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raejoestar · 2 days ago

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we shall feast when darkness falls - vampire!volt & werewolf!eddie x vampire!drysdale & werewolf!washford

⋆syn: The vampire Volt Circia and his wolf husband Eddie Watts live their lives in the solitude of their manor, away from prying eyes that may notice how neither of them age. When Volt is invited into vampire society, they meet another pair of were and vampire lovers who wish to show them all they've been missing.

⋆wc: 8.5k

⋆cw: explicit m/m, explicit m/m/m/m foursome (in later parts). mentions of blood in relation to vampire feeding and werewolf hunting.

⋆notes: Me and some friends have concocted a big Vamp!Volt and Werewolf!Eddie AU which I've written a few one shots about before. This can be read pretty reasonably as standalone, but I highly recommend reading @CrayonWrites one shot which we consider "the lore bible", to understand Volt and Eddie's backstory mentioned in this fic.

Here's the TDLR if you'd like to just dive right in: - This takes place in the 1880s-ish, somewhere in eastern europe (it's a fantasy okay) - Eddie was a wandering werewolf who got kicked out of his pack and wound up at the manor, taken in by Volt. - They fell in love. - Volt got TB, which led to Eddie getting vampire venom to turn him so they could still be together - Volt doesn't kill or drink from humans, only Eddie and animals (which Eddie likes to catch for him) - They call each other husbands (this makes me fucking feral) and wear hidden matching rings

⋆snippet of fic:

Eddie grunts, he struggles, he kicks, against the hand that forces his neck into the dirt. He feels warm thighs on either side of his own, and the weight of the wolf on his back presses into his lungs. "The fuck do you want? You want the buck?"

Washford’s voice isn’t even breathless. It’s calm, collected, as if they were sharing a meal, and not miles into the woods. "I want to speak with you. Man to man, a husband to a husband."

Eddie claws at the dirt, searching for purchase in the leaves that surround him. "About what? You wanna fuck Volt? Get the fuck in line."

Eddie is strong, he’s always been strong. But Washford is big, and he has the advantage of Eddie’s chest to the ground, and nearly two hundred years on him. He’s pinned - truly, he can’t even manage to get his feet under him to kick away.

"In crude terms, yes, that is what I'd like to speak about."

Part One: The Palace

Knocks on the wooden doors of the Circia manor are rare, but not unheard of.

There are occasions when there’s a delivery from town - new shoes the local cobbler made for Volt, or a case of the Belgian chocolate that he has a sweet tooth for. Maybe every few months, there’s a confused banging from a local drunk, who had somehow stumbled his way through the dense woods and collapsed on the stone stairs.

Eddie and Volt are always wary of the sound, however. They’ve had to deal with unwelcome pests before, and both of them are eager to protect the other.

But they both hear it tonight - three strong raps that echo through the foyer and the hall, noticeable even to the pair as they sit in the study. That shouldn’t surprise them, though, since they both have some semblance of hearing beyond what should normally be capable of a human.

The doors creak, and the voice of a footman questions whoever must stand on the other side.

“I’ve a message for the Viscount Volt Circia, from his highness Prince Amir Hosseini.”

Eddie’s ears perk up at that, and he glances over at his husband, lounging in a chair by the fire, book in hand. Volt must have heard it too - there’s a curious look in his eye as he shuts the pages.

“Do you know a prince?” Eddie asks. He wouldn’t be surprised by the answer.

“I can’t say that I have the pleasure,” Volt answers as he stands. He holds out his hand for Eddie, and he can’t help but notice the way Volt’s gold band reflects the warm light of the fire. “Shall we investigate?”

In the foyer stands a man, in a long, ornate overcoat, and a white turban wrapped around his head. He smiles when he sees them, Volt a few steps ahead of Eddie, and bows when they come to a stop. “My lord,” he says, standing to attention and retrieving an envelope from the inside of his coat. “I come on behalf of my master, Prince Amir Hosseini, to extend an invitation to his gala come next new moon.”

The footman takes the envelope - it’s silver, and stamped with an intricate red wax seal, Eddie can see.

Volt tilts his head, puts his hands in his pockets. The smile he puts on isn’t quite distrustful, but it’s cautious. They don’t know this man, and they don’t know what he knows about them.

“And I am, of course, honored to receive it,” he says, voice sweet, though a little testing. “But, forgive me, I can’t say I have the pleasure of Prince Hosseini’s acquaintance.”

“Ah,” says the messenger, as he claps his hands together. “Yes, forgive me, my lord. Prince Amir and yourself share certain… interests.”

Both Eddie’s and Volt’s brows raise at the comment, though they dare not look at each other. Nothing changes in Volt’s voice as he prods, “Interests?”

“Yes, I believe you’ll find that your culinary needs align.”

At that, Eddie does flick his gaze to the mess of white curls at his side, only for a moment, to see if Volt reacts. But he only pauses a moment before Volt turns his head. “I’ll take that, Jamison,” he says, as he reaches out a hand towards the footman. He dismisses him once the envelope is placed in his hands, and they are alone now, with this stranger.

“I’ll have to beg your pardon.” Now, there’s less sweetness to his voice. It’s more clipped, on edge. Ready. “Can I ask what you mean by that?”

The man says nothing, but he opens his mouth, and Volt and Eddie watch as his canine teeth extend, and long, white fangs glint in the low light of the manor.

It’s Eddie that reacts first, stepping in front of Volt and baring his teeth. He pays no mind to Volt calling his name, because right now, he needs to protect. From this stranger, in their home.

“Who the fuck are you?” he bristles, hardly registering Volt’s hand on his shoulder. “How did you find us?”

“Eddie,” Volt tries to calm him, but it does nothing to his stance. “I don’t think he means us harm -”

“Well how does he know then?” He narrows his eyes at the messenger, plants his feet a little firmer. “How does your prince know?” He spits the word out, and it makes the man flinch.

