Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A curse of madness has darkened the Emeritus home, Terzo is certain of it. 

Copia has always been a wet-eyed, sentimental sap, so Terzo wasn’t terribly surprised when he showed up one night with an equally doe-eyed human pet in tow. During the first few weeks of Copia’s folly, Perpetua and Terzo would meet up and gossip over glasses of O-Neg, placing bets on how long it would take for Copia’s pet to get sick of his incessant fawning and fussing.

Then, like some sort of sick joke, Perpetua brought home that poor girl with the broken leg, nursed her back to health and… just let her stay. Indefinitely. Terzo lost his favorite snarking buddy to a pet, and he’s trying to not let himself feel too bruised about it.

Trying is absolutely the operative word here. Perpetua was on the receiving end of the silent treatment for a good week after it became clear to Terzo that his new favorite human wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

Terzo’s determined to take it in stride, though. He’s a gourmand, a true man of wealth and taste with a discerning palate. He’s never been the wallflower at the clubs like Copia, making awkward eyes at humans until someone offers up their neck. He’s never prowled the streets like Perpetua, feeding and fucking with reckless abandon. He’s choosy, and he while he does have favorites in the Ministry flock, he’s an equal opportunity bloodsucker so long as the human passes muster.

Above all else and to his credit, he’s certainly never considered taking a pet.

That is, of course, until you come knocking.

It’s an October evening, just past nine – early enough that anyone with manners wouldn’t have bothered. Cozy in his coffin, just beginning his nightly doomscroll, Terzo ignores the first round of knocks. And the second. When the third round of knocking starts, he throws his phone aside, pushes his coffin lid open, and stomps down the hall to his front door.

“Copia, if you locked yourself out again, take it up with someone else–” he starts, flinging open his door and not even bothering to look at who waits on the other side of the threshold. Whoever it is, they’re rude and certainly not worth his time.

“Copia?” comes your voice, clear as a bell. “That’s your brother, right?”

Terzo comes to his senses and gets a good look at the human woman before him. You stand nearly eye-level with him, dressed in your business casual best from H&M and holding a manilla folder in your hands. Your hair is pulled back in a neat ponytail, and your neck is unadorned, no jewelry to be seen. It piques his interest; metal on the skin, he’s come to discover, pollutes the taste of fresh blood.

He scoffs. “And what’s it to you?”

You shift on your feet. You look nervous, and you should be. 

Terzo has a reputation: moody, picky. Snooty. Terzo doesn’t feed from strangers. Terzo knows what he likes, and there’s very little anyone can do to change that. You’re desperate, though, and you’ll be damned if you don’t at least try.

“Look,” you say. “I’m completely and totally fucked. I’m up shit creek without a paddle. I lost my job, and I’m behind on rent–”

“If it’s money you want, this isn’t a charity.” Terzo would normally shut the door and walk away to begin his night, but something about you is holding him back. Maybe it’s the smell of your skin, clean and unmarred with perfumes. Or maybe it’s the truly desperate look you’re giving him. Is he going soft?

“I’m not asking for money, Mr. Emeritus,” you continue. “I’m offering my blood. Give me a place to live, and I’ll be your very own private bloodbag.”

Terzo actually laughs at that. “You’re a funny one, do you know that? We’re not looking to expand the flock, agnellina. And showing up in a little pantsuit with a resume certainly isn’t how you find a home here.”

You furrow your brow and frown, shoving your folder into his hands. He fumbles it, and a slew of papers fall to the black marble floor. “I’m not picking that up,” you say. To his surprise, Terzo looks at you with wide eyes before bending down to gather the mess of fallen paper. “It’s my bloodwork. Mr. Emeritus, I’ve done my research. I know you have very particular tastes and very high standards. I think you’ll find that I’m exactly to your liking.”

Terzo gives you an incredulous look before shuffling the papers back into some semblance of a neat stack. It’s your bloodwork, alright – a detailed report of your red and white blood cell counts, your enzyme and electrolyte levels, a comprehensive metabolic panel – and it goes on for pages upon pages. His eyebrows shoot up toward his hairline. The Ministry doesn’t even pull reports this detailed for its flock.

