Part Five

“Come on Blaine… please,” a voice pleaded.  It sounded distant but familiar, almost like it belonged to Blaine himself, was a part of him.  But that didn't make sense.

He fought to open his eyes, and after what seemed like forever he managed it.  There was darkness surrounding him but for one blurry image.  Blaine tried to focus.  It was a boy—no, a young man.  It took only seconds for Blaine's heart to recognize him.  “Kurt,” he ground out.  “Are you dead?”

His vision was sharpening now.  Kurt was laughing at him, his eyes still a blur… from tears?  “Of course not, stupid,” Kurt said, sniffling.  “Now keep drinking.”

Suddenly Blaine became aware of Kurt's arm pressed over his mouth, hot blood flowing inside, and he swallowed eagerly, starving.  It was the most incredible thing he had ever tasted, so much so that he groaned and latched down tight with his teeth.  Kurt yelped in pain, but he didn't try to move away… not at first.

“Blaine, that's enough,” Kurt said, sounding as though it took great effort to speak.  Blaine barely heard him, so intent on feeding.  “Blaine…” Kurt repeated.  “Blaine, stop!  You're going to kill me…”

The words echoed through him, louder and louder until Blaine's mind finally made sense of them.  Horrified, he drew back immediately, suddenly able to feel Kurt again through their bond, feel his mate's weakness.  Kurt's arm was bruised and bloody, still bleeding from the pierce of Blaine's fangs as well as a cut he must have made himself.  Blaine nearly gagged at the sight.

“Kurt,” Blaine said, pulling his mate's lax body into his lap.  “I'm so sorry.”

Kurt's eyes blinked up at him blearily.  “Isalright,” he slurred.  “You… you needed it.”

“Here,” Blaine said, quickly opening a vein in his own arm and offering it up to Kurt.  Kurt hadn't drank from him since the night they mated, but now he took the blood eagerly, though this time stopping on his own after a few minutes.  Blaine pulled him in close to his chest and cradled him there while Kurt recovered.

“Thank you,” he finally said, tilting his head up to kiss Blaine softly on the lips.

Blaine shook his head.  “I should be thanking you,” he argued.  “But Kurt… this one time's not going to change anything.  I almost killed you, and I'm still… I'm still going to die myself.” 

He felt stronger than he had in days, it was true.  But it wasn't enough.

“You're not,” Kurt said, eyes bright with promise.  “The curse is gone!  Tonight you can hunt your fill.”

Blaine stared down at him in astonishment, brushing the hair back from Kurt's sweetly smiling face.  “But… how?  How is that possible?”

“I found her,” Kurt explained, the words leaving him in a rush.  “I went to my father and he gave me the magic.  She's gone, Blaine.  She's… she's dead.”

“You killed her?” Blaine said slowly.  “For me?”

Kurt nodded, burying his head in the crook of Blaine's neck.  “I would do anything for you,” he whispered.

“Will you tell me?  Tell me how you did it?”  For some reason, Blaine desperately needed to know.

Kurt swallowed thickly.  “I went home, like I said.  Told my father.  I wasn't sure he would help, but he… he gave me an amulet, said it would take away her powers, and he taught me a curse to defeat her.  Apparently I… I have gypsy powers too, though I'm untrained.  It worked.”

“What curse did you use?”  As much as Blaine's instincts urged him to destroy Selina, to make her pay for trying to take his life, for trying to takeKurt from his arms and his life, she was still his sire.  Now that it was done, a part of him hoped her death was merciful, that it wasn't—God forbid—the same curse she'd cast upon him.

Kurt was shaking in Blaine's arms, Blaine's hands smoothing over his back, trying to soothe him.  “It…” he tried, then started again.  “Gypsy curses aren't very nice, Blaine.  They're designed to make the victim suffer.  This one was for suffocation.  The amulet all but incapacitated her, and I had to put it around her neck, and when I did the chant, it… it got tighter.  I stayed there with her until she was dead.”

“How long?” Blaine wanted to know, and he really, really didn't.

“It was—she—hours, Blaine,” Kurt finally croaked out.

It was a more humane death than Blaine would have granted her, had they met again. 

Blaine held Kurt impossibly tighter, treasuring his warmth, his smell, his love. 

