Chapter Text
Every night since he’d been bitten, Cassian dreamt of gnashing teeth.
He dreamt of one set of teeth in particular.
It was always his teeth. Strahd’s teeth. Strahd’s clawed hands lifting him up, wrenching Cassian’s hair to yank his head to the side. Strahd’s jaws opening like the mouth of a serpent.
It was the paralysis he’d felt as Strahd gripped Cassian and bit into him harshly. It was the way he had twitched, helpless and limp, as Strahd gulped down mouthful after hungry mouthful of fresh hot blood.
The helplessness haunted him. It was the way Strahd had seemed to hypnotize him, to petrify his body frozen so he couldn’t resist. The way Strahd did it again and again in Cassian’s dreams. Cassian would die, and the dream would restart. Strahd would be biting him again.
Why hadn’t he drained him completely?
In his dreams, he always did. Strahd always drained him dry, or he must have, for Cassian could never remember the ending. He’d always just wake up with a jolt of panic, soaked in his own sweat.
This went on for a few days, as the bitemark began to close over. The relentless nightmares kept him from any meaningful rest.
On the nth loop, the dream started to twist itself. It was Strahd binding him so he definitely couldn’t fight back. Then, Strahd poisoning his mind to make Cassian bare his neck and beg for Strahd to bite him. Cassian didn’t want it, he was terrified, but whatever Strahd had done to his mind was so convincing he begged it and meant it and it made him want to keel over and retch onto the floor.
Cassian had gone this long without being bitten by a vampire, at least, until a couple of days ago. Lasted a whole twenty five years. Many of those years spent hunting these things and not a single bite, though he couldn’t say he didn’t get scraped up. Hazard of the job.
Of course it would be Strahd to break his lucky streak—self proclaimed all-powerful god being of this realm or whatever he said he was. He was an asshole, a dictator, a smug piece of shit bastard, Cassian thought.
But now Cassian knew just what it felt like to be bitten into like a piece of meat. To have his life force sucked out with gusto, with vigor. He got to relive it over and over in his dreams until he panicked himself awake.
◆─◇─◆
Cassian didn't know what time it was when his eyes snapped open. His heart still pounded in his chest. The inside of the old church was still dark. He peered over the shadowed outlines of cots and makeshift camp supplies. The other travelers were obscure sleeping lumps in the darkness.
Cassian’s vision was still thick with sleep when he spotted a blurred figure across the room.
A moment passed, his eyes focused, and then his blood fucking froze.
It was him.
Strahd sat across from him on one of the refurbished church pews. He smiled wickedly, showing his fangs. Around him, the other travelers of Cassian’s party slept soundly, completely oblivious to his presence.
Without thinking, Cassian scrambled back on his cot, trying to huddle himself in and press his back into the wall, as if making himself smaller would make him disappear. As if pressing his back into the bricks hard enough would let him sink right through them.
This had to be another dream.
"Go ahead and call out for help, if you like," Strahd said very softly, like a bat's wings on the night. Strahd knew full well Cassian's throat was still too damaged from the bite to make enough noise to wake anyone up. He just wanted to see Cassian squirm.
Cassian could feel his chest shaking now. Full body tremors. This couldn’t be happening. His throat clenched up painfully. Strahd was right. He’d had so little time to recover since Strahd had bitten his neck so hard it’d nearly killed him. There was no way he’d be able to scream.
“You’re— you're not— real,” Cassian hissed desperately, eyes wide, his voice still hoarse and strained. It hurt, but he was lucky he could make any sound at all, considering the gaping holes in his neck had just barely begun to heal.
"I'm not?" Strahd said, with feigned surprise. He stood up and glided silently, his feet hovering an inch off the dusty cobblestone.
Cassian was petrified with fear as Strahd floated towards him like an ominous specter. He could feel his breath quickening, until it took on a panicked, stuttering shape.
“No—!” he tried to cry out, but his words were stifled once again by his shredded throat.