Your voice cuts through the silence. “The last page is a summary of these findings. If you’re interested in reading that. Save yourself a little time.”

Your throat bobs as you swallow. Terzo watches hungrily. His fangs ache as he flips through the papers in his hands. He skims the text, eyes darting between the summary report and your flushed face. He can hardly believe what he’s seeing.

You’re perfect.

He’d be an idiot to say no. Your bloodwork indicates that you’re everything he likes, put together in one convenient human-shaped package. In all his unlife, he’s never found someone like you, and here you are. He wonders for a fleeting moment if the Lord Below made you just for him and delivered you right to his doorstep, like some sort of perverse, unholy GrubHub.

His mouth waters as he looks you over in your navy blue separates, your patent leather pumps. Your neat, bouncy ponytail, the pearl earrings shining on your ear lobes. He can see your pulse thrum quicker in your neck under his scrutinizing gaze, and his nostrils flare as he breathes in your scent. Your eyes get dark, pupils dilating.

Unholy Father, is this determined little human really going to make him keep her? She’s not a pet, he tells himself. This is purely transactional. This is okay.

Terzo sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Okay. Okay, fine,” he says, suddenly very resigned to what’s about to happen. “There’s some paperwork you’ll need to sign before I feed from you, but truthfully I’m starving. Come now, let’s not waste time.”

He ushers you into his foyer, and you pump your fist in victory, hissing a triumphant yes under your breath.

“Don’t gloat, agnellina. It’s unbecoming,” he says before turning to walk down his cavernous hallway.

You nod. “Yes, Mr. Emeritus,” you say, moving to follow.

“Mr. Emeritus, ha. If we’re really doing this, please call me Terzo.”He looks over his shoulder at you, and a thrill runs through your body as his eyes rake over your form.

The curse of madness, it seems, has darkened his doorway, too.

Chapter Text

You’re shaking with excitement as you follow Terzo down the hall, still half-disbelieving that your insane plan actually worked. Given your recent run of shit luck, it wouldn’t have surprised you if this didn’t work out, either.

A few months ago, your human-owned company was bought out by a multinational vampire conglomerate, and your position was unsurprisingly cut. While you lived off your severance package, you researched the Emeritus feeder flock like it was your full time job. The Emeritus family pretends like their selection process is some big secret, but members of the flock come and go and talk like with any other job. In any case, tastes don’t change much in hundreds of years, and you had hundreds of years of testimony to pour over.

You got your bloodwork done and compared the lab’s findings to your expertly organized chart of Emeritus brother preferences. It was hard for you to believe your eyes as you compared notes. Increasingly, it looked like you were tailor-made for Terzo. You knew it was unrealistic to consider that Terzo might be agreeable to what you were asking for, and yet here you are anyway. You can scarcely believe you’ve made it this far.

At least you’re offering yourself up to someone handsome.

Terzo takes a sharp right turn down another hallway, and you follow, trying to not walk too closely behind him. It’s not long before you reach his office. Bookshelves line the walls, and a gleaming dark wood desk sits in the middle of the room. He flicks on a light and motions for you to sit.

If you weren’t so nervous, you would have to laugh at the absurdity of the situation you’ve found yourself in. The notoriously suave, sexy Terzo Emeritus sits before you with a bare face, something he’s reticent to show anyone. He’s wearing monogrammed black silk pajamas and fuzzy slippers, and he has a terrible case of bed head. Coffin head. Whatever.

He pulls open a desk drawer and thumbs through files of paperwork until he finds the contract he’s looking for. The heading of the front page states, in bold print:

EMERITUS FAMILY FLOCK BLOOD DONOR AGREEMENT

and Acknowledgement of Receipt of Disclosures and Instructions

Terzo crosses out “family flock” and writes “private” above it in neat cursive.

“I haven’t taken a private donor in centuries, but I think this contract will still cover everything. Please take a moment to review it. I want you to be certain you know what you’re agreeing to,” he says, sliding the contract across the desk to you and handing you a pen. You’re a little irritated that he’s writing with a fancy fountain pen and you’re left with a stock standard ballpoint pen but hey, beggars can’t be choosers. You suppose that in this moment, you’re still begging.