His sacrifice.

Sometimes there were no words.

*******

After that they were happy.  Kurt still missed his family, but even that faded with time.  It helped that he kept in contact with his sister by post whenever possible.  Burt never wrote, but sometimes Elizabeth would sneak in a message.

They traveled everywhere together.  Once they'd seen their fill of the United States, they ventured north into Canada, then south into Mexico, a country with a still stranger culture, a unique cuisine that Kurt found he favored.  They lingered there.  Blaine took a liking to the warm climate, as it provided the optimal conditions in which to hunt.

What Kurt wanted most was to go to Europe, but after contemplating the hazards of a transatlantic boat trip for Blaine, they decided that it wasn't worth the risk.  When news reached them in Guadalajara of the Wright brothers' first flight, Kurt grew certain that eventually the journey might be more manageable.

Blaine wanted to turn him.  He wanted it so badly at times it was nearly maddening, knowing Kurt was mortal and vulnerable when he didn't need to be.  But he wouldn't pressure him.  He didn't even ask.  There were times after they made love and fed from each other that Blaine was certain Kurt was aware of his desire, was grateful for the time and space Blaine was allowing him.  He would smile, and Blaine would kiss him, and it was enough.

And then in one terrible, fateful moment, everything changed.

They had ventured out to the marketplace, Kurt looking through the various handmade baubles for sale, Blaine trading for essentials with the locals.  As happened more often than not, Kurt was quick to spot something he liked—a carved wooden pendant of a young boy and girl holding hands that reminded him of his sister—but to his dismay, he didn't have enough money with him to purchase it, and the seller wouldn't bargain down any further.  He managed to convince her to hold it for him—pointing to Blaine across the street and indicating that he would get more money.  In his excitement, he didn't pay much attention as he made to jog across the road.

Normally wagons travelled slowly, out of necessity and because of the large number of pedestrians walking about town at any given moment, but this one was going remarkably fast.  Someone cried out, and Kurt barely whipped his head around in time.  His eyes went wide and he made to leap out of the way just in time, tumbling into a heap on the side of the road. 

The wagon screeched to a halt, and Blaine came running.

“Kurt,” he cried, frantically looking him over.  “Oh sweetheart, are you hurt?”

It was a good thing everyone around them spoke Spanish.

Kurt moaned, clutching at his side, a gash bleeding freely from the top of his head.

A man came scampering up.  “¡Lo siento, yo no te vi!”  He spoke some more in rapid Spanish, but Blaine gave him a curt nod, barely paying him any mind.

“He says he's sorry, his mule spooked and he didn't see you,” Blaine told Kurt, shifting his mate's wounded head to rest in his lap.

“Head hurts,” Kurt whined when he could speak.  “I… I don't think he hit me, though.  Just got caught by the momentum.”

“You could have died,” Blaine all but growled, a much more morbid scenario flashing repeatedly through his mind.

“But I didn't, Blaine.  Not this time.  You can patch me up.”

Blaine paused to glare at the crowd that had gathered—the wagon driver extra ferociously—and they began to trickle away.  “Someday I won't be able to,” he said softly.  “Kurt, half the men I've known haven't lived to see fifty, and you're nearly halfway there!”

Kurt sighed, squeezing his eyes closed, tears leaking from their corners.  “You can do it, then,” he said at last, his words forced and painful.  “It's been on my mind for a while.  You can turn me.”

They were silent, lingering on the side of the street for several minutes longer until Blaine helped Kurt to his feet, and they slowly made their way back to their tiny home.

*******

They lay in their bed in silence, Blaine's head pillowed on Kurt's chest, his arm wrapped tightly around Kurt's hips.  Kurt's fingers combed loosely through Blaine's curls.

“Blaine?”

“Hmm.”

“Tell me about it… about what it will be like when I change.”

“Kurt…”

“Will my heart still beat?”

“Kurt,” Blaine's voice broke, his fingers flexing helplessly where his hand rested over Kurt's chest.

“Tell me, Blaine,” Kurt pressed, his words a near-sob.

Blaine inhaled deeply.  “No, Kurt.  You know it won't.”

“And will I still eat? Breathe?”

“Only if you want to.”