“Dont—!” It was hoarse and painful. Hardly above a whisper. Pathetic.
Strahd reached out one hand, blackened claws still stained with what could still be Cassian's dried blood, and gently stroked Cassian's cheek. Amusement danced in his eyes.
Oh god, the vampire was touching his face— but gently? Like he was some small, fragile animal.
Cassian finally managed to react and tried to duck away from the vampire’s hand.
“Don’t fucking touch me!” Cassian hissed. He’d wanted to sound intimidating, wanted to sound firm and stern and unshaken. Instead, it was another frantic, hoarse whisper.
Strahd let out a low, smoky laugh.
"You seem to be a bit confused, still, about who is giving whom commands here." Strahd took Cassian's chin between two fingers and forced the human's gaze into his face, to make eye contact.
"Look at me, now."
Cassian didn't have a choice. His limbs felt like they were encased in ice— frozen and heavy and unmovable. Yet the vampire lord seemed to maneuver him with alarming ease, gently tilting his chin up as though it weighed no more than a feather, as though his whole body wasn’t full of thick, viscous liquid-lead.
Cassian trembled as he gazed up into the vampire's face. He was fucking terrifying. All teeth— all teeth that Cassian had seen–had felt– in action.
“Wh-what do you want?“ Cassian cursed the burning in his throat and the way his voice shook, that terrified whisper he was forced to retain. No way to call for help. No way to alert the others.
Maybe if he could throw something? If he could lug something far enough as to hit one of the sleeping figures— but any brilliant planning abilities were now buried deep deep beneath the surface of his mind, sunken beneath hundreds of pounds of water pressure.
Strahd's eyes flared with the full force of his hypnotizing power, locking Cassian in his psychic grip. Easy.
All of a sudden, as quickly as that piercing ice had overtaken him, Cassian was struck with something warm.
Warm and hazy and urgent, the feeling pulled at his mind and twisted the corners of his vision like a sultry, persuasive vignette, until it was overflowing his every sense like a shot of heroin and had narrowed the whole world down to Him.
To Lord Strahd.
And he was terrifying and magnificent.
Strahd put one hand to his lips. "Shh. Quiet now. Let's move outside so we don't wake your friends."
Strahd’s voice warped in Cassian’s ears, as though he were speaking right through his very skull. As if Strahd had just said the most incredible, desirable thing in the world, and just hearing it made Cassian’s stomach lurch and his heart race to obey. It was beautiful and nauseating.
This was worse than the dreams, some deep part of Cassian knew.
But that part certainly wasn’t at the wheel right now. His eyes only saw Strahd. He fell silent. Nothing pleased Cassian more at that very moment than to fall silent. Because Strahd had ordered it so.
Strahd released Cassian’s face and motioned for him to follow, gliding silently out the door and into the cool night air.
Cassian followed Strahd like an equally haunted specter, eyes hazy and reverent the whole time, as he followed obediently, silently behind him.
Strahd led Cassian out into the darkness of the night, where his fiendish nightmare waited outside the church, its mane and tail blazing with fire that dimly lit its surroundings and cast jumping shadows all around. It pawed at the ground and let out a soft nicker as Strahd drew close.
"Good girl," he said, petting its nose. Strahd put one boot in a stirrup and swung up into the saddle.
All of a sudden, five vampire spawn crawled out of the shadows, almost invisible except for their glowing red eyes. They stalked towards Cassian with hungry looks.
This next part wasn't strictly necessary, but Strahd thought it would be amusing to make Cassian choose between being menaced by spawn or willingly getting up into the saddle with him. Strahd controlled them all, of course, every vampire in Barovia was under his spell. He just wanted to see what Cassian would do.
The spawn crouched nearby, letting out soft, unnerving hisses and slowly drawing nearer to Cassian with no expression on their dead, emotionless faces.
Strahd released his charm on Cassian.
As quickly as it came, the spell lifted, and Cassian was struck with horror as he took in his situation.