“His Highness prides himself on having eyes everywhere,” he says, as if that explains it all. “He is the Prince of all the moon’s immortal children, guardian to us all.”

“A vampire prince?” Volt perks up, voice curious, as he tries to step to Eddie’s side. “Is there a vampire government I haven’t been briefed on?”

“Volt -”

“I’ve never even met another one. A gala, you said?”

“Volt -”

“Eddie,” he chides, affectionately, though a little curt. “I’ve never met another.” It’s a little softer, and he strokes a thumb over the thin fabric on Eddie’s bicep. A little reassurance, albeit hidden.

Yes, that is true, Eddie has to admit. Volt has had to figure out his new place all on his own, with only the scraps of information that Eddie had gleaned from Beverly, or from his travels. It’s no match to what his own kind might be able to enlighten him with, and certainly doesn’t answer all his questions.

The messenger finally speaks again. “Yes, my lord. An annual gala His Majesty throws, for his subjects such as yourself.” He gestures to Eddie with an open palm. “Mr. Watts is -”

“Master,” Volt interrupts, the word short. “Master Watts.”

Eddie tries not to roll his eyes at the title - they were careful, outside of this manor, out of the woods, with how close they stood, how much their gazes lingered, how they explained Eddie’s place in his life. To the town, Eddie was the valet, always at Volt’s side.

In the halls of their home, though, they wore matching gold rings, and didn’t shy away from the servants when they passed the pair arm in arm in the garden. In the privacy of their bedroom, or Volt’s study, they are Eddie and Volt Circia-Watts, vampire and werewolf, man and husband.

But Eddie was never Master Watts to strangers.

He blanches, prepared for whatever the man might do. But he only smiles, and claps his hands together. “Of course, my apologies. His Highness’s invitation also extends to Master Watts. He hopes you will join us for the gala.”

Eddie, admittedly, does not really know that much about vampires. But one thing he does know, is that they hate werewolves.

“Really?” he asks, incredulous.

“Of course! All partners of the moon’s children are welcome to celebrate.”

Volt’s hand tightens around his arm, and Eddie can guess how his eyes must shine. “We would be delighted to attend.” They would? Volt presses on. “Please, spend the day here before travelling back - can we fetch you any food?”

When the messenger has settled in, and they are alone again in their room, Volt rips open the silver envelope, white eyes racing over the script as a grin grows on his face. “Oh, darling, this is going to be something. Week long festivities? Organized hunts? Eddie, it may be such -”

“Fun?” he finishes, shrugging off his clothes. “I still don’t know if I trust it.”

“Eddie -”

“You hardly leave the manor, Volt,” he snaps, maybe a bit too harsh, as he tugs off his shirt. “You don’t think it’s odd this… prince, knows your name? My name?”

Warm, familiar hands are on his back, rubbing small circles before they wrap around his torso, and long fingers card through the hair on his chest. “You’re overthinking it, my darling,” Volt breathes into his neck, and Eddie hums at the feeling. “We’re not invalids, are we? I’m a Viscount, after all. We attend county events. Make the rounds to the tenants. I don’t hide myself.”

He’s right, rationally, Eddie knows. But one of the problems of Eddie’s primality is that reason and logic are not usually residing at the forefront of his brain. Still, something gnaws at him, a worry in his chest.

“What about us?” he asks, quietly, bringing his left hand to cover Volt’s. Twin gold bands, together. “A gala, Volt. So many… people. What if…”

Soft lips press against his shoulder. “He said all are welcome, didn’t he?”

Eddie sighs and allows himself to relax into his husband’s body. Five years together, a drop in the bucket of their promised centuries, and Volt’s touch is always as grounding as the day they met. The tie that binds Eddie to humanity, however fucked up that might be.

“You really wanna go, don’t you?”

“I do,” Volt whispers. “I’d like to learn more about myself.”

Eddie understands - Volt didn’t ask for this, didn’t seek it out. His transformation was a necessity, for Volt’s life, for their life. Neither of them would trade it for a moment. But, it’s true, Volt was doing this a little blind.

And who was Eddie to deny him?

“Alright.” He tries not to smile too wide at the responding kiss pressed to his neck. “We can go.”

—----------

On a good day, Eddie hates wearing clothes. They’re suffocating, restricting, and he feels like they pull at all the coarse hairs on his body. You’ll never catch him wearing shoes on the grounds of the Circia estate.

So the fact that he’s currently wearing a new, custom tailored suit, with more buttons than he can count, is something Volt really, really wants to savor.

“My, my, darling,” Volt hums as he runs a finger over his lapel with a lick of his lips. “I can’t get enough of this ensemble. You certainly look like a Viscount’s husband.”

Eddie scoffs, and Volt rolls his eyes at how he tugs at his sleeves. “And what does a Viscount’s husband even look like?”

“Mm. Like you, I imagine.” He strokes his other hand over Eddie’s thigh, and he grins at the low sound Eddie makes in the back of his throat.

The carriage bumps, and they jostle a bit. Eddie groans - if there’s another thing he detests, it’s small spaces. “Why couldn’t we have just run here? Probably would’ve been faster.”

“Because we have luggage, husband,” Volt says with a roll of his eyes. “Full of nice new clothes for you.”

Eddie could care less about all that. But he likes the look of pride he finds in Volt’s eyes, so he swallows down a growl, just as he sees a glimpse of something through the small window - bright like the sun, a beacon in the dark sky.

Volt sees it too, flicking the small curtain to the side. The home that sits in the distance is far larger than their manor, or any other building in their small village. It’s a palace, white and grand, flanked by dense trees and ornate gates. As they get closer, Eddie notices peacocks roaming through the grounds in the dark.

