The Vampire King's Bride (boyXboy)

THREE

A/N: I only have like one more chapter of this in storage.  If you guys want more, you're going to have to convince me to write it.

~Saya

~*~

                They spent the rest of the day back at the house where they'd showered.  Blaise, unable to sleep, had spent a few hours exploring while Ancelot snored in the master bathroom.  He knew it was the perfect opportunity to escape, but every time he glanced at the door, Ancelot's warning rang in his ears.

                Instead, he helped himself to a bag of chips, several slices of bread, and a jar of Nutella.  There had been a moment (or several) of guilt, but he pushed it away in favor of filling his stomach.  Ancelot hadn't let him starve, but cheap Wendy's and tiny bags of junk food from the drugstore didn't exactly fill the tank.

                For someone who insists on driving luxury cars, he really likes to spend as little as possible on the essentials, doesn't he? Blaise observed.

                Before crawling under the pink comforter in the little girl's room at the end of the hall, Blaise took a moment to get an idea of the family.  Judging by the family photos, there was a couple and their young daughter.  The bassinet in the master bedroom said there had also been a new addition the the family.  They had an extensive DVD and VHS collection that  covered everything from The Fast and the Furious to the Disney Classics to The Rocky Horror Picture Show.  Also, the little girl was infatuated by fairies.

                I wonder how these people would react to having a vampire sleeping in their bed? he mused, smirking as he spotted the original, black-and-white version of Dracula.  He shook his head, reminding himself that he didn't believe Ancelot.

                Deciding that the slip meant he was too sleep-deprived  to think clearly, Blaise turned in for the day.

                "You look like the Ugly Train hit you in the middle of the day.  Hard," Ancelot commented.

                Blaise glared at him through his dark lashes, already made bitter by the first words between them after waking.  It might have been more effective, but he couldn't seem to keep his eyes open.

                Worse, he knew Ancelot was probably right.  He could feel pillow creases on his cheeks when he ran his hands over his face, and his hair wouldn't stay down no matter how hard he pressed it flat.  His clothes were wrinkled too, something that would surprise anyone who knew him.  Despite all that, Ancelot had rushed them out of the house before he could even check his reflection.  Apparently, the family was on its way back, though Blaise would never know how Ancelot knew that.

                "Here," Ancelot called suddenly as he dropped into the Camry's front seat.  To Blaise's surprise, he tossed the half-empty jar of Nutella across the car.  Blaise caught it, looking up at his captor with wide eyes.

                "You left it out," Ancelot explained, rolling his eyes, "Geez kid, even vampires can't tell what's happening while they sleep."

                Blaise scoffed.  "You're not a vampire," he insisted, "Just give up that BS.  I'm coming with you anyway, aren't I?"

                Ancelot leaned across the car, his face coming so close to Blaise's, their noses nearly touched.  "Do I have to show you," he growled, "or will you have to become one of us before you believe me?"

                Blaise regarded him steadily.  "You can't expect me to believe you're actually one of the undead.  They don't exist," he replied firmly.

                Ancelot's silver eyes flashed, making Blaise think of electricity.  His lips curled into a frustrated snarl.  "Dammit, Tristan," he yelled, the small car vibrating with the force of his voice, "You're making this whole shitty business a hell of a lot harder than it needs to be!"

                He put the car in gear then, backing out of the driveway recklessly enough that Blaise grabbed his seat for support.  He didn't slow down until they were well out of town.  Still feeling uncomfortable, Blaise watch the needle on the spedometer drop from 110 to ninety.

                Still, it was nearly an hour before either spoke again.

                "Tristan is my last name, not my first," Blaise informed the other man, sounding more like a moody teenager than an indignant man.

                "I know that," Ancelot growled back, his jaw tight.

                Another moment of silence.  A sigh from the driver's seat.

                "I'm sorry, alright?" Ancelot admitted finally, "I've never done this before.  I had no idea it would be so hard to convince you."  He glance over at Blaise, who continued to stare sulkily through the windshield.  "And about that--shouldn't you be more concerned about being kidnapped than about whether the supernatural exists?"

                Blaise kept quiet.  He hated when Ancelot was right.

                Suddenly, Ancelot pulled the car over.  Blaise glanced at him curiously, wondering if he was sick again, only to find him looking back.

                "Alright, look," Ancelot sighed.  Blaise obeyed, watching the man open his mouth.  He continued to stare, his eyes widening with each passing second, as Ancelot's already unusually sharp and large canines began to grow.  The process seemed to drag on, though in only seconds, the teeth were nearly two inches long and sharper than a boning knife.

                Ancelot shut his mouth as his canines returned to normal, facing forward and pulling the car back onto the empty road.  Blaise continued to stare at him.

                "So," Ancelot began finally, after a few moments with nothing but the pur of the engine to fill the silence, "I guess this is the part where I answer your questions."

                His low voice brought Blaise back to reality.  "I--" he tried, but broke off.  He couldn't think clearly.  The questions Ancelot knew he had swirled around his mind, keeping him from voicing any of them.

                "I..." he tried again.  Suddenly, he began to remember the babble Alanis had kept up throughout her teenage years, discussing vampire mythology with her closest friends.  He remembered one myth in particular that Alanis always scoffed at.

                "The mirror thing," he said finally, "do you show up or not?"

                Ancelot's snort of laughter told Blaise that Alanis had been right all along.  "Of course we show up," he replied through his chuckles, "that whole theory is based on that 'cameras capture your soul' thing, which no one with half a brain really believes anyway.  If we're there, we show up.  If it was about having souls, no inanimate object would show up, would it?"

                Blaise made a face, trying to imagine his bed or his pencil being aware.  It was disturbing, to say the least.

                "Do you always hunt animals?" he asked.  Even to his own ears, his voice sounded weak.

                Ancelot obviously heard the faint quality of his tone as well.  He glanced over, his eyes darkening to gunmetal gray with sympathy.  "Not usually," he admitted, "but it was kind of an emergency, you know?"

                "Why not just go after me?" Blaise asked, hysteria creeping into his voice.

                Ancelot's lips tightened, a look that Blaise was becoming rather familiar with.  "Short answer?  You're off-limits," he growled.

                Blaise kept his mouth shut after that.  Ancelot said something about it being okay to sleep, but he barely caught it.  He must have been snoring as soon as the words left Ancelot's mouth.