Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Dorcha Castle was silent and still this late in the evening. Every room was dark save for the library. Alistair was inside, a fire burning in the hearth. Candles were placed around his desk, burning low and flickering. He was sitting behind a typewriter, furiously writing out the last chapter to a novel that would be finished later in the week. He was an author, after all. He wrote mystery novels with a touch of romance.

He had been in the library for hours, whittling away and writing down the scenes that played in his mind. It would hopefully be another success. People enjoyed his work, which was astonishing enough. 

At the very end of a sentence, he sat back and heaved an exhausted sigh. Checking his pocket watch, he found the time was nearly three. 

A knock at the window startled him from his reverie. His head shot up, gray-green eyes focused on the panes of glass. Crossing the room, he found the window ajar. Outside, there was nothing. No one had come to bother him.

Closing it, he turned the latch and sighed. For a moment, he scratched his head in confusion. He felt no presence around him. He was truly alone. It could have been an errant branch flying at the window for all he knew.

Turning back around, he found someone standing at his desk. Unable to help himself, he jumped. He was too startled, too mystified, and momentarily forgot that this was his home. A hand rose to his chest and an embarrassing sound fell from his lips.

“Hello,” they said, a hand carefully waving. They leant up against his desk, the movement lazy.

Alistair grumbled. “Hati… Must you frighten me so?”

She chuckled, unable to help herself. “Yes, it’s a need. You’re rather amusing. You still can’t hear me coming in. I supposed my hunting skills are well-honed. But you… You’ve grown lazy in your old age. That’s a sign of weakness for your kind, for vampires. Tsk, tsk.” 

Ruffling his graying curls, Alistair rolled his eyes and groaned at the theatrics. He watched her for a moment, admiring her blonde hair, pierced ears, and the cloak she wore. A long scar ran from her jaw to just above her left eyebrow. Looking at her felt like leaning too close to a dying fire, the heat muted, the flames gone, but the coals glowing red, alive in silence. Her eyes were inhumanly red, a chestnut brown that reminded him of her true nature. She was a wolf. 

Hati wandered over towards his desk, reaching for the printed newspaper off to the side. She was dressed in a man’s attire, not altogether shocking for Alistair to witness. She wore it well, and was able to hide in the shadows during the day. As he began to relax, she shrugged out of her cloak and spoke.

“I see this particular piece of news has reached us as well. Would you look at that? In the heart of gloomy London, it starts off. They’re always so melodramatic with their articles, aren’t they? Leave it to the Scotland Gazette. I was actually in London last week. I had a friend to visit. There’s someone punishing evil ne’er-do-wells, murdering them in the night. Don’t you wonder who’s behind their entire thing?”

Alistair shrugged a rather slim shoulder, making his way to the hearth, and fed the fire more wood. He watched as the flames grew. She needed the heat. It was unbearably cold outside, and her fingers must have felt as if they were frozen. 

“I do,” he admitted. “But there’s nothing I can actually do about it, now is there?” 

She scoffed, pouring herself a glass of brandy and returning to the sofa. “I know that, Alistair. But I’m still curious. I’m not entirely sure the killer is human, either. I’ll admit, I have been a bit enthralled by the series of killings, and I’ve been following the stories in the newspapers. I’ve even been to the scene of the latest killing. I fancy myself a detective of sorts, and you know that. We could very well have a vampire acting as a vigilante. Maybe they’re protecting the innocent and punishing the evil and corrupt under the cover of night. Why would they even do such a thing? I’ve been fascinated by the turn of events. We don’t normally care about mortals.”

Alistair’s eyebrow arched. “Perhaps you should be the author, not me. That sounds fantastical. It’s wonderfully poetic, but I highly doubt it.” 

“I’m being serious,” she said, her feathers clearly ruffled. “I could smell it, you know. You have a scent to you. Your lot, I mean, not just you.”

He took a seat behind his mahogany desk, eyeing her rather skeptically as he smoothed out a few wrinkles from his embroidered waistcoat. “Do we? All I can smell from you is something akin to a wet dog scent.”

The teasing comment had her tilting her head at him, reddish-brown eyes squinted. “Yes, Alistair. You do have a scent. Same as us, apparently. Thanks for that. You smell like freshly turned Earth, like soil and rainfall on a cool autumn morning. Like Death. It isn’t entirely off-putting. It’s just that it’s noticeable to me. I’ve gotten used to it since we’ve become friends.”