He clears his throat. “Here we go.”

“Play nice, Eddie,” Volt teases with a smirk.

“No promises.”

Two valets meet them at the door as a footman helps them from the carriage. Everything is white, reflective, almost, and it makes Eddie blink to adjust his eyes.

Volt snakes an arm through his as they watch the luggage get carried off - they’d talked about this, how they might present themselves. Their rings will stay off for this evening, the opening dinner, while they assess the environment for prying eyes - a hand can be dropped faster than gold can be removed. It’s different, being open in any way about themselves outside of their manor, but the small touch steadies them both.

“Ah, Lord Circia, Master Watts!”

They turn at the call, and Volt smiles at a familiar face. “Rasim!”

The messenger from weeks ago bows to them once more. “Prince Amir is overjoyed that you are in attendance this week. He looks forward to meeting you.”

A claw scrapes at the inside of Eddie’s skull - a part of the wolf inside who does not like to share. He knows, intimately, how beautiful Volt is. Even as a human, he took Eddie’s breath away with sun-kissed blonde curls and sky blue eyes. But as a vampire, everything amplified with the transformation, like the moonlight itself found a home in white curls, and icy white eyes. His cheekbones were sharper, his gaze more narrow, and Eddie swears that sometimes, in the dark, he glows.

He doesn’t like that other people can see all that too, though.

“And we look forward to meeting him,” Volt answers with a squeeze to Eddie’s arm. Play nice. “To thank him for his hospitality.”

“Of course. Your luggage will be sent to your room - for now, may I escort you inside? Many guests have already arrived.”

The inside of the palace is no less striking - Eddie thinks he’s never seen architecture similar in his decades of traveling. Servants mill about, carrying bottles and floral arrangements and luggage down the hallways. Rasim leads them to a set of gold doors, which open for them in an instant.

Volt gasps, and Eddie’s eyes widen at the sight before them. At the bottom of the stairs is a ballroom, larger than either of them have ever seen, with intricate detailing and mosaics from corner to corner. A long, golden table is set in the middle of the floor, adorned with bouquets and gold trays at each place setting. Some of the most gorgeous faces that Eddie has ever seen, in some of the most lavish clothing, are laughing, mingling, and sipping at crystal glasses filled with crimson liquid.

Vampires, Eddie knows them to be. The scent of blood is overpowering, the flowers doing very little to disguise it.

Rasim stops in front of the butler at the top of the stairs. “The Viscount Volt Circia, and Master Watts.”

Just as the butler nods, Volt steps forward. “Actually - just ‘lords.’ Volt and Eddison Circia-Watts.”

They both hold their breath, only for a moment, until the butler nods. Eddie’s stomach flips inside out as the man announces, “The Lords Volt and Eddison Circia-Watts.”

No one really watches them as they start down the stairs. No harsh glances are thrown their way at the announcement, no judgement emanates from anyone's bodies. Arm in arm, they are only Volt and Eddie, of Circia Manor, for the first time, outside of their home.

Eddie can feel the anticipation that buzzes through Volt’s body. He’s seen Volt at social events before - the life of a Viscount, you know - but he’s never done more than dance a song or two, smoked a cigar, had a glass of wine, all with the same people he sees every time.

He shines like this, Eddie thinks, his white hair, in this white room, with the prospect of using his charm on a slew of new people - well, not people. Vampires. His own kind.

Eddie knows, better than most, the comradery of a pack. The relief that comes from not having to hide certain parts of yourself, shoulders to lean on, listening ears. Volt has always said that the only thing he needed was Eddie. But he can tell, from how white eyes are sparkling like the walls of the ballroom, that this was something Volt wanted.

“Do you want to… go mingle?” he asks Volt, once they locate the seats marked with their names.

Volt gives him a look with a raised eyebrow. “You mean, do I want to mingle, while you plant yourself to this chair?”

God, he knew him so well. How lucky was he? “I don’t do well in big crowds, Volt,” he says, but the corners of his mouth are curved upward at the soft look on Volt’s face. “Or… any size crowd, really.”

Volt tsks his tongue. “I know, darling.” He presses a quick peck to Eddie’s hand, where a ring usually resides. “I wouldn’t want you to -”

“The Masters Washford and Drysdale Dreher.”

Steel and white eyes whip around to the stairs, where two men, dressed in matching navy and gold, are descending, step by step. Arm in arm. One of them is large, wide, but an elegant ponytail of copper and grey hair cascades down his shoulder. On his right, his companion is a touch shorter, but no less composed. Stone grey hair on his head matches a short beard, and brown eyes are proud, bright, as they take in the room.

And on their hands -

Volt’s grip on his hand is suddenly vice-like, and his voice is strained. “Eddie.”

Eddie squeezes back. “I see them.”

“They’re -”

“I know.” He exhales - it’s shaky, and he doesn’t trust himself to say much more. “I know.”

Gold bands adorn both of the men’s ring fingers, shining like droplets of sunlight that slip through a window pane.

Eddie and Volt watch them, breathless, as they both smile and greet a few guests that approach them. Eddie notices that very few of the vampires offer to shake the larger one’s hand - they accept his nods, his smiles, but seem to try very hard not to touch him - while in contrast, the shorter one receives kisses, handshakes, and bows.

Something cuts through the thick scent of iron in Eddie’s nose - it’s earthy, tinged with tobacco, musky and heady. He sniffs a little more purposefully, trying to find its source, and -

Eddie can feel his eyes flash gold at the realization, and he instinctively takes a step back. “Volt.”

White hair flies as his husband’s gaze is returned to him. “Darling?”

Eddie pulls him closer, as close they can allow, and lowers his voice. “The bigger one.” Volt gives a small nod. “He’s a wolf.”

