Sanctuary [h.s.]

Chapter Eleven

"My love, are you the devil?
I would worship you instead of him
I have no time for confession
For I'm too busy committing sins"

***

I slept in later than usual for a workday, savoring the rare luxury of an unhurried morning. I figured I could afford it, considering I didn't have any pressing deadlines. Today was dedicated to my personal projects, the kind that made my soul sing rather than just pay the bills.

Beside me, Harry was sleeping peacefully. It was a stark contrast to the last time he had stayed over, when unease had gripped him, shadows of the past chasing him even in his dreams. We had spent the previous evening watching "The Chamber of Secrets" after coming back from the pub. Despite my best efforts, I had drifted off once the film ended, the comfort of Harry's presence and the late hour pulling me into sleep. I couldn't be sure what time Harry finally went to bed, but I remembered him mentioning he preferred to sleep when the sun rose, a necessity of his lifestyle. I had been subtly trying to adjust that, just enough so he could experience a bit of daylight. The sun deserved to cast its rays on his icy skin, to paint him in warmth and light.

I slipped out of bed carefully, not wanting to disturb him. After freshening up, I made my way to the kitchen and brewed a cup of coffee, adding just the right amount of sugar and cream. The aroma filled the air, a comforting prelude to the day. Mug in hand, I returned to the bedroom.

Harry was awake, sitting up in bed and rubbing his eyes tiredly. His red eyes, usually so piercing and intense, were soft with lingering sleep. The sight made my heart clench with a tenderness that I still wasn't quite used to.

"Morning," I spoke softly as I made my way back into the bed next to him.

He looked at me with a groggy smile. "Morning."

"Did you sleep okay?" I asked, savoring the warmth of the coffee as I took a sip.

His face fell slightly before he shrugged. "Off an on for a few hours."

I frowned, the concern etching lines across my forehead. I wanted nothing more than to help him, but there was only so much I could do in this situation. "I'm sorry. Was it him again?"

He nodded, his expression turning distant. "Always is."

I hummed softly, the sound barely audible over the quiet of the room. I looked down at the mug held in my lap, the steam rising in gentle curls. The warmth of the coffee was a small comfort amidst the growing unease that settled in my chest.

"I suppose you want to hear about Silas," Harry said, his voice breaking through the silence like a blade cutting through fog.

I lifted my head quickly to meet his gaze. "You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to."

"I don't want to say a damned thing, but that won't do anyone any good," he began, his tone carrying the weight of centuries of pain and torment. "Silas is a vampire lord in London. The patriarch of his coven and a monster obsessed with power. Not political power or military power - I mean power over people. The power to control them completely. He turned me over two hundred years ago. I became his spawn and he became my tormentor."

"So you were his slave?" I asked, trying to grasp the full extent of his circumstances.

"A vampire's spawn is less than a slave. They're a puppet. We have no choice but to obey our masters' commands. They speak and our bodies react - it's all part of the deal. Sometimes he'd order us to submit to torture. Sometimes he'd have us torture ourselves. Whatever his weathervane mood settled on," His eyes flickered, as if a memory played behind them for a moment, dark and unbidden.