"We're going to Castle Ravenloft," Strahd said matter-of-factly. "There is enough room in this saddle for you to ride with me, if you wish."
Cassian staggered back, but the growling creatures behind him sent him whirling the other direction. He looked back and forth. He screamed for help, but once again no sound came out. Just an awful shredding feeling in the back of his throat. He was fucked.
Strahd’s terms were clear. Get terrorized by these feral vampires or get on that freaky horse with him.
To Castle Ravenloft.
He’d been there once before. Had seen what he was sure was only a tiny fraction of the bloodthirst and cruelty that took place in that awful castle. He could only imagine what went on behind closed doors. He preferred not to at all.
Cassian found himself backing away from the approaching prowling things anyway. Towards Strahd and that fucking demon horse.
“Please don’t take me,” he whispered desperately, as he was forced to draw closer to the vampire lord and his hellbeast. The spawn circled him. Cassian drew his silver blade, pointing it this way and that, trying to hold it up to keep the vampire spawn from getting at him as they prowled and snapped.
"This is not a negotiation," came Strahd’s voice from above.
Strahd held a hand down, extended for Cassian to take to climb up. Behind him, ominous green light danced in the air as the midnight ghost parade from the church graveyard began. Dozens of figures started spawning from the ground and shambling mindlessly towards the castle. The ones Strahd had bragged about when they’d first met, ghosts of the ones who’d opposed him and whose lives he’d snuffed out.
"I have half a mind to send you all to join them tonight, but luckily for you, you're all much more interesting alive. For now. Maybe I'll take you all one by one. That dusk elf woman would be next for sure. But I'm getting ahead of myself. It's your turn."
No— fuck that. There was no way Cassian would just get on that horse after that little power trip of a speech and give Strahd his way.
Did Strahd think Cassian was an actual idiot? Did he think Cassian was just gonna get on that horse like some kind of obedient dog and blindly follow him to god knows what painful end? Cassian had cut down hundreds of vampires in his time as a hunter, what was a couple more feral things, right? He swung his blade, trying his best to behead the first one, still weakened by the bite injury and trying not to wince at the way his sore tendons pulled at his shoulder and collarbone.
Cassian slashed through one, then two, hoping to make quick work of these creatures and hurry back into the party’s camp at the old church. He didn’t know what he had done to earn Strahd’s attention, but he assumed it probably had something to do with being more than a little drunk and possibly quite rude at Strahd’s little ‘dinner party.’
Oh, and probably for stabbing him through the fucking throat with a silver dagger. Which was what had gotten him bitten in the first place. Okay. Cassian could admit, maybe he hadn't been so smart about his interactions with the man who was supposedly the most powerful being in the entire land.
For his best effort, Cassian got his ass kicked handily. There were too many of them–more and more vampire spawn kept crawling out of the bushes and out of the trees like they were generating on the spot.
Strahd watched with amusement as his spawn thrashed Cassian--the human got a few decent hits in, but the vampires in Barovia were far more powerful than the ones Cassian was used to slaying back in his homeland.
Cassian bared his teeth as the vampires circled in on him, it was too much, he was too weak from the bite and having his fucking life force drained. He didn’t last long standing.
Eventually, one of them knocked the knife out of his hand and the rest descended on him to nip at him with their teeth and claws. With his only weapon gone, he knew he was truly fucked.
Cassian was tackled to the ground. He kicked and thrashed as the hoard of vampire spawn pounced on him, but his weak protests were no match for their gnashing teeth. Like a swarm of piranha, they tore at his flesh and left him bloody and scraped, teeth marks and jagged claws leaving streaks of blood across his face, arms, chest and already-injured neck. He tried to scream for the others, one last ditch effort. Curse his fucked out voice. Curse the monster that had reduced him to this.
The hoard of spawn were obviously not going all out--possibly at the command of their master, to avoid killing him. They withdrew when Cassian was left battered and bruised on the ground.
