... of Fear by Raiyana

Chapter 1

“Why do you do it?” Glorfindel asked, coming to a halt behind Erestor, hunched over his desk reading a scroll that looked to be older than him by a few centuries.

“Do what, Captain?” Erestor replied turning his head to look over his shoulder at Glorfindel, his eyes the colour of treacle today, narrowed in annoyance at the interruption though Glorfindel fancied they held a touch of apprehension, too.

“Not that I’m not grateful!” Glorfindel hurried to add. “Only it seems a difficult choice to make.” He gestured half-heartedly at Erestor, ignoring the way those dark eyes locked on his wrist for a moment before skittering away.

“You mean my… hunting,” Erestor replied, giving him a crooked smile as Glorfindel moved around him to perch on the corner of the desk, frowning a little at the insouciant gesture. “But that was no choice at all, Glorfindel.”

Glorfindel’s forehead wrinkled in thought for a moment, confusion bleeding through his features.

“But… Thuringwethil’s kin took the blood of Elves,” he persisted. “I-”

Erestor growled.

“Do not mention that… harpy to me,” he said, fingers curling as his nails dragged across the paper; his longest finger – only slightly longer than the average Elf, but abnormal to his eyes… proof of his curse to those who knew – tore a rend in the old scroll. Erestor hissed, drawing his hand away from the damage.

“But you do not,” Glorfindel continued, “so Elrond says; and I have heard naught to prove him wrong… so, why?”

“They were monstrous and so it follows that I am a monster?” Erestor said, his voice at its most scathing.

Glorfindel flinched, just a little bit, and something in Erestor purred to see it.

Fear.

They shall all fear you, my son; you are the darkness in the night, their deepest fear. You are the Shadow’s get.

Erestor shook his head, banishing that voice to the furthest recesses of memory where she belonged.

“No,” Glorfindel tried, but they both knew he wasn’t convincing, “I’m just… trying to understand.”

“What do you wish to understand?” Erestor asked. “How my mouth feels dry and my hunger burns me, how I know where your pulse beats beneath your thin skin – yes, I can hear it, thump thump thump, quick as a deer on the run in your chest – and the smell of it is delicious enough to make me want to drain you without a second’s thought?” He smiled, and it was not kind, a smile of fangs and dark hunger. “Or do you wish to understand what it feels like to pounce, tearing into soft warm flesh and having that first salt-metal taste flood my tongue?”

“…” Glorfindel stared at him, breath noticeably quicker, heart pounding faster in his chest as Erestor stared into his blue eyes.

Fear.

“Or do you want to hear of the guilt that follows such slaughter as you deem me capable of?” he asked, softer now, more deadly. “I have feasted upon kindred, it’s true, though none were dead by my own hand,” he was still proud of that, flimsy as the shield was, “is that what you want to hear?” Tilting his head, he studied the golden Captain of the Guard, a statue of sunlight and brightness to contrast all that Erestor had become.

And his stomach soured.

Pushing away from the desk, Erestor stood, his chair falling to the floor behind him with a loud clatter they both ignored.

Glorfindel’s eyes were still locked on his face, and Erestor wanted to walk away, he did, but he found himself drawn close by the swiftly beating heart of the golden elf.

Leaning in, his dragged his nose up along the Captain’s neck, breathing deeply.

“You’re very delicious,” he murmured, temptation making his heart sing with the desire to let his fangs pierce that pale skin and drink deep. “But I have found that a life in which I can look myself in the eye is vastly preferable to anything your blood would offer.”

He didn’t breathe again until he had reached the woods, shedding his fine robe and hanging the garment over a convenient branch as he scented the air.

Mountain lion… how appropriate

The hunt was on.