear cut desirable plan, given that his rescue would mean that the two species would only resume their seemingly everlasting conflict. All-in-all, the abduction of Actavio left them in an uncertain stalemate.
The sound of the slight rattle of the chains bounced against the walls. Regardless of how eloquently the room was designed, Actavio was still bound nonetheless.
Everyday the alpha would come in and ask him the same question:
“Will you be my mate?”
Each time those words were spoken to him it deteriorated his spirit a little bit more. The words became sweeter and more alluring. Seductive almost. Freedom dangled right before him, in his grasp. But that would mean sacrificing his role and pride as king. Their king. How could they look at him the same, knowing that he was dominated by their enemy of centuries? That inherently he’d forever be their enemy’s sex slave? All the lives they had lost in the conflict would have been in vain, as though he didn’t give a damn about their sacrifices. Not just in vain, but degraded and disregarded. Smothered and diminished.
And thus, he always answered the same:
“I refuse.”
Each time weaker than the last. From the cycle of the sun, he would garner that it’s been about a month of this torture. In the first week he was sure of his rescue, or that he would find a way to escape, but no one came, and Sylas made sure that he’d never escape again after the first attempt. A simple severing of his lower tendons was all it took. If he hadn’t been deprived of blood, the wound would’ve healed in a matter of minutes. Now, it won’t heal at all. Not until he receives sustenance again that is. He was foolish to believe someone would come to help him. It only took that first week for him to realize that their lives are better off this way. Maybe it’s his turn to make a sacrifice…
No. If he mates with that…beast. Then it would mean the downfall of his people–their race. Actavio knew for certain. The only way members of the same sex could reproduce was if they were different species, more specifically, a werewolf impregnating a vampire. It had only been done in rare cases in the past, usually tragic romance scenarios, and the children produced from those cases were more werewolf than they were vampire. This led them to believe that werewolves could rapidly overcome them with their reproductive capabilities. Hence, interspecies breeding was prohibited for the sake of maintaining the vampire race. Humans served as a barely living example as to what would happen should a race weaken, and their numbers dwindle.
The vast bedroom was primarily made out of mahogany wood and strangely contained two sets of beds parallel to each other. One was a normal bed with a headboard and masts, while the other was akin to a large oval futon surrounded by a firm backing, like those used for couches, and sat no more than three feet in front of the fireplace. Sylas didn’t seem to be a fan of colors, at least cool ones, since the room consisted of warm tones along with monochromatic ones. The regent sat bound on an elevated chair that was about to one’s waist; his legs buckled high and forced into a spread at the frame of the wide balcony, just between leaving the room and entering the open space. Something about feeling the frigid breeze of the outdoors and heat of the fireplace, Actavio didn’t bother to understand the alpha’s sadism. The provocative position caused his suited garments to hug him tighter, letting the outline of his member and rigid torso be on full display, only adding to his degradation.
He glanced at the shadow cast by the bottle of liquor on the table, just by the bed. Judging by the length and angle, it was nearly time for the beast’s daily routine.
Right on cue, the bedroom door burst open while a happy, toothed grin pranced through as his extensive locks of forest green and multitude of tails followed after.
“Evening sweetheart! How’s the night treating you? Hope it’s not too cold out there, I’ll throw in a couple more logs if it is.”
Actavio didn’t respond. Instead, he visibly grit his teeth and looked away, ignoring the snarky alpha.
“Same as always then.” Sylas said with a disappointed sigh.
He walked closer, extending his arms across Actavio’s shoulders. Still, the king didn’t look his way. Then, he repeated the same question as always.
“Will you be my mate?”
And subsequently, received the same cold-hearted answer.
“I refuse.”
Actavio debated spitting at him since he happened to be much closer this time around but decided against it.
Another disappointed sigh.
“You know, I’m getting tired of asking, just like I’m sure you’re tired of answering.”
Sylas lightly caresses his blonde strands, twirling them between his fingers.
“You could say yes you know. It’d make this a lot easier.”
“....” Actavio continued to watch the crackling of the fire in relative silence.
Using his thumb, Sylas pried open Actavio’s mouth by his chin. “Usually when people haven’t eaten in a month, they’re more compliant. Or dead. But you’re neither.” His smirk stretches wider. “At least you think you’re not.”
The beast releases his chin, then pricks the same thumb against his own dark claws. A small bead of crimson leaks out, and finally Actavio’s eyes shift back in a swift whip. Suppressing his desires proves useless as the longing for a meal–or even the crumbs of one–causes his orals to salivate and eyes to glisten.