Strahd got down from his nightmare and walked over to Cassian, taking proud, smug strides until Strahd’s boots filled his vision. From the ground, Cassian gave a weak cough, groaning in pain.
Truth be told, that was exactly what Strahd had wanted to see. So many people would have just been cowed and gotten on the horse--which was boring. Strahd liked targets that needed to be broken, like wild horses to tame.
Strahd grabbed Cassian by the arm, lifted him to his feet, and dragged him over towards the horse.
Oh god Cassian was so fucked. He was being dragged so easily, like he was a limp rag doll.
“Let me go!” He tried to cry out. Hoarse whispers came instead.
He tried to push away from Strahd but found his arms had hardly any strength in them anymore, having used the last bits of his energy and adrenaline to fight the hoard of spawn and fail so miserably. It was humiliating.
Fuckfuckfuck— Cassian was being hauled up to that fiery horse— was being thrown into the back of it like he was mere luggage.
Cassian screamed for help. Screamed his already injured throat raw, until it burned like fire and then some, as though it’d been stripped bare and whipped by his own hoarse screams.
And to no end. Nobody heard him. Nobody would be coming.
Strahd hefted Cassian up into the saddle, then got on behind him, sandwiching the human between Strahd's chest and the horse's fiery mane. It radiated heat, but did not burn him.
"Let's be off, then," Strahd said with a wicked grin.
The nightmare galloped off into the misty night, its fiery mane casting distorted shadows on all it passed.
Chapter 2: The Hunt
Summary:
Cassian participates in the Most Dangerous Game.
Chapter Text
The nightmare trotted along the Old Svalich Road, following the procession of ghosts towards the dark castle that loomed in the distance. Strahd's arms snaked around either side of Cassian to steer with the reins, giving Cassian another up close view of his talons, bejeweled in an array of exquisite rings, some of which were still smudged with dried blood.
The journey was a slurry of deep misty blues and glowing greens. Strahd took the time to lovingly describe how some of the ghosts had met their end as the horse passed them by.
"You see that fellow missing his head? I tore it off in one fell swoop, then tossed it off the cliff into the village below. Some peasant got a nasty surprise that morning, I'm sure. Oh, that woman with the arrows sticking out of her body, I had Rahadin string her up and use her for target practice. I don't even remember what she did at this point.”
Ah yes, Rahadin. The elf who had greeted Cassian and his party of travelers that night they’d visited Castle Ravenloft. The night he’d first met Strahd.
Rather, to say that Rahadin had greeted them was too generous. Rahadin had met them at the door with a bored unamused demeanor. The dusk elf had an aura like a thousand dying souls–literally. The sound of tortured shrieking had filled Cassian’s ears when he’d drunkenly leaned in too close that night to admire Rahadin’s fine fur overcloak.
Cassian had hoped not to see more of Rahadin. He’d seen enough, in his opinion.
Strahd continued, bringing Cassian’s train of thought back to the ghostly procession before him.
“Oh, and I'd almost forgotten about that gnome with the ax! I must have killed him two hundred years ago at this point. His face was at just the right height for the wolves to tear off."
On and on and on, about how he'd mangled, mauled, maligned, and murdered each of the individuals whose restless souls unthinkingly stumbled down the road, fruitlessly hoping to continue their unfinished business.
Cassian felt trapped like a terrified bug, tangled in the web between Strahd and his horse’s flaming mane—no choice but to feel the vampire lord’s hulking body around his own. Strahd’s large clawed hands gripped the reins and reminded Cassian of just how easily they could rip through his flesh. How easily that hand had gripped him and pressed his head to the side and forcibly exposed his throat and fucking bitten it to shit—- Cassian was slightly hyperventilating now. He couldn’t get out of this—he was so so fucked.
He could jump off the moving horse.
What, and break his ankles while he was at it?
End up writhing there on the floor with agony while Strahd finished him off?