Dedicated researcher that you are, you reviewed a decent amount of donor contracts before deciding this was something you really wanted to get yourself into. There’s nothing out of the ordinary in what you’ve read so far, but there’s one nagging question you need answered before you enter any sort of legally binding agreement with this man.

“Just checking – this isn’t a companion feedee situation, is it?” you ask, your eyes skimming the contract before looking back up at Terzo. Granted, you’ve never seen pictures of him for the obvious reasons, but there is plenty of art of the Emeritus brothers available online. From the drawings and paintings and hearsay, you gathered that he was handsome, but it doesn’t compare to seeing him in the flesh. He’s achingly attractive, with his strong brow, Roman nose, and full lips. His hair is as dark as the night he rules, and the otherworldly glow of his white Eye is hard to look away from. Your pen hovers over the page, waiting for his response before you sign yourself away.

Terzo groans. “Companion feedee? Is that what they’re calling pets these days?”

You nod. “I think that’s the preferred term among some people, yes. I guess it sounds more polite.” You shrug.

Terzo thinks of his foolish brothers and scoffs. “No,” he says. “Nothing like that. This contract states that we’re entering a mutually beneficial partnership. I will have exclusive rights to feed from you, and in return, you live here rent-free and fully provided for. Of course, you’re free to come and go as you please during the day but at night, you’re mine. But no, you’re not signing up to be my companion feedee.” His upper lip curls in disgust as the words leave his mouth. Ridiculous.

“So this is a business agreement, essentially,” you reply, feeling more at ease. You need a roof over your head – not a keeper, not a master.

“Essentially, yes,” Terzo confirms.

Your pen flies across the page before Terzo has finished speaking, and you slide the contract across the desk for him to sign as well. With all the panache you would expect from a vampire, he touches the nib of his pen to his tongue before dipping it in a well of ink. His signature is the Roman numeral III, and the lines run down the paper like claw marks.

“So, getting right down to business,” Terzo says, tapping the packet of paperwork against his desk before sliding it into an actual, physical file folder and stowing it away in a drawer. “You’ve been fed from before, I assume?” He doesn’t expect you to answer anything but yes, prepared as you are. This clearly isn’t your first rodeo, and most humans have offered themselves up for a little nibble at one point or another.

It comes as a surprise, then, when you press your lips together and shake your head no. He balks.

“Really?” he asks, trying to not sound as shocked as he feels. “Never? Not even once?”

“Never,” you say shyly. You duck your head, trying to avoid his eyes. His eerie duochrome gaze finds you and holds you anyway, precise as a heat-seeking missile.

“Agnellina is a virgin,” he coos, lacing his fingers together and resting his chin on them. He leers at you from across the desk, and for a moment, you’re starkly aware that he’s a predator and you’re his prey, however consensual the arrangement may be.

“Don’t put it like that,” you shoot back, rolling your eyes. “I have plenty of experience. Just not in that area.” Self-consciousness creeps over your body despite yourself, and you feel your face get warmer the longer he leers.

“Can I ask why?” The question is surprisingly gentle coming from the man who just ribbed you about your bloodbag virginity.

“It’s stupid,” you reply. “You’re going to laugh.”

He heaves a sigh. “Don’t leave me waiting in suspense. I promise I will not laugh. I’m just intrigued, is all. It’s unusual that I cross paths with a–”

“Stop saying virgin!” you blurt. You clear your throat before continuing. “I’m um. Afraid of blood,” you admit. Your face burns with your confession. You’re certain that he’s going to toss your freshly-signed agreement into the fireplace before the ink has even fully dried and then kick your ass to the curb. You brace yourself for his rejection as he rises from his tall-backed, oxblood leather desk chair, resigned to the fact that yet again, your life is about to fall apart.

To your surprise, he saunters around to where you sit and slinks behind you. You shiver as he dips down to nose along the cord of your neck. His breath tickles while he scents you, and his pleasured sigh makes goosebumps rise along your arms and legs.

“Many humans find being fed from a relaxing experience. Pleasurable, even. With me, agnellina, it will never hurt. This I can promise you. You have nothing to be afraid of.” His hands come to rest on your shoulders, and you’re surprised how quickly he’s able to put you at ease. You’re not sure if it’s some sort of vampiric mind manipulation or just Terzo’s infamous charm, but your heart slows.

