Black Angus – Chapter 7

This is a working draft and not a final product.

Content Warnings: Mind Control, Attack by a Wild Animal, Harming of Animals [Wild, Domestic]

In which Angus hypnotizes a horse.

Simply for appearances, Angus traveled straight toward the center of town before swinging to the left and navigating back to Green Side. The stables were on the back right side of the building. He didn’t want to rely on easy meals, but Angus wanted to check out the stock, just in case. Likely due to all of the soldiers passing through, the stables were well populated with horses: eight in total. Anatoliy’s horse was towards the back. Zorya —that’s what he’d said her name was. She was white with brown flecks and overall pretty ordinary-looking. If she recognized Angus she made no move to show it. In a locked stall near a door, which Angus presumed was the kitchen’s pantry, was a coop of several hens. Angus tried to avoid eating chickens if he could. His family used to raise them when he was human, but they had died all at once while his household was enduring difficult times, and he didn’t like to revisit the memory.Angus exited the stables and circled around the back of Green Side. Embedded in a spot of rotten wood on the outer corner were the draped folds of a bee colony, its residents long since asleep for the night. Other than his next meal, Angus couldn’t have stumbled across a more fortunate find. He made mental note of the spot for later on in the night.

Behind the inn was a small clearing that transitioned into a lightly wooded area. A couple of charming, benched tables were arranged in overgrown grass that was being weighed down by the first refuse of autumn leaves. The rot and the green struggling against it perfumed the air so sweetly. Not far off, a desire path had been well-established by other curious folk exploring the grounds who’d wandered into the trees, since men are always attracted to that which doesn’t concern them. Angus followed.

The area was mostly grown with fuinseoige trees; tall, ordinary, and easygoing without an immediate water source nearby. Their orchre leaves looked the tone of flesh in the blue dark, some which had fallen and covered up twisted roots that caught the tips of Angus’s shoes and tried to make him stumble. It was fair enough. To the trees, he was a stranger. They did not know his intentions in their home, and if they did they’d know them to be predatory and wicked.

By the time he’d walked far enough along to lose sight of the inn, a second clearing of evenly laid farmland began to make itself visible on the other side. Along the way, Angus collected wilted samples of meadowsweet, comfrey, marshmallow, and goldenseal. Enough wildlife seemed to have sought shelter amongst the scant trees to make it a viable hunting ground for one over the next few days. That would be more than enough time to become familiar with which citizens Blithe-Rock would be better off without.

Angus scaled one of the larger ashes he could find, making himself as comfortable as he could manage in its branches. He immediately wished he’d secured a book before wandering this far from town. Hidden from immediate view of the life down below, he sat and waited for the woods to forget that he had ever been there, the deep indigo blue of night blanketing his presence. Maybe the world beyond would forget him too.

With no other way to occupy his time, his thoughts wandered back to the conversation he’d just had with Anatoliy as he clutched the limp selection of gathered flowers across his abdomen. His unexpected shift in perspective complicated the urges he had been negotiating with himself. From the moment he’d first seen Anatoliy on the road, he’d been hoping the man would give him a good excuse to drain him. He’d already stolen a taste without stopping to think first, and had continued on to scheme about sneaking more when they’d shared the bed.

One might think that since Angus decided that he genuinely liked Anatoliy as a person, that would be the definitive end to things, but he was already discovering that his cravings were becoming much worse. Angus wanted to drink from him more than ever now, and his desire made him feel terrified of himself. He had already learned in the most personal way possible what a vampire could be capable of if he wanted someone. Angus thought of the chickens again, locked safely away in their coop, then shuddered, gripping his arms. He thought of the dog who had trusted him until its final moments. Anatoliy trusted him too, and yet Angus couldn’t stop himself from wanting to hurt him. Is this what it had felt like for Friedolf that night when Angus rode his father’s horse up to the gate at Ulvenkeep?

Angus resolved he would keep himself fed. No harm would come to Anatoliy. He would be like Esther, taking time to feel out the connection to be sure it was well-matched. Maybe when Anatoliy came back from his bodyguard job, if things felt right, Angus would ask him then. If it didn’t work out, he’d simply let it go and keep looking elsewhere. No need to go too far. He could act sensibly.

A group of four does appeared in view, heading in the direction of his ash. To his own relief, Angus thought to remove his jerkin and the cotton shirt, draping them over the branch as the does ambled closer in their leisurely way, placing the flowers on top of the clothing pile.