To his credit, Volt stays still at Eddie’s words - he hardly even startles. His curls conceal them, only a bit, like a curtain, helping to hide Eddie’s lips and voice as best they’re able. “Are you sure?” he whispers, holding Eddie a little tighter.

“Yes.” The scent is stronger now; they must be getting closer. “Absolutely sure.”

Volt pulls back just enough for their eyes to meet, his dark brows furrowed in the middle of his face, though his eyes are wide, curious, and maybe a touch skeptical. “Eddie,” he breathes, “Oh, Eddie.” He clasps at Eddie’s hands and pulls them to his chest. “Come with me to talk to them. Please.”

God, he’s beautiful, Eddie thinks, as he shoves down the wolf that threatens to snarl. My mate my husband my Volt. No part of Eddie’s brain truly welcomes the idea of Volt conversing with another wolf, but when his white eyes looked like this - pure, sparkling, and full of love - who was Eddie to deny him?

“Alright. For you, baby.”

The resulting smile is always worth it.

Volt leads them across the room, perhaps a bit eager in his step. The scent of unfamiliar dirt fills Eddie’s nostrils now - he knows the other wolf must recognize his presence and scent amongst so many that intrinsically lack one. Another step, and his suspicions are confirmed, when blue eyes lock onto his grey ones, flashing amber faster than a blink. Eddie notices, the closer they get, the jagged, pink scar that runs from his forehead, over his eye, to his cheek. Another pair, smaller and lighter, runs across the wide bridge of his nose. They remind Eddie of the marks across his own chest, from a fateful fight so many years ago.

“Pardon me,” he hears Volt say, but Eddie is a bit busy. He’s assessing. He’s determining if, should it be necessary, he could pin this wolf to the ground. Eddie is strong - he was the alpha, after all, for a better part of a decade - but he’s not very big. This man, with his warm hair and broad shoulders, is big. A half a head taller than Eddie, a thick neck, and arms that dwarf those of his companion. It wouldn’t be easy, Eddie decides, but he could do it. If necessary.

Volt speaks again, his voice honeyed. “I apologize, we haven’t had the pleasure.” He holds out a hand to the tall man, and Eddie notices how a ginger brow quirks in surprise. “I’m Viscount Volt Circia-Watts.”

The man takes it, gives it a firm shake. “Washford. Washford Dreher.” The timbre of his voice is a surprise to Eddie - it’s so low, gruff, it’s hardly even human. When he releases Volt’s hand, he gestures it towards the man on his arm. “And this is my husband, Drysdale Dreher.”

Eddie goes completely still, and he swears, he hears all the breath leave Volt’s lungs.

Husband.

He says it so casually, this Washford Dreher. Neither of them shy away from each others’ hands, and their blue and brown eyes are alight with contentment, pride, as the title leaves Washford’s lips.

A wolf and a vampire.

A man and a man.

A husband and a husband.

Volt can hardly contain himself - he had wanted companionship, some insight into his abilities, perhaps someone new to exchange letters with in the decades to come. But this…

“The pleasure’s ours, of course,” the grey-haired man - Drysdale - adds, his voice like a song, and his smile is like Volt’s. His brown eyes look Volt, then Eddie, up and down, and his brows raise expectantly. “And who is this cherub on your arm?”

Eddie lifts his chest, straightens his back. “Eddie. Eddie Circia-Watts.”

Volt’s voice is certain as he adds, “My husband.”

Washford’s blue eyes flash amber once more, and Drysdale’s dark brows lift. Volt’s hold on Eddie’s arm doesn’t waver as they accept the appraisal that comes from the pair. There’s a relief, almost, in their gazes, a softening of the lines around their eyes, as they take in Volt’s long fingers around Eddie’s bicep, Volt’s soft smile, Eddie’s steel stare. A recognition. An understanding.

“And what a fine husband he appears to be,” Drysdale croons, with a smirk that makes his canines flash in the candlelight.

“Indeed.” Washford’s eyes are fixed on Eddie’s as he says, “It appears we might have quite a bit in common.”

Volt swallows the smallest lump in his throat. Finally, finally, someone to talk to. Someone who knew. He and Eddie didn’t conceal themselves at the manor - his own staff was comprised of those who, if they sought their brand of love in the village, would be ostracized, beaten, left behind. Their home was safe for them, in more ways than one, to speak their promises of eternity - husband. Eddie’s husband.

He had loved Eddie even when his heart still beat. Hadn’t thought more than a moment about the price of the solution Eddie offered to him - their life, together, spent only in the moonlight.

A simple trade for his dearest wish: centuries with the man he loved. Thousands of evenings spent with Eddie’s arms wrapped around him in the comfort of their bed. Countless hours by the fire, their hands intertwined. Walks through their gardens, the flowers glowing in the soft moonlight. Soft kisses and small sighs when they pressed themselves together.

It was everything Volt had ever dreamed of, though he knows, as the years pass, it will eventually be only him and Eddie. The staff will be gone, and they’ll likely leave the manor, lest the village begins to wonder why the viscount and his valet have not aged as they should.

But now, standing before them, is proof he and Eddie aren’t alone.

“It certainly appears that way, yes,” Volt says. The certainty in his voice when he announced Eddie has wavered only slightly. “This is our first time attending, and we were,” he glances at Eddie, hardly able to hide his smile, “a touch apprehensive about the reception.”

Drysdale scoffs as he flourishes a hand. “Nonsense. There are no surprises in our circles. It’s nothing like back in Louis’s day.” He laughs to himself, then points a finger at Volt. “You must remember, those parties before the revolution? For all the peasants’ talk of overindulgence, they were just horrifically stuffy, weren’t they?”

Eddie feels Volt stiffen at the question. He doesn’t look over, though - Volt can handle himself. He’s focused still on ocean blue eyes. To look away would be craven. He does, though, hear the surprise in Volt’s voice as he responds, “Ah. Yes. Those were a touch before my time, truthfully.”