“Join me on the couch for a bite?” he asks, breath chilly on the tender skin underneath your ear.

You shiver pleasantly. “That’s a terrible joke,” you reply, huffing a laugh despite yourself and pushing yourself up from your chair. Terzo comes to your side and offers you his hand. You take it, noticing his neat, black-lacquered nails, and try not to flinch at his preternaturally cold skin.

Spellbound, you let Terzo lead you to the tufted velvet couch pushed up against the far wall of his office. You sit side-by-side, strangely relaxed despite knowing what’s about to happen. You’re food, and this is a roof over your head. Don’t let yourself get too comfortable.

“Wrist or neck?” Terzo asks, stroking his hand down your thigh. 

“Neck,” you say, a little breathless. “It’ll be harder for me to see what’s happening that way.” The last thing you want is to catch a glimpse of your own blood flowing from your body and pass out the way you did at the phlebotomist’s office. Terzo has shown you more goodwill than you expected, but you’re not looking to try your luck anytime soon. You imagine that he’d balk at you fainting at the sight of blood.

A smile creeps across Terzo’s face. Call him old-fashioned, but he would rather drink from a neck than a wrist any day. People sticking out their wrists, squeezing their eyes shut, and turning away is so impersonal. There’s something romantic about sinking his fangs into the thin, tender skin of a willing human’s neck.

“Excellent,” Terzo purrs. He nuzzles closer to you; being someone’s meal is so much more intimate than you expected it to be. You suck in a breath and exhale slowly. You feel your body tense up despite your best efforts. “Relax.”

“Okay,” you whisper. “I’m relaxed.” You’ve unclenched your fists, and you think that counts for something. 

Terzo chuckles, staying close to you while he reaches for an alcohol wipe from a crystal bowl on an end table near the couch. In spite of Terzo trying to soothe you, you’re still scared, and you refuse to look at what he’s doing. You hear the tear of the packet being opened and feel the cool kiss of alcohol on the skin above your jugular vein. 

“I want to make sure your skin is clean for me,” he tells you, fanning his hand back and forth over the rapidly drying swipe of antiseptic. “You’ve eaten recently, yes?”

“About an hour or so ago, yeah,” you reply.

“Good, good. I can’t have you keeling over on me.” He pauses a beat to wait for you to reply. When you don’t say anything, he barks a jovial, “Kidding!”

You offer your best light-hearted chuckle in response. Your head is still turned away, but you can envision the sly, handsome smirk Terzo is giving you. He taps his index and middle fingers over your jugular.

“You’re well hydrated,” he remarks. You try to not feel like a piece of meat. He’s not trying to degrade you – he’s a vampire, and this is just what vampires do. This is what you very literally signed up for.

“I’ve read that it helps move the process along.” Your voice is so quiet that you can barely hear yourself speak. Your pulse roars in your ears.

“Agnellina is a good study,” Terzo says. You can feel him move closer to you. “Are you ready?” When you nod your head, Terzo chides, “I need to hear you say yes.”

“Yes,” you whimper. Anticipation is getting the best of you. “Just – don’t warn me. I’m nervous. It’ll make it worse.”

Quicker than you can process what’s happening, Terzo closes his mouth over the spot where your pulse beats. You feel the cool press of his tongue on your skin, and then a numbness not unlike lidocaine during dental surgery. You tense up, still expecting to feel the stab of his fangs into your flesh, but all you feel is a dull pressure as he breaks your skin. You read plenty about the anesthetic qualities of vampire saliva, but you didn’t quite believe it until now. After the initial burst of sensation, all you feel is pleasant, floaty warmth. If you didn’t know any better, you would call it orgasmic. You gasp, and Terzo inhales sharply through his nose as he drinks you in.

His eyes flutter. It’s been ages since he’s drank from a virgin, and his toes curl in his slippers. He was only mildly hungry before, but now he’s ravenous, eager to consume as much as he can get away with. Your hand grips his knee as a whimper escapes your lips, and Terzo outright moans. The noise vibrates against your skin, and your other hand reaches around to find purchase in his hair, gripping the short hairs at the base of his neck.

