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It was late evening when the Brucolac entered the cell and was surprised by the light. Doul usually slept at this time, but tonight unreasonably, he left the light on.

Doul himself crouched in the corner of the bed. He was quite unmoving when the brucolac approached, as though he was actually asleep.

The Brucolac pulled him up right. Doul, however, didn't resist. He was as limp as a rag against him, head lying on the vampir's shoulder.

"Good boy," commented the Brucolac teasingly.

He tore off his white shirt, hands sliding up to the small of Doul's back.

Until this moment, he'd just noticed how warm the man was. The normal temperature of the human body was much higher than that of vamipr. They were always warm for him.

But Doul was awfully too warm. The Brucolac cupped Doul's cheek in his palm, making him look up at him.

Uther Doul, the man who had struggled to keep his composure and dignity, slumped weakly against the wampir, unable to hold himself upright. He was paler than usual and his breaths was quick and short.

"Uther?" The Brucolac asked in concern. There’s no response.

He felt his forehead.

Hot to the touch.

"Uther?" Frowning, the Brucolac noticed the untouched dinner plate.

Doul had a fever, obviously. But when, and how? He was all right last night...Oh. The vampir's gut tightened an instant.

So it's all because of him. He kidnapped him, torture him, rape him. He had done these until the man broke down.

It didn't give the vampir any pleasure, and this was never what he wanted. He wanted his soul, his surrender. Not destroying his human body.

The Brucolac divested Doul of his creased, damp shirt when Doul's pushing ineffectually against the viampir's chest. “No... please no... leave me alone...”

"What do you think I'm doing? Raping a patient?" he said testily.

The Brucolac unclasped the chain around Doul's ankle and wrapped the man in the sheet and the suede coat. Then lifting the patient, he kicked open the door and stepped into the corridor, where the vampir and human guards were stationed. They knew precisely who was the man curled up in their leader's arms and what had happend in this cell, but none of them displayed any sign of surprise. They didn't even blink, as if the corridor was empty.

Walking through the dim-lit corridor, up the switchback stairs, the Brucolac strode onto the upper deck of the Uroc, where the air grew crisper and the rooms were more comfortable.

It was a luxurious room the vampir'd chosen - hardwood floors, plush carpets, a huge canopied bed. He tossed Doul onto the bed before turning and walking away.

A few minutes later, he went back inside. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, the Brucolac stripped Doul out of the sheet and clothes, then pulled the duvet up over the man.

Uther Doul made no reaction the whole time. He was awake, and sensed the Brucolac's presence, nothing more. The fever had deprived him of his abilities to move and speak. Meandering in and out of twilight consciousness, Doul felt something cool and soft press against his cheeks, ease the pain. With a small sigh, he leaned into it.

The vampir was stunned by the man's involuntary movement. Something fluttered inside him.

He loved the man. This realization depressed the Brucolac. That's why he tortured him, humiliate him - all because he had already understood a long time ago that he couldn't have his feelings returned, and only in these ways could he have him.