That makes the vampire’s chestnut eyes widen, and more of his fangs are revealed as his smile grows. “Is that so? You must have attended some of Napoleon’s soirees, though - I think I remember seeing a strapping specimen with hair like yours once or twice.”

Volt smiles again, though it’s taut, and doesn’t meet his eyes. “Unfortunately, I never had the pleasure.”

Drysdale leans closer, almost imperceptibly, and his eyes flash something - maybe curiosity, maybe disbelief. “May I ask, then, how -”

“My love.” Ocean eyes fall finally away from Eddie - the action sparks something in his mind, a silent celebration, a challenge won - as Washford interjects. “Let’s not be impolite.”

Drysdale sighs, but he looks up at his husband with adoration. “Of course.” He turns back to Volt, his cheeks a touch pink. “My apologies, dear Viscount. We simply must speak more after dinner.”

“Yes,” Washford agrees. His voice reminds Eddie of his pack years, of Dorian’s gravelly barks, of Cam’s growls. But it’s smooth, like water through a stream, and Eddie imagines it has the power to command if the situation required it. “A new kinship such as this requires the same tenderness as the first buds of spring. Perhaps some privacy in the library could allow us to converse openly.”

Both Eddie’s and Volt’s heads tilt at the phrase - it teases at something, in the back of their memory. Though Volt doesn’t miss a beat to answer. “Eddie and I would be honored. Wouldn’t we, darling?”

Eddie removes his tongue from the roof of his mouth. “We would.”

“Excellent!” Drysdale chuckles, clapping his hand over Washford’s on his arm. “Find us after the feast, then, why don’t you?”

Volt is absolutely buzzing, his skin practically humming, when he and Eddie find their seats once more. His hand doesn't leave Eddie’s, their touch saying more than their words ever could. They might leave this palace with friends, Volt thinks. With another pair they could call upon, another wolf for Eddie to hunt with, another vampire who could explain the sensations Volt still couldn’t name within his body.

Another set of souls that stood the test of time.

“I know,” Eddie whispers, because he does. He knows every single glint in Volt’s white eyes, how each muscle moves on his face. He brings up their hands, tanned and pale skin intertwined, and kisses the empty spot on Volt’s ring finger. “I know.”

As servants circle around the large table with new plates and bottles of blood, they finally catch a glimpse of their host, escorted into the ballroom flanked with guards all clad in white.

This Prince Amir is stunning.

It’s as if he reflects all the light in the room, his golden brown skin kissed by the sun - but how that can be true, Eddie isn’t sure. Long raven locks of hair flow across his shoulders, down his back, though it does nothing to hide the shine of metallic rings and assortments on his pointed ears, his neck. He wears no crown, no laurels, but there is no mistake - he is royal.

“My blessed children!” he calls, once he arrives at the head of the table. “All friends new, and old, I welcome you with open arms into my home.” He holds a hand, covered in rings, over his heart. “May our moon shine upon us with her love, as we praise her gentle nature.”

Eddie makes a sound in the back of his throat, causing a pinch to his thigh from Volt’s fingers. He couldn’t help it - in his experience, at least once a month, the moon was anything but gentle to him.

Their dinner arrives - for Volt, three freshly killed doves, presented within a nest. Eddie fights not to roll his eyes - vampires, always very particular about aesthetics. He’s surprised when his own plate is revealed, with a flank of seared beef, and a mess of potatoes.

He’s hesitant, still, to feel welcome in the palace of a vampire. He adjusts in his chair, suddenly aware of the sensation of eyes on him, and he snaps his head to the side.

It’s Washford’s blue eyes and pink scar that he finds, unwavering, resolute, even as he sips his wine.

Maybe, Eddie wonders, it’s not the vampires he needs to be concerned with.

There are toasts made, and dessert served (ducklings for Volt, which makes him grimace a bit and shyly push the plate aside, and something fruity with nuts for Eddie), before Amir claps his hands, the room falling silent.

“I do hope your hunger has been sated, my children,” he says, earning a few chuckles from around the table. “For tonight, at least! Please, settle into your suites, explore the gardens. We have a few willing meals in attendance - should you require them, or anything at all, please find a servant. For now, I bid you farewell until tomorrow’s moonrise.” In a sea of white, he disappears once more as the chatter of the crowd begins to roar again.

Eddie leans over to whisper into white curls. “Thought we were gonna meet him.”

“Patience, darling. Perhaps tomorrow I’ll have a dance with him.”

My mate my husband my Volt. “I get it - leaving me for a prince.”

Volt shoves him slightly, though his eyes are devoted. “Never, sweet husband.”

Eddie feels a shift in the air behind them, like a storm is approaching.

“My lords!” Drysdale’s songlike voice is loud in Eddie’s ear, and he fights not to shake his head. He stands behind Volt’s chair, his hands grasping at the ornate gold trim above Volt’s hair. “Did you enjoy your meals?”

Volt twists around, his brows quirking up as he tries to find Drysdale’s eyes. “Very much so. I wasn’t expecting our host to be gracious enough to offer us all something different.”

“Ah, Amir is the pinnacle of selflessness, you’ll find that soon enough.” Brown eyes flick to Eddie, narrowing only just. “And you, cherub, are you enjoying yourself?”

Eddie can smell the other wolf behind him, and he digs his nails into his thigh. He doesn’t like being pinned, whether it by a chair, or by a gaze. The feeling always threatens to snap at the mental binds he uses to keep the wolf at bay, binds he has spent years hardening and securing.

“As best I can,” he answers, in a low voice, but he turns the corner of his mouth up in an attempt at a smirk.

Drysdale only grins deeper, and his eyes don’t leave Eddie’s. “My husband feels the same, I assure you.” He glances back down at Volt, and Eddie digs harder into his thigh. “Shall we take our leave to the library? Acquaint ourselves over some bordeaux?”

