Alouette (Fic Fragment)

(I think someone requested vampire hunter Leon from me a while ago…I wrote this much, but can’t decide whether to keep it short and sweet or turn it into something longer with more of a plot. Any thoughts?)

Leon was many things, but he was not commonly a man of mercy. Certainly not towards vampires, and yet here he was, pausing in the midst of a killing blow, slowing before his sword could reach that pale, exposed neck.

He heard in the tremulous silence between them the faint tapping of tears on flagstone, and against his will, his eyes moved to the pink tracks staining otherwise porcelain-pale cheeks. He’d never seen a vampire cry before, and here this one was, waiting for his final death, weeping silently all the while. Was he afraid? The question had never crossed Leon’s mind before, and the uncertainty made his grip tighten around the hilt of his sword.

Leon had never before needed to tighten his grip. His sword was a razor’s edge and had always been, for as long as he could remember, an extension of his arm. He was the most prolific slayer in his entire kingdom, and had dispatched dozens, possibly even hundreds of vampires in his lifetime. Seeking them in their burrows and warrens, digging them up from their hiding places in graveyards, and dispatching them in rickety old castles not too different from the one he stood in now. The sensation of flesh and bone cleaving under his swing was as familiar as breathing, almost a comfort, and he hadn’t needed to bear down to get the job done since he was a boy. And yet now, here, as the vampire turned his face up and fixed Leon with eyes as blue as the northern seas, his knuckles turned white beneath the thick leather gloves he used for extra protection. In that expression, there was something pleading and mournful, but it wasn’t a plea for his mercy as he’d heard half-garbled before.

The vampire wanted to die.

Leon had been hired by the townsfolk to dispatch what they referred to as an evil shadow, though they had little to go on but some mutilated cattle and a missing farm dog. It had been enough to convince Leon to take their money and follow the shakily pointed fingers up to the stereotypical ruined castle. He never could quite understand why vampires loved to surround themselves with decay like this; perhaps it had something to do with their eternal life, and how they clung to shreds of the past until they turned to dust, then lingered even still. Like ghosts made flesh.

He had expected to hunt and kill a dangerous predator, as all vampires were. Certainly, they could think and speak and even reason, to an extent, but the core was always the same. Present a vampire with any blood, and you would quickly see the monster within. This one promised to be no different, even though he was lovely and waifish and small; Leon had learned long ago that size had no impact on ferocity, and the lesson had nearly cost him an arm.

This should be easy. He should swing, send the creature’s head rolling, snap out his fangs as proof of contract completed, and be on his way home with his money.

But before he could muster any further resolve, the vampire startled him by speaking in a low, musical voice. Not a harsh, gravelly growl—he sounded sweet, gentle. A poet’s voice, though thickly accented. “Why aren’t you doin’ it?”

He seemed as surprised by his own speech as Leon felt, and a pink tongue briefly swiped over his lips, as though it had been a long time since he’d spoken last.

I have no idea why. Decades of this, and I’ve never hesitated, not until you.

Leon kept the words to himself. He didn’t know why any of this was happening, and outside, the wind howled through the ruins of the castle. Once, this had been a grand place, full of banquets and light and laughter. Now it was empty and dead, with only a man so pale he might be mistaken for a spirit floating listlessly through the halls. Why remain? Why stay here, in this dead place?

Perhaps he didn’t know how to leave. Leon’s sword fell to his side, and the vampire slowly rose to his feet, wiping at the bloody streaks on his face. The low light of the moon cast strong shadows across the sharp, elegant planes of his face, and emphasized the plush moue of his mouth. In life, he would have been a renowned beauty…but Leon knew that a fanged death lurked on the other side of those perfect lips. Vampires used their beauty to lure in their prey, flirting and making sexual advances to get them to drop their guard, then attacking at their most vulnerable. He’d lost people that way before, and never understood how they could even have considered it until now.

A part of him—an insane, damnable part, that every ounce of his sense railed against and yet couldn’t silence—wanted to cup the vampire’s cheek and see if it was truly as soft as the petals of a rose, or tuck away that striking monochrome hair behind one shapely little ear. He was unreal, this creature, with how beautiful he was; he seemed a drawing come to life, too lovely to really exist.

And if he wasn’t imagining it, those blue eyes were studying him too. He could feel them almost as the touch of a hand as they slid down his collarbone, across the broad insignia of his order that decorated the breastplate of his leather armour, and then down to…the rest of him. The vampire’s tongue peeked out again, and Leon wondered dizzily what sort of hunger it was that provoked such a ravenous look.

Then the vampire chuckled, an exhausted little noise, more the sort of thing one would hear from a friend while walking down the stairs away from a party at the end of the night, rather than from one killer to another in a rotting hall.

“Even the angel of death won’t have me…right, then. What am I supposed t’ do now?”

The question was asked half to himself, it seemed, and Leon opened his mouth to answer before his mind registered the first part of that sentence, and he tripped over his own words. An angel?

“Why do you want to die?”

The words left his mouth before he could even ponder them, slipping out as quick as thieves. The vampire blinked at him, and then looked pointedly down at the diamond-honed edge of his sword.

“Yer the one holding the weapon. Why would you care? It seems you’ve made up your mind on my fate anyway…or perhaps not.” He shrugged, then. A faint up-and-down of slender shoulders, underneath the tattered fabric of a shirt that looked to be decades old.

Leon swallowed, and looked down at the sword as well. It had never failed him before; his quest had always seemed so logical, so simple. Kill vampires, vampires are evil, vampires must die. They had always resisted, and he had always claimed their lives anyway, a glory and a triumph.

Now, for the first time, he wondered if it was quite so simple.

“I—“ his voice wavered slightly, and he cleared his throat before starting again. “I know why I want you dead, but normally, the vampire doesn’t agree with me on that reasoning. You do. Your eyes are clear of the crimson; you haven’t killed a human before. Not with your fangs, anyway. And I heard from the villagers that all you’ve taken are cattle and dogs. They fear you, but not nearly as much as the others I’ve slain. If you still have yourself, why live like this? Waiting to die?”

The vampire shook his head, slow and steady.

“You know nothing of the ages I have lived, mortal, nor the things that I have held and lost. To live forever is a curse, even without the madness that killing brings. Yer world has a definite beginning, middle, and end, and that gives all of it purpose. Drive. Mine has neither of the last two, and without it, I’m adrift. I don’t expect you to understand it, only to give me the closure I’m after.”

A pause, and then, “And tell me your name. I should at least know the name of the man who’s killin’ me, don’t you think?”

He couldn’t argue that point, not really. It seemed fair somehow, to give at least that much to one whose life he was taking away…

“I’m Leon,” he answered, and he swore he saw the elegant points of the vampire’s ears twitch slightly in the shadows.

“Leon.” The name was rich on so musical a voice, and the vampire closed his eyes while he spoke, as though savouring each of the syllables on his tongue before breathing them out into the world. “Like a lion. Seems fitting. I’m Piers.”