“And what about the thirst, Blaine?” Kurt continued, sounding almost crazed.  “Tell me about that.  Will I be able to control it?”

“It's… difficult, at first.  But you will, Kurt.  In time.”  He sighed, hugging Kurt's body a little tighter.  “You don't have to do this.  Not yet.  Not if you don't want to.”

Kurt chuckled dryly.  “There's no need to play nice.  We both know you've been waiting to turn me since the very start!”

“Kurt,” Blaine said, hurt by the unexpected accusation.  He turned in his lover's arms, unsurprised to find Kurt's face lit with anger, tears streaming down his cheeks.  He reached up, trailing his trembling fingers down through the moisture, but Kurt flinched out of reach.  “Don't do this,” Blaine pleaded.  “You know that's not true.”

Kurt turned away from him, curling into himself, and Blaine did his best to fit himself around Kurt, huddle close to his body and offer what small comfort he could.  “What about my family?” Kurt eventually spoke again.  “Will I still love them?”

Blaine swallowed thickly, pressed a kiss to the back of Kurt's neck.  “I don't know, Kurt.  It depends on how strongly you feel for them.”

“And you,” Kurt said shakily.  “Will I still love you, Blaine?”

“Sweetheart,” Blaine breathed, and Kurt pivoted in his embrace, tucked himself into Blaine's body and sobbed.  Blaine cradled him there for a few moments, rocking him and stroking his hair, his quaking back, and then he reached for Kurt's face, forced him away from Blaine's body until he could tilt Kurt's chin enough to see his eyes.  “You have no idea, Kurt.  No idea the depth, the intensity of what I feel for you.  It consumes me, every second.  You're mine, and I'm yours, and that's not a choice—it's the biggest part of what I am.  I can't promise that you'll feel the same, after, but I can tell you that I don't doubt it.  We were made to fit each other, Kurt.  Mates.”

Kurt's tears continued to fall, but he smiled through them, nodded, twined his arms around Blaine's neck and pulled him into a deep, wet kiss.  “I do feel it, Blaine.  I won't let it be taken from me.”

Blaine nodded and clung to him, trying desperately not to dwell on his own fears.  It was rare, but sometimes people didn't make it.  Sometimes they didn't get enough blood and they simply died, or their bodies were too weak and gave out halfway through the transformation.  Sometimes vampires got lost to the bloodlust, went mad with it, had to be put down for risk of exposing their existence to everybody.  Sometimes—

It wasn't like there was a choice; today had proven as much to Blaine.  They had to take the risk, or Blaine would lose Kurt altogether, and that was simply not an option.  Kurt had nearly died today.  He'd nearly died, and it would have been too late to save him; Kurt's body would have been torn, strewn along the street like rubbish, the end of every lingering bit of good in Blaine's life, the end of hope.

“Blaine?” Kurt's voice, high and troubled, pulled Blaine out of his thoughts.  “Blaine, when I'm… like you… will we still be able to feed from each other?”

Blaine chuckled: for once a question that had an easy, positive answer.  “Yes, love.  Your blood won't… sustain me, anymore, but it will feed our bond.  It will bring us closer.”

Kurt wriggled in his arms, his breath hot on Blaine's neck, then against his ear.  “I can't imagine feeling closer to you than I do right now.”

“That's one thing, then,” Blaine said.  “One thing to look forward too.”

********

They held each other all through the night and well into the next day.  Blaine didn't really need to ask the question, but he did so anyway, just to be sure.

Kurt was twenty-four now, but at the moment he looked so boyish, sitting in bed with the covers mussed and pulled around his waist, hunched over a grapefruit with his hair hanging wet and limp over his eyes—a result of the steam bath they'd just shared.

Blaine reached out to him, touched his hand.  “When do you want to do it?” he asked in a hush.

Kurt tensed, but then looked up and met his eyes.  “Tonight.”

Blaine nodded. 

They didn't speak for the rest of the day.

*******

The moonlight poured in through the window, highlighting Kurt's flawless pale skin, and Blaine kissed him again, rubbing their bodies together, tangling their fingers and pressing Kurt's hands to the bed.  “How do you…” he whispered.

“Shh,” Kurt said, bringing a finger to his lips.  “Don't… don't talk.  Just love me.”