Volt grasps Eddie’s hand - his nails had threatened to tear a hole into his new trousers - as he says, “We’d love to.”

The library the men lead them to is astounding - two stories of shelves as far back at Eddie is able to see, gold ladders scattered throughout, and lush chaises and velvet sofas are set in a circle at the center of the room. While Eddie marvels at the sheer amount of books, he also notices the look on Volt’s face. His husband is captivated, white eyes sparkling. Volt has always loved his books, his poems and prose, and Eddie humors him in the late hours of the night when he reads his favorite passage aloud before they sleep. Eddie couldn’t care less about the words, but Volt’s voice is always a welcome melody.

“Marvelous, isn’t it?” Washford’s booming voice asks as he settles onto a seat and crosses his legs. “Prince Amir’s pride and joy over the last few centuries. A home, a sanctuary of respite, for all the words and verse that can remind us of the glimpses of humanity we used to cherish.”

His words make something click inside Volt’s mind, and his mouth falls open. “Dreher,” he says, almost to himself. “W. Dreher.” He gasps, and brings a hand to his chest. “Author of Solloliquies Beneath the Crescent?”

Eddie whips his gaze around to the wolf - there’s another flash of amber in his eyes, and a small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, nearly hidden by the beard. “I fear we are one in the same.”

Volt’s other hand latches to Eddie’s arm, but his eyes don’t leave Washford’s. “I - sir, your book is my most treasured - it has been for years, I read my favorite passages to Eddie when -” he pauses, takes a deep breath, but his hold on Eddie doesn’t relax. “Forgive me, please. I’m a touch overwhelmed.” He sighs, and Washford’s smile deepens. “This is frankly the last thing I was expecting to encounter this week.”

Drysdale barks out a laugh as he slides beside his husband, draping his booted feet across Washford’s lap. “Don’t worry, darling,” he says, as his fingers grab the ends of Washford’s hair, and he twirls it around his fingers. “It’s been a few years since you’ve been recognized, hasn’t it, husband?”

Washford runs a hand over Drysdale’s calf, and he breathes out a small chuckle. “A decade or so, one might guess. I do appreciate the sentiment, my Lord.”

“Volt, please.” Eddie is being pulled now, towards the chaise across from the couple. “If you’ll permit me just a moment more of vulnerability,” Volt says, a dark brow arched on his head, and fingers still wrapped around Eddie, “I must also say, meeting another pair like Eddie and I was also not an expectation we had set.”

The other men both give small nods. There’s a moment of silence, of recognition, before Drysdale speaks again. “No doubt you’ve surmised that my Washford is a wolf, then?”

Eddie stiffens. To guess, to suspect, is one thing. It’s another to receive confirmation.

“Yes,” he says, trying to relax his jaw. The word must surprise Volt, because white curls brush his shoulder when his head turns. “As am I.”

Washford nods again. “That may be true.” His head tilts, and his blue eyes narrow. “Though I do hope we’re able to fare well as men.” Eddie knows the tone he speaks with - the cadence of an alpha, one that does not invite questioning.

Eddie has never gotten along well with other alphas.

So he’s grateful when Volt answers for him. “As do we.” His usual charm is back in his voice. There’s a beat before he asks, “May I ask, how long have you been… married?”

“Ah!” Drysdale laughs excitedly, leaning forward a bit. “Seventy-eight years, this November.”

Eddie’s heart flips at the words, and he feels Volt’s fingers squeeze his flesh again. Five years with Volt was a miracle for Eddie - he would have taken the two they shared when Volt was human, if it had meant he would have known a love like theirs. Their decades, their centuries, were all he could think about sometimes, in their bed, in the late afternoon, before Volt awoke. When peace painted his face, and his curls fell across the pillows like a halo. He adored him. Would kill for him. Would defy God himself once more to ensure Volt would live. For them.

Seventy-eight years…

“And yourselves?” Washford asks, his blue eyes finally looking to Volt for what may be the first time tonight.

Volt clears his throat. “Five years, in total. Only three of them in… my new form.”

It’s the first time that Washford and Drysdale seem to look surprised - Drysdale pauses the twirling of copper hair, and Washford stops the movements on his fingers across leather boots. Both pairs of eyes widen.

Once again, it’s Drysdale that speaks first. “Three?” His voice is in total disbelief.

Washford uses a few more words. “You were bonded as a human?”

Volt decides to answer the larger man first. “Yes. I took Eddie in, and not long after, I became deathly ill.” Now, Eddie brings his hand to Volt’s and gives it a reassuring grip. Neither of them like to remember the crackling sound of the cough, the blood on the pillowcase, the hollowness of Volt’s cheeks. “Eddie utilized venom from an acquaintance to turn me.”

Two pairs of eyes snap to Eddie, one flashing amber, and one, he swears, flashing red. He straightens his back, lifts his jaw. A small challenge that he wonders if either of them will accept.

Drysdale turns back to Volt, removing his legs so he can lean his torso even closer to them. “You - you weren’t bitten?”

Volt shakes his head. “I wasn’t.”

“But then who -” Drysdale stops midsentence to catch his breath, shift his weight, “Surely, you’ve a vampire mentor, if you don’t have a maker.”

Again, Volt shakes his head. “I’m.. lacking there, as well.” He huffs out the smallest, amused breath. “In fact, you are only the second vampire I’ve ever met. Outside of the Prince’s messenger, Rasim.”

Eddie is sure this time - brown eyes flash red. He only sees that on rare occasions with Volt, either in the woods, or in their bed. Hunger, he knows it to be. Want.

