Chapter 3: CHAPTER 3

Fergus stared at the relaxed king and wondered what got over him to spill his guts out.

“Do you know what happened to me?” he broke the silence that filled the air for five minutes. Alaric shuffled in his seat and blew smoke in the air; he didn’t know how to answer the question. While Alaric was healing him, he somehow erased some of his memory – the part of his accident. “You’re safe,” he said, knowing too well that Fergus wasn’t close to being safe. Fergus fell back on the bed and held the duvet above his head.

“And who are you?”

“No one,” Alaric answered. “Seriously, what’s wrong with you? Can you not answer a simple question?” Fergus pushed down the duvet and looked at Alaric with annoyed eyes. Alaric turned to look at Fergus and said nothing.

“You know your attitude annoys me,” Fergus said making Alaric raise his eyebrows. “My attitude?”

“Yes. You act like nothing bothers you and you’re…”

“Do I know you? Do we know each other? And who are you speaking to like that?” Alaric snapped and in seconds, he was pinning Fergus tightly on the bed. His fangs had protruded and his eyes had a reddish hue; his fang nails digging into Fergus’ skin. “You keep on running your mouth, shouting, in my space. Don’t you know how to address people without raising your voice? I don’t enjoy being shouted at. And for your information, I hate you. I hate your kind so watch your mouth when you address me!’

“And what kind am I?” This question threw Alaric off as he watched Fergus’ blue eye glow with a mix of gold and blue whilst his black eye had turned a shade of red. Alaric grew drowsy as they stared into each other.

“Sleep tight,” Fergus’ whispered shoving Alaric’s limp body to his side.

He took his time to study his ambiance. Maroon curtains hung on the wall and golden lamps in the shape of roses stood next to them. There was a leather seat on the left corner of the room and a cupboard made of exotic wood stood on the right side; it had golden knobs. The walls were painted black and a crystal chandelier hung from the center of the room. He tried stepping out but invisible chains held him. “Why haven’t I been able to move?” he asked himself.  He groaned then turned to face Alaric. “This is your fault.” He ruffled Alaric’s hair enjoying the soft feel of the strands.

Fergus had bipolar tendencies due to the drugs his parents always injected him with. He was addicted and the effects of the drugs had made him bipolar. His body grew tired as he continued roughing Alaric’s hair. He yawned loudly; he was tired and hungry. He hadn’t eaten anything and even though he wanted to sleep, he couldn’t.

“Now what will I do?” his stomach rumbled in pain.

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With a groan, Alaric woke up to find Fergus googling at him.

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“You’re awake,” Fergus spoke. He had a look of guilt as he stared at the tired man. “What happened?” the vampire king asked. “You fainted,” Fergus lied, “And I am hungry, that’s why I’m happy you’re awake.”

The king rose and leaned on the bed’s headboard. He sighed and fully turned to look at Fergus – who held a cheeky grin. “Just press the button on the…”

“I can’t move.”

Alaric stood and grumbled under his breath. He hated how rude Fergus was and regretted saving him. The guy was either talking or pissing him off. “By the…”

“Could you like shut up for two seconds?” Alaric was appalled. He walked over to the button on the chest of drawers next to the bed and ordered food through his mind link. “Get some lettuce and red steak.”

“Is that all, your highness?”

“Yes.”

Sadness loomed over Fergus’ face. It’s not like he cared what people told him, but this was different. No one had ever had the confidence to tell him to shut it. And at the moment when he was blabbing out words, he felt like for once in a lifetime, he could be more open and talkative. Most memories were erased from his mind but some were still embedded in his subconscious. These memories flashed in his mind but he didn’t seem to understand most of them.

‘I have lived to hate people, who are they? I never dared to speak up and when I did, trouble was on its way. What’s happening?’ he thought to himself – left in a quagmire. Nothing made sense. Something was fishy – especially the man standing in front of him with a nonchalant look.

“What, why are staring at me like that?” Alaric raised his brow and asked. Fergus had a look of anger on his face.

“Who are you?” Fergus asked in anger, “And what do you want from me?”

His majesty stood there in silence and thought, ‘What do I want anyway?’ Just as he was about to answer, the food arrived. A chef adorned in a black outfit from headwear to shoes, sauntered into the room with a trolley of half-cooked steak, orange juice, and lettuce Fergus’ stomach rumbled instantly while eyeing the delicacies. The chef then walked away leaving the two.

“There’s nothing special about you, just eat up,” Alaric whispered at Fergus – whose attention was on the food – then snapped his fingers, instantly untying Fergus from the invisible chains. He gave Fergus one last glance and left.

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