No. The only way to survive this would have to be to play along for now. Cassian was terrible at playing along—a heart on his sleeve sort of man whether he wanted to be or not. Right now, beaten down and bruised and weakened and exhausted, his face was transparent as a pane of glass, revealing everything that went on inside.
He clung weakly to the saddle, thinking of the broken bones that awaited him if he were to fall.
The ghosts haunted his future. Was this Strahd's way of telling him what he would become?
Then why hadn’t he just done it already? Why not finish the job?
Cassian would ask, but he didn’t exactly have a death wish and certainly didn’t want this piece of shit vampire lord to be the one to reintroduce him to his maker.
So he clung there, the whole time. He wanted to ask Strahd why he was still alive. Why he hadn’t just killed him. He didn’t ask that. Instead, when Strahd was in between stories about various ghosts he'd murdered, he asked something else.
“Why are you taking me?” Another desperate whisper.
Strahd caught the panicked desperation in his voice and relished it. He could hear the human's heart thud-thud-thuding rapidly, like a scared butterfly bashing itself against a cage. He'd finally cracked the point at which Cassian could be reduced to a scared mess.
Excellent.
"I told you I was in the market for a new consort," Strahd purred in his ear. "How do you think I get them? By taking applications? No, I take whoever catches my interest and see if they're worthy of it. You're such a beautiful, proud creature. I want to see what it takes to tame you. I'm a conqueror, Cassian. I saw Barovia, a beautiful, noble land and claimed it as my own. I saw Escher, a beautiful, fierce man, and claimed him as my own. Just as your heart yearns to run free and wild, my heart aches to dominate the most untouchable corners of the sky."
Strahd's hand stokes down the side of Cassian's face.
"It's the only thing that makes me feel alive again."
The remaining blood rapidly drained from Cassian’s face as Strahd spoke. Consort—
”No-” He couldn’t do to Cassian what he had done to that blond vampire, Escher— Cassian had only seen a brief moment between Escher and Strahd, and it had made his stomach crawl. Strahd had wasted no time parading his consort out on the night of the aforementioned dinner party. Cassian’s traveling group was only there to negotiate for the freedom of Doru, another one of Strahd’s forsaken spawn. The party Cassian found himself seemed to like to collect downtrodden vampire spawn like trophies. When Strahd had brought Escher out as ‘entertainment,’ Cassian figured out very quickly, with a dawning horror, what Escher’s place was in the castle. Strahd had grabbed Escher’s face and kissed him roughly in front of everyone. Manhandled him like he was a doll, a plaything. Cassian knew that was just the tip of the iceberg. Strahd was just showing off.
Though he remembered barely feeling bad for Escher at the time, vampire that he was, the whole display just grossed Cassian out nonetheless.
Escher didn’t live at the castle anymore though. The party, bleeding hearts as the rest of them were, had somehow managed to negotiate for Escher’s relative freedom as well. Escher was back at the camp at the old church, along with Doru, the first vampire they’d gone to negotiate for.
It hadn’t sat right with Cassian. Strahd had just… let Escher go. Just like that. The whole thing had seemed way too easy.
But he supposed it made sense now, if Strahd was looking for a replacement.
But Cassian imagining himself in that position? His hands were shaking horribly now at the thought of it. He tried twisting around in the saddle, pushing against Strahd’s chest.
“No- no you can’t! I swear fuck, fuck— Just take me back—take me back—“ he said furiously, halfway between a desperate plead and an urgent demand.
Strahd chuckled, pulling the reins of the horse up with one hand to stop, using the other to hold Cassian by under the elbow as he squirmed and writhed. They were far enough away at this point that Strahd was sure Cassian wouldn't be able to stumble all the way back to the village on his own, the lights of the town were distant in the valley below them by now.
"Go on, then." Strahd pulled Cassian off and dropped him to the ground.
"Run, then, if you want to go back so badly."