He suddenly wishes they were wearing their rings - an outward symbol of their promise. Holding Volt’s hand was not enough to ebb the wolf in his chest. He’s thought he’s quelled this over the years, this urge to claim, but he’s never had another vampire, another wolf, eyeing Volt with the same interest that Eddie usually does.

“Then you must allow me the honor,” Drysdale says, his voice now hurried. Washford’s hand comes to rest on the small of his back - perhaps something grounding, like Volt’s hand in Eddie’s. “You must have so many questions, you - three years. Oh, darling, you’re still just a pair of baby fangs, aren’t you? Please, use my centuries to your advantage. Let me sate any curiosities you may have.”

Something growls inside Eddie’s mind as Drysdale extends his hands towards Volt, palms up, an invitation. It burns, like a claw in his flesh, when Volt takes them, and claps them hard.

“It would be my honor.” There’s no trace of suspicion or skepticism on Volt’s tongue. His voice is grateful, a little breathless. Like he’s received a gift, one he never knew how to ask for.

“What a joyous happenstance this evening has been,” Washford finally chimes in, as he reaches for the bottle of wine he had brought. “The bliss of serendipity.”

The only bliss that Eddie was concerned with tonight did not involve anyone other than his husband. But he smiles, short and curt, in response. For Volt.

When Drysdale and Volt separate, Washford plants a kiss to his partner’s cheek, eliciting a small giggle. “I’ll find us some glasses,” he says, moving to stand. “We’ve much to learn about each other, and the night is young.”

Hours later, just before the sun rises, the four men part for separate rooms, Eddie presses Volt against the door as it closes, finds the flesh of his neck, and bites.

Because, humanity be damned, even the rings aren’t enough for him. Sometimes the primarily inside him was too loud to ignore. And tonight, it has a singular goal - to ensure that everyone in attendance at the gala tomorrow, especially a certain pair, will understand. Understand that Volt is Eddie’s. Eddie’s mate. Eddie's husband. Eddie’s Volt.

So he pulls his name from Volt’s lips in screams of pleasure, as the sun peaks over the horizon, as many times as he can, as loud as he can, until they’re both spent. They fall asleep in silk sheets, white hair around Eddie’s fist, and pale legs entangled with tanned ones.

____________

If Eddie hated wearing the suit, then he doesn’t have a word to accurately describe the suffocation he’s experiencing in the ensemble Volt has made for the gala.

His hands are hot, his claws itching to come out and free him from this prison of fabric. It has so many buttons, so many layers, that he wouldn’t even know where to start. Tearing it to scraps is the most logical method of removing it, he thinks.

Volt, though, says he’s looking absolutely dashing, and is having a hard time keeping his hands off of him as they spin about the ballroom. So for now, Eddie will tolerate it. For Volt.

They’re matching, slightly, in black and crimson suits trimmed with gold that match their rings. The tailor that created them said Volt’s coat was quite on trend, and offered to make a similar one for Eddie, which he had ardently refused. Having cuffs with buttons on his wrist was enough, another layer would surely be his breaking point.

“You really do look handsome, sweet husband,” Volt purrs in his ear during a waltz. “It brings out the crimson in your hair.”

Eddie’s lips tug into a smirk, the hidden dimple on his cheek coming out to wink. “You just like the color red, husband.”

Volt’s eyes sparkle as he laughs. The sound calms the noise inside Eddie’s mind.

There’s a tap on Eddie’s shoulder when the song ends, and he bristles at the unfamiliar hand. He snarls out of instinct as he whips his head around, but drops it once he sees chestnut eyes, and a dastardly smile.

“May I cut in?” Drysdale asks. He’s dressed in navy again, with amber embroidery along his collar and cuffs. Eddie looks past his shoulder, towards the scent he’s suddenly aware of, and sees Washford, in a blue set of his own, though his suit’s accents are silver.

If Eddie weren’t part wolf, he might find the coordination touching. He still isn’t sure what to make of these men - this vampire, and this wolf - that seem so eager to insert themselves into Volt and Eddie’s lives.

Eddie swallows down an objection; it’s not worth the chiding he’d get from Volt later. He nods, once, and steps back, every spark of his instinct fighting the action.

“I’ll have him back in a tick, cherub, don’t worry.” Drysdale winks when he takes Volt’s hands, just as the music starts back again. “Washford isn’t one for dancing either, perhaps you can keep him company.”

Eddie would rather stick his hand over an open flame, frankly.

But he catches a glance from Volt, whose white eyes send a reminder: play nice.

Fine.

He throws his gaze over to the wolf, knowing blue eyes will meet it. He nods his head towards the doors to the balcony, the night sky and open air might do him good.

A servant with a tray of champagne finds them as they step across the threshold. Eddie declines, but Washford happily takes one, and knocks it back in one quick swallow.

“You’re not one for crowds, are you?” Washford asks, though there’s no curiosity in his low voice. He states in it like a fact, as if Eddie’s answer would be redundant.

“No,” Eddie says. It’s blunt - he doesn’t want to invite more questions.

They come anyway. “How large was your pack?”

Reminiscing. Great.

“Two dozen,” he sighs. Maybe he should have grabbed a drink. “More or less, over the years.”

“And how long were you alpha?”

Steel eyes narrow, and he sets his jaw. His fingers itch again, so he jams his nails into his palm. “How did -”

“Like recognizes like, doesn’t it? It was a decade for me.” Washford tilts his head, his copper hair brushing over his shoulder. He raises a scarred brow and points a thick finger at the mark. “You weren’t under the impression that these came from accidents, were you?”

No. Eddie knows the risks a wolf takes when vying for leadership - he has his own marks, somewhere under these layers of clothes. Some from victory. Others, larger ones, from a defeat.

“Seven years,” he admits. He doesn’t like to remember it. Volt was his family, his pack, now and forever. That’s what mattered.