The air was chilly but tolerable. The deer lowered their noses at intervals, searching various spots along their erratic path before they wandered in a new direction, but there was some indecipherable pattern to their movements. Angus was sure they would find their way to him. The first of the four tread below the tree, her alignment perfect, but still, Angus waited. The others followed, all four of them soon below him; three of them in a promising cluster further to the left of the branch than Angus would have preferred, but he favored his chances by the way they were gathered. He dropped from the branch, successfully knocking one of the does on her side as he grappled her. The three other deer scattered instantly, their companion kicking wildly, trying to shake Angus off her.

Angus bit down on her withers with a desperation, but it wasn’t a deep enough injury to keep her from getting back on all fours. He tried wedging his feet around her inner thighs to stall her from running, curling his arms around her neck, he bit her again closer to the throat. The doe struggled to buck him loose, but Angus hit a vein on his third bite, startling her so that in her resistance, the doe toppled over once more. He pinned the doe down, holding her face in one hand and her neck in the other. The deer’s legs slowed to weak twitches. Angus released a contented sigh as he lowered his face to her throat to drink. The man back at the inn who shared his bed had tasted better, but Angus chose not to think about that.

He’d taken two drafts, enough for him to slip away into his peace and forget the world, when the air was knocked out of him. Angus realized he was on his back. Pinning him with massive paws astride each shoulder was a male wolf. Spittle splattered onto Angus’s face from its black mouth, deep rows of teeth visible at such an awful proximity. The beast made a thunderous sound like cracking wood as it lunged for Angus’s throat.

Angus nimbly shifted himself beneath the animal’s core, pushing its front legs out with his arms and kicking into its soft abdomen with both legs. Yelping, the wolf was tossed to its side, regaining its footing before Angus could blink. Angus scrambled away, throwing himself at the nearest tree, a much thinner one than what he’d climbed before. Thick folds of the ash’s bark lifted his shirt and scraped his belly. The wolf snatched Angus’s ankle as he clawed up the tree’s trunk. Violently shaking its head, the beast tore Angus’s grasp free.

Before he was back on the ground, Angus retrieved the knife in his belt, blindly slashing upwards as the wolf pounced towards his soon-to-be prone body. Somehow, Angus cut the animal’s neck. Angus pushed a hand out in a futile attempt to force the wolf’s face back by its throat, thrusting four more reckless jabs into its shoulder before kicking its belly again, its fiendish paws swinging relentlessly for him all the while. Once again, Angus ascended the thin ash, the wolf’s injuries barely slowing it down enough for Angus to reach a safe height.

Just as he had feared, Angus saw two other male wolves appear in the visible distance from the elevation of the ash. The injured wolf and his companions yelped and leapt at the tree, shaking the trunk slightly but doing no more. They soon lost interest as the smallest of the three wolves curiously sniffed the slain doe, an act that its larger pack mates would not tolerate. The wolves all tore at the deer, and when they’d devoured all of its viscera and fleshiest parts, they returned to harassing Angus for at least 20 more minutes. After that, they savaged parts of the doe free, carrying their spoils back to what Angus presumed to be even more wolves.

Angus cursed.

Wolves populated all stretches of Ériusíde, though they were more common in the north. It probably meant nothing that they’d come as far south as Blithe-Rock. Could they have followed him, though? All the way from Gryllcrosse, perhaps even Midgate? It was a sickening thought. But there was nothing strange about them being here. Angus assured himself he was just acting paranoid. Blithe-Rock was safe. It had to be.

He waited for what he felt may have been another half hour before scaling down. Climbing the neighboring tree, he retrieved his shirt, jerkin, and the flowers, placing the latter in his trouser pockets. Then Angus cautiously sought the path that had led him into the trees, back to the rear of Green Side Inn.

Angus flicked the bits of fur off his knife, then licked the blade clean of wolf’s blood. Glancing around first to check that his surroundings were clear of witnesses, he approached the weathered outer wall behind the stables and climbed up the side to the beehive he’d spotted before. The hive draped from the overhang of the stable’s rafters; looking like a series of sideways waves patterned with columns of identically sized holes through the grooves of wax. Angus positioned the knife along the top edge of the nearest fold, drew a long breath, and then struck down in one clear cut. He yanked the wedge of honeycomb free from the rest of the hive and dropped down from the wall into the grass below, hissing out a pained gasp as he landed on his mauled ankle. Several bees had already started to swarm out as he pocketed the honeycomb and made his retreat.