Cassian could hardly believe it. He was really just gonna let him go? Surely this was a trick. He'd start running and then get trampled by that hell beast.
But he didn’t have a choice. His choice was to either run for his life or willingly ride up to certain doom with Strahd like some kind of fucking accessory. That would prove Strahd right. That Strahd really could just take him.
No. No way he'd give Strahd the satisfaction. Cassian took off towards the distant lights of the village, trying to run quickly despite his aching everything.
He willed his feet to move faster, faster, until his chest hurt he was breathing so hard.
He was getting dizzy. The distant lights were starting to waver and haze into one another.
He grit his teeth and growled, desperately trying to break for it, to at least make it through the trees so Strahd couldn't spot him anymore.
Then he tripped on a root in the path and landed flat on his face. He had enough warning to turn his head to avoid smashing his nose directly on a rock, but that meant the temple of his head bore the brunt of the force instead. He groaned in pain, clutching his head in the dirt.
Strahd sat smiling on his horse and watched as Cassian ran, ran, ran. An admirable attempt, from such a limited creature.
A few moments after Cassian ate shit, lying there in the dirt, he heard the thunderous beat of hooves flying rapidly towards him. Fast enough to trample and kill him. And it wasn't slowing down.
Before Cassian could react, the nightmare burst through the trees, whinnying menacingly. The flickering fire of its mane illuminated Strahd's torso--his body was twisted to the side and his arms stretched to pull back a longbow, aimed directly at Cassian, like a hunter pursuing their prey. It wasn't an arrow knocked, though--it was a barbed bolt curved like a grappling hook.
The bolt whizzed through the air and sunk directly into Cassian's leg, between the tibia and fibula, and the head opened up to wedge itself firmly between the two bones to make itself impossible to remove. A terrible hoarse scream ripped from his throat.
He’d take a hundred bumps on the head. He'd take anything rather than this, fuck, Cassian might even take being bitten again over this. It was so painful and invasive—wedged in between his fucking bones. He didn’t even have time to fully process the horror of it, as the horse charged right at him—if the harpoon hadn’t killed him the beast surely would.
Just as it looked like Strahd's nightmare was about to trample Cassian with its heavy hooves, it leapt gracefully over him and landed on the other side, continuing its all-out sprint.
This was the point at which Cassian realized the crossbow bolt in his leg was attached to the horse with a rope. The slack rapidly whipped away from him and then the rope went taut, ripping his leg from its socket and yanking him in the direction Strahd had disappeared and dragging him to follow.
Cassian felt his joint crack and cried out again, wailing in pain, sure his awful cries could be heard through the dark night if it weren’t for his shredded vocal cords. Instead, his cries of agony filled only his own ears, rushing through him with the pounding heartbeat that shook his body with tremors.
He wailed hoarsely the whole time. The horse dragged his limp body over rocks, through thorned bushes and through mud and through brambles. He was knocked off of trees and boulders, whipped around like a toy race car. Like a hollow tin can tied to the carriage of a newlywed couple.
Cassian's merciful reprieve didn't come until the walls of Castle Ravenloft loomed high overhead. Cassian was completely limp now, sobbing in pain by the time the castle’s mighty edifice shadowed them from the moon’s beam. The nightmare slowed to a trot, then a walk. The gates opened, and Cassian was dragged through the gravel pathway inside.
The rough gravel tore his shirt up, causing it to ride up and scraping his raw back along the sharp rocks. That was the least of his worries though—he felt like his leg was being amputated—slowly sawn off or ripped from the rest of his body in the most agonizing way imaginable. It was pure hell. He wished he’d just ridden the horse with Strahd. He wished it so so vehemently.
Silence in the night air, except for the heavy snorting of Strahd's horse. The vampire lord’s boots crunched in the dirt as he dropped down and walked over, then squatted, tilting his head to match Cassian's disoriented eyeline.
Cassian was a mess. Covered in bruises and blood and tears, he cowered at Strahd’s feet, shaking and leg no doubt broken. Cassian was surprised it was even still attached.