Washford nods, something darker flashing in his gaze. Perhaps he didn’t like remembering either. “Solitude can follow in lives such as ours,” he nearly whispers; it’s only the resonance of his voice that lets Eddie hear it clearly. “I am relieved that you have found a companion for the ages.”

The words unexpectedly tug at Eddie’s heart - the honesty of them, from someone who understands. He’s not been around another wolf since he arrived at the door of Circia Manor, bleeding and broken. Volt had put him back together, piece by piece, and they used it as the foundation to build their lives on. He was never lonely, not with Volt, not at the manor.

There’s a difference, though, a sort of validity, that comes from a fellow wolf’s experience.

Eddie nods. Words have never been his strong suit. There’s something he wonders, in the back of his mind, something he’s never voiced aloud. “How old are you?”

Washford hums. Eddie wonders if he can guess what he wants to ask. “Somewhere around two hundred and fifty. Yourself?”

Eddie thinks for a moment. “Eighty, I think.” He exhales, trying to ensure he’s going to phrase his next questions correctly. “How can -” no, that’s not right. He shakes his head, and tries again. “We’re not immortal.”

Washford raises his jaw, cocks a brow. “We are not.”

“Right. So. How do you… reconcile, that?” He hates the way the words taste on his tongue. Werewolves live around four hundred years, he’s always been told, though no one is really certain. The oldest he’s seen was three hundred and eighty, and she resembled the grandmothers Eddie saw around their local village. “How do you… face, that they’ll go on living? After us.”

Eddie hates the vulnerability he hears in his voice even more than his clothing. But there’s still an answer that he needs, if only for himself.

Ocean blue eyes soften as they search Eddie’s face. He detests the pity he expects to hear from Washford’s voice, and braces himself for it.

It doesn’t come. Instead, the words are understanding, plain. An answer that perhaps, was once given to Washford as well. “To answer what you’ve left unsaid: they can’t turn us. Our blood will reject the venom.” He sighs, glancing up at the stars. “But, to answer as you have asked: we must live for ourselves, mustn’t we? Must fill our centuries, our finite time, as we deem fulfilling.” He looks back down and finds Eddie’s grey eyes. “You gave your husband life, did you not? The greatest gift you can bestow to him after that, is to live, as long as you’re allowed.”

When Eddie inhales, it’s unsteady, a little shallow. But Washford’s words have confirmed something Eddie decided nearly three years ago, with a syringe in his hand.

For Volt, Eddie would live. He’d catch Volt rabbits and wear stuffy suits and defend their home from whatever forces that sought to separate them. He would live to share all their evenings, their sunsets, their kisses in the study. For as long as he could.

He says nothing, only nods, and he knows the wolf understands.

There’s silence for a moment, save for the string music from the ballroom, before Washford asks, “What is Eddie a moniker of?”

Eddie groans, but fights the urge to roll his eyes. “Eddison.”

“Hm. A fine name.”

He scoffs. “If you think so.”

“There they are!”

Eddie feels relief fold over his body at Volt’s voice. His shoulders relax at the sight of him; Volt’s white curls always glow in the moonlight, even when they’re tied with a black ribbon at the center like tonight. His eyes shine, and Eddie never tires of seeing that smile on beautiful, soft lips.

“My husband,” Volt croons, cupping Eddie’s face in his hands. “I missed you.” Before Eddie can blink, their lips are pressed together, Volt humming in the back of his throat.

“Oh darling, aren’t they adorable.”

Eddie snaps his head at the sound of Drysdale’s voice, Volt’s nose rubbing against his cheek. He and Volt were not a sight for prying eyes - my mate my husband my Volt. Especially not ones that flashed red at the sight of white hair.

“Perhaps we should grant them some privacy, husband mine,” Washford offers with a hand to the small of Drysdale’s back. He gives Eddie a knowing look before kissing a grey-haired temple. “Shall I lead you back to the dance floor?”

Drysdale throws them a wave and a chuckle as Washford pushes him away, and they are alone, beneath infinite stars, and the smallest crescent of a moon.

“Are you playing nice?” Volt teases, with a peck to Eddie’s stubble.

“Hm. Trying.” He leans into familiar hands as he places a hand over Volt’s chest. “Are you having fun?”

Volt chuckles, quiet and contained, just for Eddie. “I am, very much.” Another quick kiss, and a sweet him. “How are you faring?”

Sometimes, if he’s not careful, the wolf will snap, unchecked.

So he can’t help it went it barks, “That man wants to fuck you.”

White eyes widen, and Volt pulls back, dark brows high on his face. There’s a beat, a moment, where he’s perfectly still, before a laugh overtakes him, and his eyes crinkle with delight. “Eddie,” he huffs, his voice dripping with amusement. “I gathered as much.”

It’s free of its binds now, Eddie’s wolf, and it’s clawing at his skin, wanting to overtake him.

Eddie narrows his eyes, and he tightens a first around the fabric of Volt’s vest. “You think that’s funny?”

“Eddie,” he repeats, softer, with fingers stroking his cheeks. “I can take care of myself, can’t I? Yes? All I want from Drysdale is advice. Some understanding about these sensations inside me that I can’t name.” His gaze flick down to Eddie’s lips, then back up to grey eyes. “I never had a pack, did I? Someone to walk me through this. So can you trust me, husband, to learn more about myself?”

He’s right, he’s always right, Eddie thinks. There are things Eddie can never know, can never understand, about what awaits Volt in the centuries to come. And for Volt, he wants to give everything.

Who was Eddie to deny him?

“I do,” he breathes, relinquishing his hold on the vest. “I do trust you.”

“Good.” Another kiss, longer, deeper, shared between them in the moonlight. “I love you, you know.”

Eddie smiles despite himself. “I love you.”

“Then will you dance with me again?”

For all eternity, for all their centuries.

The answer comes as easily as breathing. “Always.”

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