He huffed a sigh, elbow resting on his desk as he admired her in the firelight. It was good to talk to a friend, to have a normal conversation where he had no need to hide his true nature. Their eyes met moments later. There was iron in her gaze, iron laced with flame, the red inside her irises glinting like sparks buried in metal. For a moment, he couldn’t speak.

Scratching the back of his neck, Alistair turned to his typewriter. The story was almost finished. Perhaps, by tomorrow evening, it would be ready for his publisher. That would be far sooner than anticipated.

“Has Fenella been by?” questioned Hati. “When was the last time you saw her?”

He chuckled ruefully, caught off guard by the words and glancing her way. His ancient eyes, stark features, and dark expression pinned her place as he replied, “You know damn well she hasn’t come home.” 

The moment stretched on, silence enveloping them. The words were caught in her throat for the look on his face. Seeing her friend, someone she cared a great deal for, in agony would never get any easier.

“You still love her,” she remarked, blatant as could be. “Don’t deny it, please. Just this once, you don’t have to lie. It’s just us. I’ve known for a long time. I naïvely assumed she would have visited you. I heard rumors that she was in the area. I’m sorry for bringing it all up again. My intention wasn’t to bring you any heartache.”

He scrubbed at his face, tired of it all. “I… Someone would have told me if she returned to Moray, I think. At least, if she’s here, she hasn’t come round to see me. To be honest with you, I haven’t seen her in nine years. I’m not sure if that’s going to change any time soon. Time works differently for us. It feels like it was just yesterday. You know how it goes.”

Patting the sofa cushion, Hati beckoned him over. He joined her a moment later, taking a seat and inhaling the sweet scent of the brandy she was enjoying. 

“Maybe you should ask around, Alistair. Learn her whereabouts and write to her.” 

He scoffed lightly. “And what? Beg her to come home?” 

Hati’s eyebrows rose, expression morphing into something thoughtful. “Well, why the devil not?” 

Turning to her, Alistair leveled her with such a look of exasperation that she withered beneath his gaze. “We’re friends, Hati. We are only friends these days. The love slowly died, and we parted. Things changed for us. We aren’t lovers anymore, and we never will be again. How I feel these days is irrelevant to the situation.” 

She playfully nudged him with her elbow. “You say that you drifted apart, but it isn’t true. The love didn’t just fade away for you, did it?”

Alistair shook his head. “It did, but only for a time. It was in her absence that I fully realized just how deeply I cared for her, and how badly I wanted her to return. I couldn’t speak on the subject, though. God, no. I couldn’t tell her. There’s nothing I can do. We left things on an amiable note. Friendship worked far better for the two of us, and I thought we were making the right decision. I was happy. So was she. But then she left and I realized the terrible mistake I had made. I won’t go chasing after her, Hati. I won’t. She wouldn’t appreciate the gesture.” 

She reached out for Alistair’s hand, offering him a comforting touch. His skin was cool beneath hers, pale against her sun-drenched fingers, and she squeezed lightly. His head rose curiously. His light green eyes were like spring leaves pressed against glass, fragile but glowing. Hati knew that look well. He was fighting to keep his emotions in check and his heartache at bay. 

“Things could change,” expressed Hati. “You never know what the future might hold.”

Chapter Text

Sometimes, just sometimes, when Alistair closed his eyes, he saw deep, dark irises. He saw hate in that expression. There was loathing, a look of betrayal, and a darkness that frightened him to the core. That man’s eyes weren’t just black, they were midnight fields, starless but infinite, swallowing distance and silence whole. They were terrifying and reminded him of days long gone and times as tough as could be. But he bid farewell to that monster, did he not?

The moment he opened his eyes, however, he forgot about the nightmares. Everything faded away. 

One such evening, he rose from his coffin. He readied himself a bath as usual, with some assistance from the maids, and when he was left alone again, he sunk down into the hot water. It was a soul cleansing experience, his mind silent for a few precious moments as he bathed. Later on, after dressing for the evening, he ventured downstairs. He went to the library, admiring the warm hearth, the golden glow of the room at this hour, complete with a comforting, burning fire. By now, the staff were having their dinner. Peaking his head into the servants’ quarters, he greeted them politely. 

“Was there a message for me, by any chance?” asked Alistair, eyes filled with hope. 