"Still alive, are we?"
“Please— why— why are you doing this—?” He pleaded, the hurt clear in his voice. The anger still tormented inside him, but at this point Cassian was feeling more miserable and desperate than he was enraged. There were tears of agony in his eyes, they flowed freely now, alit like crystals in the moonlight when he gazed up into Strahd’s shadowed visage.
Strahd's response was to laugh at him.
"Because I wouldn't want you if you can't even survive the trip home. Good work, you passed the first test!"
Cassian wanted to fucking sob into the dirt. A test? This wasn’t his grand plan. This wasn’t even a piece of it. It was just a test. The first of what sounded like many. Cassian didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t scramble away, every cell in his body hurt like hell, he was so beaten up he could barely move at all. He could only let out an agonized groan.
Strahd stood and snapped his fingers at someone out of view.
"Rahadin, make sure he doesn't die and get him cleaned up, will you?"
He turned on his heel and walked away, cape flowing behind him.
Chapter Text
Cassian heard a crunch in the gravel as someone else knelt down next to him. When he managed to turn his head to look, he saw a tall, dark-haired dusk elf—Rahadin.
Rahadin, the man with the nice fur cloak. Rahadin, with the aura of a thousand screams. Cassian trusted Rahadin about as far as he could throw him right now, but if there was any chance to lessen his pain, he would take it in a heartbeat.
The elf held up a potion of healing, which he uncorked and lifted to Cassian's lips.
"Here. Drink this." Rahadin sounded as unamused as ever.
Cassian didn’t hesitate to drink the potion like his life depended on it. He threw his head back and drained the container, some dribbling down the corner of his mouth and chin. He let the small bottle fall, coughing and collapsing onto the ground again once he was done.
Rahadin's aura of screams buzzed faintly in the back of Cassian's mind. A chorus of people trying to scream very loud—they turned whisper-quiet with enough distance, but within such close proximity now, they pierced his eardrums in a swirling clamor.
Oh God, oh my God—
No no no no!
Help, please help, someone help me!
I don't want to die, no no no!
Please stop—
Morninglord, help me!
Cassian winced as the screams twisted together in his head. He'd felt this before, briefly, and it’d been enough to make him instantly jump away from Rahadin. This time he wasn’t so lucky, bloody and limp on the ground as he was. Cassian could only screw his eyes shut and shake his head back and forth—silently pleading with Rahadin to make it stop. He might not even be controlling it, for all Cassian knew.
Rahadin's completely emotionless gaze turned towards the bolt in Cassian's leg. He grasped the shaft in one hand and put his other on the leg.
Cassian’s chest lurched with panic—Rahadin was touching it—oh god—
"I'm going to pull this out. Brace yourself. There will be another potion after."
“No—!“ Cassian begged furiously. The pain made his head spin like a top. He was going to be sick.
“No please— please don't touch it please please dont—“ Cassian’s begging devolved into unintelligibility at that point. He hardly heard Rahadin mention the second potion, too filled with panic at the notion of anything even touching the harpoon that was so thoroughly wedged into his leg.
He cried for someone, anyone to help—for his party who could not hear him, for mercy from Rahadin, a man who seemed unable to feel anything at all. He wailed desperately and grieved any function of his destroyed leg.
Cassian lay soaking in horror as he heard his own screams blend with Rahadin’s ghostly chorus.
Mercy, please, mercy—
No no no no!
Help, someone help me!
Stop! No!
You're going to kill me!
Oh Gods, oh my Gods—
No please— please dont touch it please please dont—
Rahadin completely ignored Cassian's begging. With a firm grip, he maneuvered the harpoon at an angle where it could be removed, then tore it out in one fluid, forceful motion.
Cassian’s throat gave out completely. He lay limp on the gravel, twitching and spasming, cursing whatever he did to get Strahd’s attention—cursing himself for any part he'd played in this—crying desperately for the torment to end.
