rosy red all over his sheets

He's hungry. So hungry. Starving, even.

He hates it. He always hates it.

He hasn't eaten properly in, what? Two, maybe three days? Of course he has the donated blood, packets of it lining a separate suitcase that's been built with the ability to control the temperature of itself remotely, but it's nothing like the real thing. Alive, warm, sating.

Henry can feel himself starting to sweat as he's notified that Alex has suddenly shown up outside, just as he was prepping to call Shaan, just as he was...he can hold off a little longer, just till Alex leaves, just until Henry can convince him (and himself) that what he did was for the greater good.

Alex can't live with a monster. Henry can't even live with himself most days.

"What's going on Henry?" It's not the first thing Alex says, but it still takes too much time to hit his ears properly over the rushing of blue-tinged desperation his brain is currently under, his paler than normally pale skin feeling constrictive and like he might suddenly shrivel up any second like a prune and waste away.

It's not a good sign in the slightest.

"I have done nothing but explain myself to you this past year-" He can hear himself arguing back to...something Alex says. He's forgetting the conversation now, words and sentences becoming just jumbled bits of noise. He vaguely recalls saying that Alex wasn't exactly welcome, but that's not much to go on.

It's only when the conversation (or fight, he supposes) reaches it's climax that he does as well. Alex is ranting something at him and the hunger overtakes him, his processing ability completely disappearing as he turns around, teeth out in the open and eyes, yellow and crazed, hissing. "Leave me alone, Alex!"

His voice wasn't his own and he can feel the castle suddenly still, all noise both inside and out disappearing as if there was a thunderclap. Alex looks shocked, terrified even, stepping back till his back collides with one of the walls and Henry can feel the guilt welling up underneath his ribcage as his eyes fade back to normal blue and his teeth start to retract.

It doesn't last long, however, as thank the gods above, Shaan is suddenly there, ushering him away to the shadows of the nearby balcony and undoing his tie and collar hastily. Despite knowing Alex is still most likely watching them, Henry can't help himself and gives in to the screaming from his body, teeth plunging into the equerry's neck and red splattering his dressing gown and face as he fed.

Shaan, god his saviour Shaan, is holding as still as he can, eyes at the ceiling as he does what he has to do, but Alex is still haunting Henry's mind and ashamed, he looks, just to see, just to wonder if...

The room is empty. Blissfully, terribly, empty.

He's not there. He's run away, just like he should. Just like everyone else.

Henry pretends that the heart that once beat in his chest several decades ago isn't suddenly more broken than it has been in a long time.

Shaan cleans himself up in his bathroom and leaves swiftly after Henry's taken his fill to get some rest. He's a good person, despite not knowing at first when he was employed by the family that this would be in his job description. He's dedicated, that's why Henry likes him.

He's not the only person he's taken blood from. All past equerries have done the same, since most of the family were turned in the 1600s, that meant a lot of faces and Henry remembered every single one of them. At least, the ones assigned to him.

He can also remember something else just as prominent. The guilt from earlier, punching him like a heavyweight boxer as he slides onto his bed, still bloody and looking like a toddler or school-aged child that had a run-in with paint.

He's used to the hurt, Alex isn't exactly the first partner he'd had (and he's one of the only not to suddenly be eaten or worse, turned in Henry's loss of control, to his horror most days), but something about this time, the look on Alex's face, it makes him wish he could just...

His arms curl around his torso as he doubles over, letting out a sob, before suddenly the door to the walk-in closet wiggles and he's suddenly facing the First Son again, both looking at eachother with unreadable expressions.

Alex is still drenched from the earlier rain, his eyes still rightly terrified, looking him up and down. Henry, on the other hand, can't breathe, can't move, as they rake over his stained form, the handprints that the cleaners will have to get out of the sheets tomorrow when Shaan gets up for the morning and discreetly organizes them to be cleaned.

When Alex finally moves, Henry moves too. Only just away. Far away. He scrambles over the bed on his arse as Alex strides toward him, the latter backing him into a corner, almost like Henry's behaviour had earlier. Henry's hand reaches for the door to the hallway, still dripping with blood, about to escape-

"Henry, please-" Alex's voice stops him in his tracks, the whisper going straight through him as he turns to face the other when he swallows. "-what, what the hell is-"

"Alex, I need you to leave, please." Henry doesn't want to beg, but he will if it means Alex gets to live, that Alex is safe. Even if it means he's safe from him. "Just go, like I said, leave me alone."

He closes his eyes as he can no longer watch the other and he can hear footsteps as well as a door open, so he assumes that he's finally, genuinely gone like he hoped he would be. However, they shoot back open again when he feels something lukewarm and soft against his neck and chin, Alex flinching with a washcloth in his hand as he does so and making him step back. What was he doing?

"What are you doing?" The question comes out in a whisper and Alex, for the life of him, just stands there and shrugs. "I'm cleaning you up."

"Why?" It's not just in question of the action. It's everything and he's sure Alex can sense that as the latter comes closer again, so close that Henry can smell his aftershave that somehow hasn't gotten washed out in the time it took him from the airport to get here.

"Because I want to." It's a semi-hesitant answer, one that Henry doesn't mean to file away to confront later on his own, but it's genuine and it makes Henry's whole world wobble again as the cloth retouches his skin, gently dabbing away at the mess he's made of himself.

He can remember, a long, long time ago when he'd made such a mess of himself at a banquet and James, beautiful, eloquent James, the King of England he'd seduced (his birth mother had wanted power, he'd wanted to be loved) escorted him personally to the palaces' bathhouse and bathed him himself before he had to return to the party, the ringing of his old name, George, still flowing through him like the water from the pots.

He wasn't George anymore, however, and he also wasn't the son of a countess. He was a prince and the spare and he was Henry and his mother was named Catherine, not Mary.

Alex was not King James, he's also not others that he can remember from eons ago, but it seemed memories could equally bleed into others as when he comes back into himself fully, he's lying in bed, pyjama pants slung low over his waist, his dressing gown on a nearby chair and Alex's arm braced around his chest and locked around his wrist as light streams in from the windows.

Like he was making sure Henry couldn't go anywhere despite what he witnessed last night.

Henry's emotions are still all over the place. Confusion, fear, and guilt reign (!) over his brain, but here is also the sickly warm familiarity he hoped he'd never feel again. Love. Love means trouble. Love means problems. Love is ominous in Henry's world. It means sacrifice as well.

Right now, however, Henry doesn't want to think about the worst. He's already done that, over and over and over again since he left the lake house, but there are no better thoughts in his mind to keep the shadows away, so eyes downcast and with a sigh that says all to the universe on his current emotional state, he snuggles back down and gets back to sleep without waking Alex, the agony of the action not new on him.

He just hopes that Alex will understand his reasons, as well as take his urging to leave, come the inevitable conversation in the later part of the morning. He needs to, he has to.

Even if it's going to break Henry in the process.