Part One

He cornered Selina in an alleyway, disheveled and with a babe at her breast.  As any mother would, the young gypsy pleaded for only one thing.

Afterwards he left her, abandoned and weak to the change that wracked her body.

When she came to once more, her baby was miraculously still alive.  It was all she could do to carry the child to the nearest doorstep before the bloodlust took over.

Her child grew, beautiful and strong, as Selina watched from a distance.  She bore a daughter, who bore a daughter, who bore a daughter, and Selina swore to herself that a fang would never pierce their throats.

*****

Two hundred years later came a boy, body strewn and broken across the bloody pavement, clinging to life amid many others who were long-dead, destined to be victim to a battle he never wished to fight.

Or maybe not.

“I can give you life,” Selina told him, bent at his side, something sparking within her at the sight of those dimmed, golden eyes that she hadn't felt for another in decades, “life that stretches on and on.  But you must swear yourself into my service.”

The boy blinked, her beautiful face hazy in his vision, only sharp white fangs in focus.  “Do you…” he broke off in a cough, red staining his lips that made Selina's breath catch, “do you still feel?”

“Only what is strongest,” she answered honestly.

“I…” a raspy breath, and his eyes fell closed.

Selina descended.

After that, Blaine felt only pain and then nothing for many, many years.

*******

The same house, the same grounds, the same family.  They never seemed to question why Blaine didn't age, why they died and he remained.

If he had the capacity for it, Blaine might have felt lonely.

Right now, there was Rebecca and there was Elizabeth, and there was someone else on the way who wasn't supposed to be.

Blaine pretended to ignore the shouting about shame and dishonor and the family name.  As long as Elizabeth stayed safe—curled up and locked away in her room upstairs—it wasn't his place to interfere.

Sometimes when Blaine brought her dinner he'd find her red-eyed and staring out through the window, her slender, pale fingers splayed across her stomach, and he thought that he was almost fond of her.

As always, he summoned Selina for the birth, and she somehow managed to slink in from the shadows, unnoticed, at the precise moment of delivery.

Elizabeth smiled down at the babe in her arms, Rebecca's look for once kind as well as she took in her grandchild.  “Katherine,” Elizabeth declared.  “Isn't she perf—“ her words broke away in a cry, the doctor hurrying back to her side.

The second infant was louder and smaller, clearly eager to declare his arrival to the world.

“I'll name him Burt,” Elizabeth said as she reached for him.

“No,” Rebecca hissed.  “Not after that scoundrel; not after one of his kind, I won't—“

“Kurt, then,” Elizabeth acquiesced, not sparing her mother a glance as she hugged her son to her breast.

“What is this?”  Selina whispered in Blaine's ear, eyeing the boy in confusion.

Blaine didn't hear her.  He was staring at the infant, transfixed. 

This was life, warm and strong and steadfast, pounding through his blood and into his heart for the first time in years.

*******

After he was turned, Blaine had researched the vampire world whenever he could manage it.  He learned enough to know that in some things there was a choice, and in others there was none.  Blaine had to feed, had to take his fill from live, human veins if he wanted to stay strong.  He didn't have to kill, and most of the time he chose not to.

He had to remain loyal to Selina and her wishes, as he had sworn his allegiance to her of his own free will in bargain for his life.

Some vampires had mates; many did not.  Blaine didn't humor himself that he would be one of the few to fall into the first category.  Those idealistic dreams had passed along with his humanity. 

Regardless, he needed sex like he needed blood.  It was easy enough to find men who were willing.  A few times he was lucky enough to stumble across someone who knew of vampires' existence and thus would allow him to feed.  One boy had even begged for it.

Then Kurt was born, and Blaine's world was turned upside down.

Celibacy sucked even more than Blaine did, but fortunately his body seemed to understand that Kurt was still young, and it settled into a sort of homeostasis.  Still, the want was there, growing stronger with every year that passed. 

And his mind—his mind was in turmoil.

It was maddening every second he remembered Selina's vow, remembered his own.  He could not have Kurt, and he could not not have him.  It felt as though his life was on a sickening countdown, and Blaine was terrified of what might happen once he reached the end.

Selina could never know.