Covered with scrapes and limping, Angus elected for the easy approach to feeding himself that night. Taking care not to be seen in such a disconcerting state, he reentered the stables, fleeing the agitated honeybees. He assessed the horses and chickens available to him. The chickens would easily be missed and were well secured, and the horses would without a doubt put up a fight, something Angus was not eager to experience so soon again. However, he had a new asset available to him. Angus was not sure if horses could be hypnotized, but he was curious to find out.

The largest of the animals was a shiny black horse with a white snout near the center of the stables. By size, it was ought to be the least affected. If he had to rely on horses every night, he’d work his way from largest to smallest, skipping Zorya.

Should he speak a command to the horse, or did he only need to look into its eyes? A horse wouldn’t understand him, and when Angus had been hypnotized in the past, there had been no words spoken. But Angus was inexperienced, and the vampire who had influenced him had been centuries of years old. What if it was a skill that needed to be refined with practice before he could compel a being with his stare alone? At the very least, speaking a command out loud couldn’t hurt, could it? He figured he should be as simple and concise as possible.

Angus stood in front of the black horse, far enough to be outside its blind spots, and gazed into the animal’s dark eyes. The animal looked back at him but did not seem to react in any special way. Was it working? The horse did not look away.

“Do not resist when I bite. Let me drink. Be calm, and you will not be harmed.”

Angus took a step forward, holding out his hand. He touched the horse’s nose, giving the animal a gentle pet. Aside from blinking its long lashes, the horse did not react. Angus walked closer to its side. Observing the creature’s anatomy, there appeared to be several areas where the veins raised close to the skin. The shoulder stood out to Angus for no particular reason. Assessing the spot more keenly, he could still very likely be kicked or rushed from his position, but it seemed no more dangerous to him than any other area in proximity to the enormous animal. Hoping to coax the horse into as much of calm as he could, he drew his arm gently under its neck and rested his other hand on its withers. Angus brushed his nose and lips against its coarse hair —nothing happened. He rested his face there for a few seconds, nervous to bite into a large, muscular animal who may not be under his influence but simply uncommonly docile. Then, finding his courage, Angus slowly slipped his teeth into the horse’s shoulder. It did not react. Carefully, he took one drink after another, probably stealing more than he should, but never losing his senses. Angus withdrew, wiping the last smears of blood from his mouth with the back of his hand and licking it clean. He stepped back away from the horse.

“Thanks. I’ll bring you a treat to-morrow, okay?” he offered awkwardly.

Angus glanced down at his abdomen and turned out his mauled ankle. There were still marks, but he was already looking much better, though his trousers were dirtied from fur and mulch. He found a cloth near a bucket of water and wiped himself clean, then pulled his unsoiled shirt back over.

Having had enough of the outdoors, Angus silently entered the inn and ascended the stairs. Anatoliy was asleep in their bed, chest bare and hair scattered across his placid face. Angus suddenly felt as if he had not drunk his fill just a moment ago. Shaking the thought away, he tapped the man a couple of times on the cheek. Anatoliy groaned but relented to waking, sitting upright in the bed with his eyes shielded in slits behind feathery brown lashes.

“I’ve got something for your injury. I’m working on something less rudimentary, but this ought to make a difference in the meantime. —Remove the bandage for me, will you?” Angus said, pulling the sticky wedge of honeycomb from his dirt-stained trousers.

Disoriented, Anatoliy did as he was asked. The gash had already begun to stitch itself shut, marbled yellow fat and pale damp ribbons of skin clinging together as the bandage was undone. Burgundy pearls swelled to the surface along the center of the seam, looking like pinheads placed along a bias by a tailor. Angus’s gaze lingered just long enough to summon an uncomfortable silence, before snapping out of his trance and dabbing his fingers into the oozy core of the honeycomb. He smeared a thick seal of honey over the wound, then laid the cloth bandage back down in place with his clean hand.

“Um,” Angus stuttered, “It’d be grand if you ate as much of this as you could in the morning when you get a chance.” He placed the honeycomb on the bedside table, then held his messy fingers out below Anatoliy’s chin, adding awkwardly, “I, ah—. Do you mind?”