Blaine nodded then, took his mouth again.  Kurt twined his arms around Blaine's neck, his legs around his waist, hauling himself off the bed until he was all but hanging from Blaine's body.  Blaine shushed him, rolled them to the side where they fell in a heap.  He trailed tiny kisses over Kurt's jaw, down the length of his arched throat, lapping at old scabs and faint scars that marked where his fangs had pierced Kurt's neck.  Normally the sight aroused him—always appealing, even tempting—but now it made him ill.

He moved down along Kurt's shoulder, lifting his arm to burrow into its pit.  Any other time the action made Kurt giggle, but now he was silent, his eyes closed, lashes brushing the faint wash of color on his cheeks, a look of surrender on his face.

Blaine loved him, would love him forever.  Forever.  And he was going to do more than make love to him.  He was going to worship Kurt tonight.

He worked slowly, being sure to pay attention to every minute detail, every inch of skin, patch of hair, every freckle.  It was odd, really, how much this felt like goodbye when it was the start of an eternity.  But Kurt would never be like this again—human, fragile, alive.  Maybe he would be something better, but Blaine still felt like mourning, couldn't shake the solemnity in his bones.

And he would do it.  He would hurt Kurt, would drain him, would kill him.  It had never bothered Blaine, being a monster, until now.  He felt like he should apologize, like he should leave Kurt here, run away, give him some kind of chance.  But that had never been an option.

Kurt had never really had a choice.

Instead he wrote I love you on Kurt's body, tried to work it under his skin with every caress of his hands and lips and tongue.  He was so intent on his task that he almost missed it.

Kurt was crying.

Gentle, silent sobs that barely shook his chest.  Blaine paused, rested his cheek over Kurt's steady, familiar heartbeat, and broke down.

Kurt shook his head, tugged at Blaine's, kissed him fiercely, biting, ripping into his lip.  He clawed his way from under Blaine's body, stretched up on his knees to reach the vial of oil that was always on the table beside the bed and pressed it determinedly into Blaine's hand.  He laid down again, lifted his long white legs to rest on Blaine's shoulders, and waited.

Blaine took a shaky breath, dropped the oil to the bed and ran his hands over Kurt's fuzzy calves, kissing his knee.  He took it up again, almost spilled it trying to get the stopper off, drizzled it onto his fingers.  He paused, looking up to meet Kurt's eyes, suddenly unwilling to take this step, to move in any way closer to this being over, but Kurt's gaze implored him—darkened with something that might have been lust, might have been anger—and Blaine wanted nothing more than to take it away, make him feel good again.  So he lowered his hand, traced Kurt's crevice with slick fingers until Kurt's eyes softened, glazed over with desire, and he whined and worked his ass against Blaine's touch.  Obligingly, Blaine slid a finger inside.

He opened Kurt slowly, reverently, almost expecting a cry of protest, an insistent push for more, but it never came.  Kurt's eyes were closed and he seemed to be almost… floating, lost to the pleasure, beautiful.  Blaine moved up to kiss him softly when he couldn't draw it out anymore, and Kurt just stayed that way, unmoving, legs splayed, until Blaine gave in and pushed into his familiar heat.

His hands cradled Kurt's face, then his neck, fingers tracing over his collarbone, gently along every plane and ridge of Kurt's chest.  Eventually, Kurt wrapped his arms around him—more like a hug than the passionate grip of a lover—and buried his face in Blaine's hair.  They moved together for what seemed like hours, neither in a rush, until the sun slowly began to rise through the window, and Kurt became frantic, his tears returning.

Blaine's had never left.

“Do it, Blaine,” he pleaded, nails raking down Blaine's back.  “You have to do it, it was supposed to happen, there's no time…”

“Shush,” Blaine told him, pulling back so he could see Kurt's face, blinking away the moisture from his eyes.  “Just be with me, Kurt, just be.”  He shifted his weight to one arm, awkwardly opening a vein on his wrist and lifting it to Kurt's lips.  “Drink from me,” he urged, needing to feel the sweet suction of Kurt's mouth, their bond tingling through his veins.