*******

Sometime around Kurt's fourteenth year he finally hit puberty.  Blaine began to thirst for Kurt's blood, and his lust for the boy was unleashed, spiking ever higher.

His control began to slip.

Kurt was a week away from fifteen the first time something happened.

They were in the library, Kurt seated at his desk composing a letter and chattering mindlessly about a new book his father had recently secured for their collection.  Blaine stood as far away from him as possible, staring out the window.

“It's the most fascinating thing, Blaine!  The author postulates the existence of all sorts of mythical creatures, and there are pictures… ouch!”

Blaine could smell it before Kurt issued the exclamation. 

Blood.

And suddenly, Kurt was pressed back against the wall, his finger held up to Blaine's face as Blaine stared, transfixed by the crimson droplet bubbling up against Kurt's flesh.

“Blaine, what is…”

Deep breaths, so deep, and it was all he could do not to taste.

“Blaine, you're scaring me.”

And he was.  Kurt's pulse quickened until it was racing; Blaine could see it pounding there under Kurt's delicate, white skin.

“Blaine?”

“Kurt.  Kurt just hold still, let me…” he closed in, nosing right up against Kurt's neck, and the scent of Kurt there was intoxicating.  His tongue darted out unbidden, licking a long stripe across the pale flesh, and Kurt's neck arched, keening—

A door slammed, and Blaine withdrew.

“Kurt?”

It was Katherine, slender and pretty in a blue dress her mother had sewn, and Blaine could tell from the way she was regarding them that she had seen something.

Kurt looked at her, and Blaine watched Kurt, willing the boy to meet his eyes.

He wouldn't.

“Yes, Katie, did you need something?”

“Is there…?”  The girl glanced between them, confused, and Blaine felt the first sharp pang of regret.

“No, I'm fine; just got a paper cut.”

Katie nodded, still suspicious.  “Dinner is ready.  Mama sent me to tell you.”

“Of course.  I'll be right there.”

She left, the door clicking behind her.

“Kurt, I…”

Kurt flushed, moving around Blaine as though he weren't there, quickly gathering his things and leaving the room.

*******

Blaine listened in on their dinner conversation that night, peering through a crack in the door.  Nothing unusual was mentioned until Katherine's somewhat hesitant “mother, father… I've noticed Blaine acting a bit strangely around Kurt lately.”

“Oh?” Elizabeth's fork clattered to her plate.  “How so?”

“I saw them today and they were standing… oddly.  Really close, and it looked like—“

“Katie!”  Kurt considered both his parents in turn—Elizabeth's face was furrowed in worry and confusion, but Burt was beginning to look angry.  “It isn't what she thought,” he informed them, glaring daggers at his sister.  “I cut myself; Blaine was only trying to help.”

“Well, if that's all!  What have I taught you about jumping to conclusions, Katie?” Elizabeth dismissed, returning to her food.

“Yes, mother.  I just thought—“ Katie looked sheepishly to Kurt, then down at her lap.  “I'm sorry; it won't happen again.”

“Well I don't know,” Burt finally spoke.  “I've never really liked the looks of this Blaine guy.  Walks around like there's something unpleasant in the air.  Seems pretty suspicious to me.  I'd prefer it if you stayed away from him for a while, Kurt.”

Blaine's breath caught.  He'd never had a real problem with Burt—not once since he'd married Elizabeth and moved in with the family after Rebecca's untimely death from influenza—but the man always had paid Blaine more mind than was preferable.  None of the other men that had come and gone through the years had ever cared enough to notice the hired help.

“That's nonsense, Burt,” Elizabeth chimed in.  “Blaine has been in this family for a long time, since before I can remember.  He's always served us well and kept us safe.  We can trust him.”

“That's funny, cause I wouldn't put the man at a day over twenty-five.”

“He's just young-looking, that's all.  Honestly.”

“It's fine dad, really,” Kurt assured him, avoiding his father's eyes.  “Blaine's always been good to me.” 

Blaine could just make out Kurt kicking his sister under the table.

“Yes,” she agreed, gaze locked on Kurt's, “me too.”

Burt huffed, and the meal continued in silence.

*******

Several months passed without incident, and then something happened that irrevocably changed everything.