Sylas dons a shit-eating grin, reveling in the king’s torment for something so miniscule. “I’ll feed you all you want if you be my mate.”
Now, Actavio’s cheeks gain a faint tint of red that slowly deepens the more he’s forced to smell the candied scent of blood. Blood he hasn’t had in a month. And from the alpha? Surely it had to be better than any human or werewolf he’s ever had.
Actavio swallowed his biological needs and temptations, letting his pride take control. Through all of his physical reactions that clearly emanated desire, he pushed a loathing glare to the surface.
“Go to hell.” The king snapped with blaring fangs.
Immediately, Sylas erupts into delighted laughter, his full-body markings seemingly laughing alongside him. “Hahaha! What else did I expect? I wouldn’t have gone through all this effort if I didn’t think you’d be fun to play with.”
He licks the blood off his thumb in a teasing fashion, making sure to maintain eye contact all the while. With somehow even more amusement, he waltzes back to the table, dragging it along with its accompanying chair which he faces backwards in front of Actavio as he seats himself. Sylas picks an apple from the fruit basket along with a knife and begins to slice it, one small segment at a time.
“Do you know anything about the relationship between our races? Biologically I mean.” The alpha slides a wedge off the knife and into his mouth.
After being humiliated by a further reminder of his vulnerability and position, Actavio made sure to keep his frigid gaze on Sylas. It was the only means he had left of feigning control, and keeping his sanity.
With little else in the form of entertainment before him, Actavio begrudgingly decides to humor Sylas’s educational lesson.
“No.”
“I’m not surprised to be honest. Not a lot of people do, since it’s been basically taboo for what…at least six hundred years or something?” He eats another helping of the apple. “Even my own people were huffing and puffing when I said I wanted to mate with you. ‘ Isn’t that forbidden? There’s no way he’ll agree! He’s too prideful for that! Why not just marry and leave it at that?’ ” Sylas repeats in a mocking tone. “What was it? Something about everyone knowing you’re getting railed and all that shit and would lose respect for you and vampires as a whole. And I thought fuck all of them, I’ll do it anyways just because everyone says I can’t, well, and also because I knew I wanted you the moment I laid eyes on you. Hard part is obviously, you know, you’re you. I don’t think even if I had a thousand years to live that I’d be able to break you if you haven’t even budged the slightest bit yet. I’m not one for reading but I did because I thought well this isn’t going to work I need to try something else because as much as I love your standoffish behavior I still want to mate with you. And you know what I found out?”
For a moment, the alpha stops eating, lowering his hands.
“If you starve a vampire long enough their body will start to turn on them and force the vampire to get food
somehow
. Something funny about us people is we’re really good at killing and fucking. And if a vampire is starving, then they’re not doing one of those things. So, you can imagine what I’m getting at.”
Actavio almost scoffs at the idea. “You think I’ll get aroused from starvation?”
“That’s the idea behind it, but not exactly right. It’s more that you get aroused from the smell of blood and it makes you want it a lot more. In the case someone was starving themselves on purpose or whatever, like a self defense mechanism because you can really only go against your own needs so much before your own body gets sick of it. Like how your stomach growls or you get migraines from not eating. Same difference.”
Sylas’s tails sway calmly. From the moment Actavio laid eyes upon him, he knew to stay out of his radar. The psychotic glow in his eyes alone spoke volumes and the king didn’t need to be abducted and macerated to know that once he had his sights set, there was nothing that anyone could do to stop him.
“And to actually mate with you the proper way, that is you getting bound to me and all that, then you need to be aroused or it won’t work. I thought about drugs but you guys have a high tolerance to that kind of stuff, and I imagine you especially since you’re the head-honcho and all. Plus, it’s more fun this way.”
Just in time with his words, Sylas ‘accidentally’ pricks his fingers while trying to slice the fruit. The saccharine whiff of blood tantalizes Actavio’s olfactory senses once more and his chains rattle in hunger and yearning. A painful ache knots in his chest as he watches the blood seep into the apple slice, giving it a dot of red with a few outstretched veins. The sight is enough to bring him to a slow pant.
“Oops. How clumsy of me.” Sadistically, the creature smirks then plops the dyed apple into his mouth, licking the blood off his hands.
Actavio’s hazel-blue eyes flare in a conflicting wave of fury, hate, and pining as a thin strand of saliva leaks from the corner of his lips. Sylas re-approaches, cocking the king’s head to the side by his jaw and delectably lapping up the saliva.
“So, let me know if you change your mind. Or, I’ll claim you by force.” The beast purrs in his ear before leaving the regent alone in the bedroom forevermore.