Creases formed under Anatoliy’s eyes and across his nose as he repressed laughter. He curled his good hand under Angus’s palm and lifted the honey-coated middle and index fingers fully into his mouth, pressing his tongue over their webbing and plumping out his lips towards Angus’s knuckles. Anatoliy withdrew the digits slowly and purposefully, keeping his eyes locked on Angus’s, never breaking contact. Angus grit his teeth, both reluctant and thankful that their positions were not reversed.

“Anything else I can do for you?” Anatoliy chuckled, running his tongue across his gums and much more awake now than moments before. He continued to loosely hold Angus’s hand in his own, tracing circles across the back of it with his thumb.

Angus laid his palm over Anatoliy’s forehead. It felt like a cup of tea that had sat out just long enough to be perfect for drinking —pardon the intrusive thought. The man was cooler than before, but still feverish nonetheless. Angus picked up the undone scraps of cloth and began to re-secure Anatoliy’s bandage, though the honey was doing a fine job holding it in place.

“There is: You can get plenty of rest. Sorry about stirring you just now,” Angus answered primly, as if the moment just before had never happened. He kept his eyes downcast as he fidgeted with his knots.

Anatoliy scoffed. “Dorogoy, it is nearly dawn. I’ve had men mysteriously wake me in the dead of night before. Are you a man —or are you a little boy who’s too scared to say what he wants?” he asked, lowering his voice.

Angus’s wit kicked in as he hissed, “If I told you what I really want, you’d never sleep again,” only to hear the words come out of his own mouth and instantly regret them. He knew better than to make vague threats, particularity when they might not be registered as threats at all. Anatoliy’s bewildered smile and lively widening eyes said as much.

“Go on. You’ve got my attention!” the man goaded. Dribbles of laughter percolated from his throat. He turned onto his side and propped his jaw into his good hand, making the cheap bed frame creak under his weight through the thin, firm mattress.

This exchange was not Angus’s game. If he continued to say the wrong things, he would only rouse Anatoliy’s suspicion with his queer behavior, but if he gave in and lost right now, Angus wasn’t sure if he could resist not taking an exchange too far. He had to say the right words to convince Anatoliy that getting too close to him was not in his best interest —play into his values, maneuver like a proper vampire. For instance, Anatoliy had challenged Angus’s manhood in the game, so Angus needed only to hold a mirror back up to him.

“It’s just . . . ,” Angus started, staring down into the floor, pulling his fingers through his hair and toying with the coils at the base of his collar. “That story you told me about you fighting off those bandits got my imagination going. Think I’d like to see what you’re fully capable of. —Aren’t you at all worried you might disappoint me if you’re not in better health?” He meekly flicked his eyes to Anatoliy for just a brief moment before breaking away.

It was working. Anatoliy hesitated.

“You really just . . . wanted to treat my wound?” His voice evened as he drew closer to realizing the truth, which Angus could facilitate by bending it just a bit more.

“I— ah, just want to see you well again. As soon as possible,” Angus murmured, tacking on an unconvincing shrug.

He made a performance of biting into his lower lip and dropped his hand to his thigh, strangling the fabric of his loose-fitting trousers as if he were struggling to keep it to himself. Angus could act the role of the dedicated and attentive healer, a man bolder than he seemed, with marked intent, and a coy youth of unwieldy curiosity. There was a certain thrill to it, amplifying these aspects of his character. It supplied Angus with pieces of authority in the game, like freeing up a bishop whose path had been up until now obstructed by pawns. He could learn strategy; he just needed practice.

Warmth came over Anatoliy’s face. It possessed a fine texture, seasoned with character that could only be brought forth from maturity; experience and understanding contained in his reserved expression. What it would be to yearn again, to anticipate with such patience? He gave Angus’s tense hand a quick pat before stretching back into the tangle of stiff sheets.

“As you instruct, ‘Doctor’,” Anatoliy yielded, releasing an exaggerated sigh. He was disappointed, no doubt, just as it was clear as it was that Angus was already forgiven.

Angus offered an apologetic smile, then retrieved a pen and paper to take downstairs, leaving Anatoliy all alone for the last couple of hours before sunrise began and Angus himself would need to go to bed. Downstairs, amongst the empty stools and tables, he began his first letter to Edwina.