Life was blood and blood was life.
This wasn’t an entirely new concept, yet for Samael Nachtweber, it still held a more poignant meaning than before. His transformation had been not unlike others in his situation. Blood given willingly in exchange for another’s. One’s life for an eternity. Tale as old as time yet as new and exciting as could be for the young vampire. Except the headaches as he had been calling the echoes of his master’s voice and thoughts within him…guiding him, encouraging him, yet altogether working toward one self-serving purpose of seeking a new life.
Perhaps Samael should care. Perhaps he should be selfish and want to live without the man who could have undoubtedly killed him as effortlessly as he had given him new life. Yet that was it, wasn’t it? "New life." It was ironic to think of death as life, yet was it anything but?
Samael owed his father. He owed his father in kind. "A life for life" yet quite the opposite meaning as that brought to mind.
He had been mulling over this need all day rather than sleeping so thoroughly as he should have. The images repeated in his mind. The Voice said, "Sleep," yet Samael was obsessed. There would be no sleep, only what little rest lying in his bed in the darkest room of his tiny flat had to offer. It wasn’t much, but it would be enough. He needn’t hunt tonight, after all. No, he had his prey splayed to the wall in the next room, having had to resort to someone off the street to spell the flat silent, all the while hoping his threat toward the captain’s precious lover would keep him from crying out. He was a squib, he’d said. It was as good as true so far as Samael had been able to figure out.
Opening his eyes suddenly, Samael sat up. It was time. He would take what he needed to make it through tonight and he would pursue the body his father had told him to retrieve, the one in the hill near the tree.
So, that was precisely what he set out to do. Samael rose from the bed, opened his door, and walked into the next room, pausing in the door to tilt his head at the captain. Perhaps the captain would appreciate some light, but without magic in a magical society, candles were the only way to make your own light. Samael was not about to near those. The very thought made his skin crawl with a discomfort he had seldom experienced since the moment he had first had a taste of his father’s blood.
"'O Captain, my Captain,'" he quoted as he walked slowly into the room, step by step and hand clasped over wrist behind his back. "Isn’t that what the muggles say, anyway?" He’d heard it a few times from some of the muggle-borns in his former house. He had no idea what it was from nor what it was about, yet it seemed appropriate. Endearing. As the boy Lance, Samael had once looked up to the man and admired his strength; however, he now viewed him as lesser, as prey. Samael was the apex predator in this situation. There was nothing to be learned from this human any longer.
"No matter. They’re about as trivial to you and yours as you are to me."