Your bloodwork certainly didn’t lie. Even with the bitter tang of adrenaline and cortisol, you taste superb – thick and warm and iron-rich. He’s nearly drunk on you, perfect little lamb that you are. It takes him a moment to register that you’re tapping his knee weakly.

“Mr. Emer – Terzo, Terzo, please,” you rasp. “I think it’s too much.”

Terzo pulls away immediately, swiping his thumb across the twin wounds on your neck to gather the last drops of blood he finds there. He may be a vampire, but he’s not a monster, and draining you dead is the last thing he wants to do.

“Sorry, sorry,” he whispers. He fumbles for another alcohol wipe before reaching for the gauze and bandages he also keeps nearby.

You wobble a little on the couch, finding it hard to remain upright while Terzo cleans and bandages your wounds. Rather than fight it, you give in and slump over, your upper body horizontal while your legs dangle off the couch, grazing the floor.

“I’ll be right back,” he says, patting your hip. You give him a lazy thumbs up. The couch shifts as he stands up, and you watch with blurry vision as he leaves the room. He’s not gone long, and he returns with a glass of orange juice and a plate of crackers. “Sit up while you eat. There you go,” he says while he moves you upright once again.

You raise the glass to your lips with a trembling hand and take a sip. With your other hand, you grab a cracker off the plate and push it into your mouth. Amusedly, you think that the aftermath of your first feed isn’t unlike the aftermath of many a drunken night out in college. The room spins, and you groan and clamp your eyes shut.

“The first time can be a lot, I’m told,” he says from the other end of the couch.

“Sorry,” you mumble through mouthfuls of dry cracker. “Don’t want you to think that I’m a. Lightweight.” Your tongue feels heavy in your mouth, and you gulp down orange juice.

“I feel like I made a bad first impression as a lush,” Terzo laughs. “I’m not normally so greedy. I’ll mind my manners next time.” Cheeky motherfucker has the gall to wink at you.

The juice and crackers bring you back to life, bit by bit. Once Terzo is reasonable certain that you won’t collapse in the hall, he leads you to your new room. While he opens the door, he doesn’t step inside. “This is your space,” he explains. “Your domain, if you will. You will need to invite me in, if you ever choose to do so. Make yourself at home.”

It’s a cozy space – larger than the room you’ve been renting. Larger than any room you’ve ever called your own. It’s sparsely furnished; there’s a bed pushed against one wall, and a small dresser pushed against the other. You expected decades worth of dust to cover the flat surfaces, but it seems like it was somewhat recently cleaned. You feel a sharp, unexpected pang of jealousy as you wonder if any other humans have shacked up in this room before, and if so, how recently.

“Thank you,” you say softly, still feeling mildly unsteady on your feet. You hold onto the doorjamb for balance as you step through the threshold. You don’t miss how Terzo keeps his hand on the small of your back until you’re all the way into your new room. You turn to face him on the other side of the doorway. “I guess this is goodnight?” It feels like the polite thing to say, and you hope it doesn’t sound stupid to Terzo.

“If you’re tired, please retire for the night,” he says. In the lamplight, you notice the barest hint of a flush to his skin. There’s a warm sense of pride in knowing that it is your blood that’s flowing through his undead veins, bringing pale color to his face, however briefly. He gives you a small, almost boyish smile. “I’m not good at this part. Will I see you tomorrow night?”

You return the expression. Your heart flutters fondly in your chest like a little bird, and you hope that your foolish, tender self won’t go and catch feelings from the vampire who has exclusive rights to your blood. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He claps his hands together. “Well, then. I think there are some clothes in the dresser.” You must look confused about why Terzo would keep spare clothes around, so he hastily adds, “Extras. From the flock. They’re in storage here.”

You nod, and you feel the sudden urge to kiss him goodnight. It seems right, but you tamp it down, just like you do with most other desires. “Thank you, Terzo,” you say, “for giving me a chance.”

That catches Terzo off-guard, and he gives you a wide-eyed look. If his heart still beat, it would have given a mighty thump. “The pleasure is all mine.”

You smile softly. “Goodnight, Terzo.”

“Goodnight,” he says, and he watches your form shrink into a sliver as you close the door to him.