Chapter Text
“N-A-N-D-O-R…what is the date, today?”
The vampire has long dark hair, equally dark soulful eyes and a rich, full beard. He’s peering down at you expectantly and it takes you a while to realize he’s waiting for an answer.
You clear your throat and swim through the fog in your brain to reply, “It’s…March 11th. ‘S my birthday…”
“Oh, really?” he grimaces uncomfortably and you idly observe that his fangs are still stained red with your blood. “That’s…unfortunate. Happy Birthday!”
He leans in and raises the Sharpie to your forehead. Is he writing his name and the date on you like you’re a take out container?
“Thanks…,” you murmur and then you’re floating beneath the surface again.
—
“Master, leftovers!”
Someone is leading you by the hand into a candlelit room dominated by a large wooden coffin. You shake your head and look around you with bleary, confused eyes. How long have you slept? Or…is this a dream? The lid of the coffin opens suddenly and you squeak as a man sits up from inside.
“Leftovers?” Nandor whines and throws his Familiar a petulant scowl.
Guillermo holds up a hand and says with uncharacteristic confidence, “It’s my day off, remember? You can survive on leftovers and whatever you can scrounge up yourself tonight.”
“Fucking guy…forcing me to eat stale food,” Nandor curses under his breath as Guillermo flounces out of the room.
You’re alone with…a vampire. The one who abducted you from roller derby practice and drank your blood last night. It’s coming back to you now. You watch him with wide, frightened eyes as he finally turns his focus on you. The intensity of his liquid gaze roots you to the spot even as your mind is pleading with you to flee.
“Alright, then. Put your neck in my mouth, little human,” he commands breezily, as if this is just one last formality for you and not the end of your mortal life.
“What?! N-no…,” you stammer.
He clambers out of the coffin, coming to stand before you in all his glory. He’s massive. He towers over your short frame and his already broad shoulders are made more impressive by the long, ostentatious cape that flows down from them. Your eyes rake down his form of their own accord. He’d be handsome and totally your type if he weren’t currently trying to eat you.
He sniffs the air with a look of distaste.
“Ugh, this is why I hate leftovers,” he whines and turns to address the far corner of the room, “They go stale. It’s the fear.”
You turn your attention to the corner and you’re startled to see an actual film crew just standing there. What the…
“Help me!” you implore, stepping in their direction. The vampire moves faster than your eyes can track. He’s just suddenly standing in your way.
“No, my little human. They are a documentary film crew. Just here to observe. I’m afraid they can’t intervene,” he explains, finally wrapping his arms around you and drawing you in closer. “But don’t worry, this will hardly hurt at all.”
And then he’s brushing your hair aside with an almost gentle stroke of his fingers and he’s lowering his mouth to your throat. There’s the briefest brush of soft lips over your skin and the sharp pain of his teeth sinking into your neck.
“Ow!” you complain, squirming in his grip. “You said it wouldn’t hurt!”
Nandor pulls back with a sheepish grin. His mouth is already painted red.
“I said ‘hardly’,” he corrects before plunging back into his feast.
You’re just starting to drift off into that foggy, wobbly, dreamy state when he releases his hold on your neck with one final lick of the wound. He rears back and looks at you with a ponderous expression on his bloodstained face.
“Even with the fear you are quite yummy… I think I’ll save you a bit longer after all…,” his voice is rich and hypnotic and–wait, he might actually be hypnotizing you, come to think of it.
Your brain is once again lagging and all you can utter is a soft, “Please…”
“That’s right, mortal,” he says in a saccharine tone, “I, Nandor the Relentless, have decided to show you mercy…for now.”
Your legs are like jelly. The only thing keeping you upright is Nandor’s arms. He hoists you up, cradling you to his chest and walking out the door.
My hero, you muse hysterically, half awake and half dreaming.
“Now, back to the cell, little mortal–”
NO!
“What!?” you screech wiggling in his arms until he drops you and you land in an ungraceful heap with a distinct pain in your backside. You look up at the ancient, powerful vampire standing over you and decide to beg, “Please don’t put me back in that cell. It’s horrible and cold and dank and–”
“Alright!” Nandor puts a stop to your rambling with a roll of his eyes. “Creepy jeepers! More trouble than you’re worth…”
He bends down and effortlessly lifts you back up into arms. He takes you into his room and settles you–of all places–inside the fur-lined coffin. A shiver runs down your spine but–you have to admit–it’s kind of cozy.
“Now, I am going hunting,” Nandor says. He leans down to catch your gaze, his eyes widening and his voice lowering an octave, coming out in a hypnotic drawl, “You will not attempt to escape from this house or from me. Sleep, mortal.”
You sleep.
—
“What the blazes! Nadja, darling, come here!” Laszlo calls from the doorway to Nandor’s crypt.
“Is it witches again?,” Nadja asks, following Laszlo into the room with a look of trepidation. “Laszlo I told you to get rid of that–Oh! A little mortal has snuck into Nandor’s crypt!”
The vampire couple stand over the open coffin, peering down at your prone form with twin looks of disgust.
“That’s what I thought, but look!” Laszlo reaches down and brushes your hair off your forehead to reveal the letters written in black permanent marker, Nandor - 11/3/20.
“Ew,” Nadja frowns, “he’s keeping food in his coffin?”
Laszlo nods with a look of outraged vindication, “And he calls me unhygienic!”