Eleanor, the eldest of the maids, wiped her slender hands on her apron and rose from the table. She shook her head, a bit confused, and her ginger hair bounced. “Not to my knowledge, sir. Would you like me to check again?”

He rubbed his aching temple. “No, no, it’s quite alright. You finish your meals, please. Sorry for the untimely interruption.”

Her head tilted curiously, expression filled with sympathy. “There’s no need to apologize. Is your head bothering you again, my lord?” 

“Always,” he replied. “These days, it’s like someone has been beating at my cranium with a hammer. But yes, I’m quite alright. I’ll be fine. Thank you, Eleanor. I appreciate it.” 

As he left, gently shutting the door behind himself, Eleanor turned to the other girls. “Do you… Do you think she’s back in town again? Could that be why he assumed he would have a note by courier?” 

Sissy, one of the maids, set her spoon aside after finishing her soup. “I’m not sure. It certainly… feels that way. I was in town over the weekend, and I heard talk of a proper lady arriving and frequenting the inn in the evenings. Many people have seen her.” 

Silence fell over the room. Jonathan, an elderly man yet robust for his years, chuckled from his seat. “Well,” he began, “if it is her, then we’re in for quite a show. This castle won’t be so quiet anymore, and I’ll be thankful for the noise.”

“Aside from the frequent visits by that younger woman — Hati, I believe her name was — things have been far too quiet lately. He’s always busying himself with the next story to publish. He needs companionship.”

Jonathan sat back, finishing the wee dram of whisky he poured himself for his nerves. “Too right,” he said. “The Master’s lonely. Anyone can see it. I don’t care what he is, or who he truly is. I’ve been working here for twenty years. If I did care, I would have left time ago. He’s a good-hearted man, equally as talented as he is kind, and he deserves the companionship love provides. In any case, I hope she’s returning to the castle.”

“Who is this Hati, by the way? I have yet to meet her.” As Sissy asked, she turned to Eleanor, the one person in this castle who usually had all the answers. “Do you know, by any chance?” 

The older woman shrugged her shoulders. “I can’t say for certain, darling, but I seriously doubt that she’s human. They seem like rather good friends. She’s something else, though. She walks in the daylight. She isn’t the same as our master.” 

Anna, another maid, came wandering into the room with her daughter in her arms. She smiled sweetly at the group and gathered up two dishes for soup. She helped her daughter, Rose, into a chair and then began to pour hot broth and meat with the ladle.

She had been working at the local inn when Alistair found her. She was with child and the man she called her lover for four years was nowhere to be seen. He ran off with another lass, leaving the town without an ounce of care for his child, and Alistair, in his own uniquely compassionate way, had offered Anna refuge at the castle. And a job as well, which she had of course accepted. He was a kind man, and she did her best for him. He was, as it so happened, rather taken with Rose as well. He was teaching her how to read and write, asking for nothing in return. 

“What have I missed?” asked Anna. “Has anything exciting happened? You’re all rather engaged in a subject I’m unaware of. What’s the topic, then?” 

Jonathan was busy having a silly conversation with the little girl, a hand brushing her wild hair back from her face and tucking curls behind an ear. Eleanor was the first to respond. 

“We’re thinking Fenella might return someday soon. There have been rumors in the town, apparently. But they’re just that, rumors. It could just be that some woman, born to a rich family, has moved to Moray. Perhaps she’s having a holiday in the area. It might be nothing.” 

For a moment, Anna was stunned. She cast a glance back at the older woman. “Really?”

“Yes. Rather shocking news, isn’t it? Oh, I hope it’s more than just rumors. Speaking of, Sissy, did you learn what the woman looked like at all?” 

Sissy only shrugged her shoulders. “A bit, but not much. She apparently has dark hair and eyes the color of turquoise. It’s hardly much to go on, I grant you, but we’ll see what happens in the future. I’m hoping.”

They were eventually joined at the table by Anna, who set down a pair of bowls for dinner. Rose began eating, blowing on her soup with concern and hesitation. Her mother smiled, a hand on the little girl’s hand to guide her. Eleanor, however, cleared the table of the empty bowls and cutlery, along with Jonathan’s tumbler glass, and brought them to the wash basin. 

“Everything will be fine,” she said, turning to eye the group. “The Master will manage. He always does. And as for us, we’ll just have to wait and see what the future holds.” 

“Oh, aye,” Jonathan remarked. “We’ll be just fine. So will he.”