Kurt obeyed, much to Blaine's relief, and Blaine shuddered at the sensation, his hips stuttering out of their steady pace.  He sighed, pressing a cheek briefly to Kurt's shoulder before turning his head and slicing through the tender flesh, latching on.  Kurt cried out softly, lifting his hips a bit more forcefully, and Blaine finally, mournfully gave in to the inevitable.

“I love you,” Blaine whispered into Kurt's ear, abandoning the wound as he rocked them faster.  “So much, Kurt, you have no idea.  You're my world.  Want to keep you forever.  I'll cherish you, Kurt.  It'll all be better.  You'll see.”

Kurt whined and ripped away from his wrist, taking his lips instead, the taste of their blood mingling in Blaine's mouth.  Blaine's hand found Kurt's cock between their bodies, took him in his fist, stroked him urgently.  “Will you come for me, beautiful?  Give yourself to me?”

Obediently Kurt cried out, tears leaking from his eyes and mingling with sweat, whether from the intensity of the love they were making or his emotions, Blaine couldn't be sure.  He watched Kurt as he came, babbling Blaine's name, and hated what he knew would come next.

Blaine thrust hard into Kurt's body, screaming as he found his own release.  Kurt was coming down, stoking his back and desperately murmuring“do it now Blaine, please just do it, want it to be over.”  Blaine looked into his lover's eyes one final time, softly kissed his brow and then moved lower, biting hard and fast into the crook of Kurt's neck.

At first it was as good as it always was—if he pretended well enough, he could imagine that Kurt's whimpers were of pleasure, and maybe at first they were.  He tried not to think about how soon that would change as he began to feel the familiar sensation of Kurt fading away from him, tried not to think about how in mere minutes, Kurt wouldn't be able to make any sound at all.  Blaine wanted desperately to stop, to pull back—every molecule of his body was screaming for it—and it was almost laughable, how he'd once been terrified that he wouldn't be able to stop, that the monster within him would overcome his love and take Kurt's life without his consent.

It happened gradually—Kurt's hands going slack on his body, his legs falling away, his heartbeat slowing until it was nothing.  Blaine didn't—couldn't—look up.  He didn't pull away, forcing himself to drink past the point of nausea.  It sickened him how his body thrummed with pleasure while with every swallow, he died inside a little bit more.

And then it was over.  His love was dead.

When the blood flow finally stopped, Blaine licked over the wound tenderly, as he always did.  Then he pulled Kurt's limp body close to him—only now slipping out of his lifeless heat—and sobbed, praying for the moment Kurt would open his eyes once more.

*******

There was a hill that overlooked Kurt's family's estate.  It provided a beautiful view—the house, the barns, the meadow covered over in wildflowers in the springtime, the brook that babbled with fresh, clear water off in the distance, close to the forest.  Today, however, offered a still more attractive sight.

At twenty-six, Katie had blossomed into a lovely young woman.  Her fair hair was pulled into a bun, but several pieces fell loose in the gentle breeze.  Her blue eyes sparkled, a smile on her face and her laughter ringing through the air as her white dress billowed out around her.  From the porch her parents looked on, happily situated on the swing where it was shady.  At her side was a handsome man of about her age—her husband, Blaine assumed—and toddling about a few feet away from the couple was a tiny red-headed girl with eyes like her mother's.  Eyes likeKurt's.

Kurt watched them solemnly, the smile he wore slight.  Blaine stood beside him, his arm wrapped around Kurt's waist, his expression much freer.

“They're so happy,” Kurt commented, his gaze unwavering.  “She's so beautiful.”

“She is,” Blaine agreed, though he wasn't certain whom his mate was referring to.

“No harm must come to them,” Kurt said seriously.  “Not while I'm around.  You must swear it with me, Blaine, really this time.  We'll watch over them.  No fang will ever pierce their throats; no magic will thwart them; no—“

Blaine turned to him, taking his chin and looking deep into Kurt's eyes.  “You still love them, don't you?”

“I do,” Kurt conceded easily.  “Of course I do.  But never as much as I love you, Blaine.”

“I'll love you for all eternity,” Blaine swore softly.  “You're mine, Kurt.  And I'm yours.”

Kurt beamed, a brilliant smile that lit his entire face and warmed Blaine's heart.  “It's a good thing, then,” he said, taking Blaine's hand, “that we have an eternity to love.”