The next morning, Xaverick rose with the sun, his dreams plagued by images of the mysterious stranger and his eerie red eyes. He threw on his hat and boots, stepping outside to start the day's work. His chores were a familiar routine that helped him clear his mind, but as he counted the animals in the pen, he noticed that one of his goats was missing.
"Betty," he muttered with an annoyed but also amused smile, knowing all too well that she had a penchant for wandering off. It was the third time this week. "Guess I gotta go looking for Betty now," he said to no one in particular. He grabbed a piece of stale bread and set off in the direction she usually took, the warmth of the bread in his pocket giving him a little comfort as the chilly morning air nipped at his skin.
The town was just beginning to stir as Xaverick walked the dusty streets. The sun had barely crested the horizon, casting a soft pink glow over the weathered buildings. The smell of breakfast cooking in the nearby homes made his stomach grumble, but he ignored it. Betty was his priority. As he approached the edge of town, the cobblestone gave way to dirt and grass, and the buildings grew sparse. He whistled a tune that she always responded to, but today there was no bleat of recognition.
As he got closer, the cries grew louder, and soon he could see the source of the commotion. Betty was stuck in the mansion's rusted fence, her fur matted and her eyes wide with fear. Two figures in maid uniforms were trying to coax her out, but she was having none of it. One of the maids looked up, noticing Xaverick's approach, and gasped. The other one, with a tray of tea in hand, dropped the whole setup in surprise, shattering the delicate china into a hundred pieces.
Xaverick reached Betty and spoke to her softly, his hand trembling slightly as he offered her the crust of bread. She took it eagerly, the tension in her body melting away with each chew. He managed to untangle her from the fence, stroking her neck gently until she calmed down. As he did, the door to the mansion creaked open, and out stepped Dorian, dressed in an elegant robe that flowed around his ankles like a shadow.
"Good morning, Xaverick," Dorian said, his voice carrying the same velvety tone from the night before, yet now tinged with something else-mild amusement or perhaps a hint of annoyance. Xaverick turned, his hand instinctively hovering near his holster, though his eyes never left the goat.
"What do you want, Blackwood?" Xaverick said gruffly, his voice laced with irritation. He secured Betty with a firm knot before facing Dorian fully.
Dorian's smile grew, revealing more of those sharp fangs that had been hidden beneath his lip. "I'm afraid your pet had a bit of an... adventure on my property," he said, his eyes flicking to the goat before returning to Xaverick's. "But no harm done, it seems."
Xaverick's hand hovered near his gun, his eyes narrowing into slits. "I don't take kindly to folks messing with my livestock," he said, his voice cold as the pre-dawn air. "Let me make it as clear to you as I did with your pop-keep your hands off what's mine, Blackwood."
Dorian chuckled, the sound a soft rumble in his chest. "I assure you, my intentions were purely... neighborly," he said, stepping closer, his eyes never leaving Xaverick's. "But it seems I've intrigued you. Why don't you join me for a cup of tea?"
Xaverick's jaw clenched, and he tightened his grip on the rope. "Look, I don't know what y'all city folks do in the morning," he said, his voice gruff, "but I've got shit to do, so if ya don't mind, we'll be leaving." He gave Betty another gentle tug, and this time she obeyed, her hooves clattering against the ground as she followed.
Dorian stepped aside, his smile unwavering. "Suit yourself, Xaverick," he said, his eyes trailing the cowboy as he walked away. "But I do hope we'll meet again. Soon."
Back at the ranch, Xaverick went through his usual routine with a sense of unease. He fed the animals, mended fences, and checked the water troughs, his thoughts wandering to the encounter at the mansion. He tried to shake off the feeling that there was more to Dorian than met the eye, but it clung to him like a stubborn tick. By the time the sun had dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in a fiery display of oranges and reds, Xaverick was exhausted, both physically and mentally.
He sat on the porch of his small cabin, the warmth of a pipe between his teeth and the comfort of his favorite chair beneath him. The quiet was broken only by the occasional rustle of the wind through the grass and the distant howl of a coyote. As the night deepened, he couldn't help but feel a set of eyes on him, watching from the shadows. He looked over his shoulder, but there was nothing but darkness.
With a sigh, Xaverick leaned back, letting the chair's worn leather embrace him. The whiskey in his glass was more of a comfort than the sleep that eluded him. His mind raced with thoughts of the mysterious Dorian Blackwood and the implications of his return. The last thing this town needed was more trouble, especially from the likes of the Blackwood family.
As the night grew colder and the stars began to wink out one by one, Xaverick's eyes grew heavier. His hand, still clutching the whiskey glass, relaxed, and before he knew it, he had dozed off. The chair creaked gently under his weight, a comforting rhythm that soon melded into his dreams.
The figure that emerged from the shadows was as silent as a ghost. Xaverick didn't stir, lost in a fitful sleep filled with the echoes of Betty's cries and the haunting red eyes of Dorian Blackwood. The intruder moved closer, the scent of something not quite human wafting through the air.
It was Dorian himself, dressed in a shirt that clung to his frame like a second skin, the moon casting a pale glow on his chiseled features. He moved with the grace of a predator, each step calculated and precise. Xaverick's instincts screamed at him to wake up, to be on guard, but his body felt like lead.
"You should be careful, cowboy," Dorian said, his voice a whisper that seemed to be carried on the wind. "The night holds many dangers."
Xaverick felt a sudden jolt of awareness as strong arms scooped him up. He tried to fight, but his body was sluggish and unresponsive. He watched in a daze as Dorian's face swam into view, those piercing red eyes boring into his own. The vampire's strength was surprising, and Xaverick found himself being carried into the cabin with an ease that was almost... gentle.
The room spun around him as Dorian laid him on the bed, the soft mattress enveloping him like a warm embrace. The smell of leather and horse sweat from his clothes mixed with the faint scent of sandalwood that clung to Dorian, a stark contrast that only served to disorient him further. Xaverick's thoughts were a muddled mess as he attempted to piece together what was happening.
"D-Dorian?" Xaverick croaked out, his voice thick with sleep. "What are you doing here?"
Dorian's smile grew, his fangs gleaming in the moonlit room. "Don't worry, cowboy," he murmured, his voice a soft caress against Xaverick's ear. "This is only a dream"