Blaine walked into Kurt's room one morning—he never knocked—to find the boy sprawled on the bed with his head thrown back against the headboard, pants off and shirt rucked up and fingers curled around his glistening pink cock.  Kurt startled at the noise, throwing the blankets over himself with a whimper.

“Blaine?”

Mesmerized by the sight before him, Blaine stepped forward, walking up to the bed and inhaling deeply, moaning unbidden as Kurt's scent filled his nostrils.

“Blaine?” the boy repeated.

In one smooth motion, Blaine reached out to grasp the blankets and yank them back, mindless of the way Kurt scrambled to cover himself.  “Don't stop,” he ordered, leaning close and staring straight into Kurt's eyes.

“I…”

“Touch yourself for me.”

Kurt swallowed audibly but wrapped a trembling hand back around himself, his eyes never leaving Blaine's own.  It was Blaine who finally broke the connection, looking down, pushing the blankets further aside until he had exposed every inch of Kurt's long, pale legs.

“You're beautiful, so lovely,” Blaine told him, captivated by the motion of Kurt's hand, the way his engorged head would slide away from view and reappear like a promise, an offering.

A temptation.  He could do it now; he could have him.  Touch and lick and fuck and bite.

Kurt's hips were arching off the bed, his cock pistoning between fingers that gleamed with pre-come.  Little noises sounded almost constantly from his throat, his head thrown back: an invitation.  Blaine loomed closer.

“God, Kurt, the way you smell.  Have you done this before?  Do you think about me?”  Kurt whined in response, and Blaine couldn't help himself—he nuzzled into the boy's throat, pressing little kisses there, right up against Kurt's pulse, trailing up to Kurt's ear where he breathed hot, cherishing Kurt's answering shiver.  “Come for me, precious.”

Kurt's cries filled the room, louder than before as he spilled over his fist, his neck arching against Blaine's mouth and causing Blaine's fangs to scrap faintly along the bared flesh.

When he was finished Blaine lifted his hand away, staring into Kurt's wide, lust-blown eyes as he carefully licked every drop of come from the boy's fingers.  Only then did he lift the blankets to cover Kurt again, slowly retreating, watching through a crack in the doorway as Kurt curled into a ball on his side and began to cry.

*******

After that Kurt avoided him, but he told no one of their encounter, and Blaine caught the boy staring when he thought it went unnoticed.

Blaine watched Kurt, too.  It became a nightly ritual.  Some nights Kurt would jack off, but Blaine didn't interfere again—not even the night he heard his name sound in perfect pitch from the boy's lips as he reached his climax.

He was biding his time.

He was in over his head.

*******

The way that everything changed was sudden and jarring and unexpected, throwing Blaine for a loop.

They were alone in the house—a not-so-unusual occurrence.  Burt had driven Elizabeth and Katie into town for Mass, a weekly ritual Kurt had refused to attend since the death of his grandmother.

Kurt was in the library and Blaine had commandeered a chair in the parlor, exhausted from a night of hunting and fond of the view, when Kurt suddenly appeared in the doorway.  He stopped there, waited, but Blaine didn't look up.

“I know what you are,” the fifteen-year-old finally said.

“Oh?”

“You disappear every few nights, and the other nights you watch me.  You never eat with the other servants; I've asked.  You've been here too long.  Dad was right; I looked up the pictures.”

“My father,” Blaine said dismissively, “and my grandfather before that.  My family has always served yours; that's no secret.”

“Hogwash,” Kurt said, speaking with such conviction that Blaine finally turned to meet his eyes.  “I followed you last night.”

Blaine could feel his features contorting with anger.  “That was foolish,” he said evenly.

“But why?” Kurt challenged, coming closer.

Blaine rose to his feet, moving until they were mere inches apart.  “You said you know what I am.  Aren't you afraid of me?”

“No,” Kurt breathed.

“But why?” Blaine echoed, mocking Kurt's previous words.

“Because,” Kurt answered.  Blaine could feel the way the boy's heart was racing.  “Because I belong to you.”

This was his moment.  Blaine wanted to crush their bodies together, to take Kurt's sweet mouth, to pierce his delicate throat and drink and drink and drink until they were both dizzy with it.

Instead he ran away.