A second potion of healing was uncorked, this one was poured directly onto the wound. The bleeding stopped and slowly the tissue and bones started to grow back together.
Cassian inhaled sharply like he was getting his first breath of oxygen in minutes, a small but priceless hit of relief soaked over him. It still hurt like hell. He still didn’t want to move. But he was catching his breath, unaware he’d been holding it throughout the ordeal, save for his panicked hyperventilation.
Whatever Cassian had said, Rahadin seemed not to notice or care. He leaned his shoulder into Cassian's chest, then hefted him up into a fireman's carry and started walking towards the dark castle.
“Please—“ Cassian rasped as Rahadin hoisted him up like a ragdoll, unsure what he was even begging for. He almost wanted to thank Rahadin. For the potions, nothing more. But he could only find the strength in him for the one single word.
Cassian didn’t know what would become of him now, as he was carried off towards the dark castle. The adrenaline spikes were fading fast and all he felt now was pain and exhaustion. At some point, the tension in his limbs faded, and he went slack. He hung limply over Rahadin’s shoulder, and didn't even notice as the world slipped and faded into darkness.
Chapter 4: Castle Ravenloft
Summary:
Have a piece of bread and maybe you'll calm down.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Cassian felt like he was dreaming again. What had just been his most painful nightmare yet was starting to feel more and more like a sweat-soaked fever dream. Inescapable and endless, the dream played on, conjuring richly decorated yet dilapidated corridors. Exquisite paintings and busts layered with dust passed Cassian’s bleary eyes as he was carried through the halls of Castle Ravenloft.
The dark stone walls looked familiar in a way Cassian didn't like. He didn’t expect to be back here so soon, even less so on terms that were not his own. But his head lolled and he hung limply from Rahadin’s shoulder as he was carried to a large high-ceilinged room with a fireplace.
Rahadin ended up carrying Cassian to the exact place he'd been in when he’d visited the castle the first time—the dining hall. A warm, cozy fire glowed from the hearth, giving the room an unexpected comfort that seeped into Cassian’s bones after the crisp chill outside.
Rahadin set Cassian in one of the armchairs, then knelt down and started wrapping bandages around Cassian's now-slightly-less-destroyed leg.
Yes, definitely a fever dream. Rahadin was speaking matter of factly now, it was almost gentle, when compared to his usual icy, bored drawl.
"Dinner will be ready soon. Do you think you can eat?” Rahadin asked.
The smell of something delicious wafted out from a kitchen nearby—a far cry from old Father Donavich's well meaning but ultimately very lacking, sad soup.
“If not, I'll take you to get washed and new clothes first. If so, we'll dine right here."
Okay, Rahadin still sounded bored. But he wasn’t hissing threats into Cassian’s ear—he wasn’t glowering at him as though his eyes could pierce Cassian’s skin like sharp silvery daggers.
In fact, they didn’t seem that piercing at all right now, from Cassian’s blurred perspective, half laying on the furniture he’d been deposited on. He gazed up at Rahadin, puzzled. Bandages and a meal were the last things Cassian had expected after the evening’s events. It all sounded too good to be true.
Cassian thought of making a break for it. He glanced back at the entrance way—but no. His leg was still too fucked up. The potions had closed the wound just barely, but there was no telling whether it could support any weight so soon.
He thought of the alternative.
Washed? New clothes? Cassian was honestly incredulous. The fraction of his mind that could still reason was certain he was here to meet an awful brutal end. In the castle of a monster, it was easy to assume he’d be taken to the kitchens and roasted alive for dinner, certainly not to be fed dinner.
His brow furrowed in suspicion, but he couldn’t deny that whatever smell was wafting in from the nearby kitchen was making him dizzy with hunger. After what must have been weeks of living off of Father Donavich’s meager bone broth, Cassian would be grateful for a real actual meal.
And maybe another one or two of those healing potions.
Shit, he'd take five in his state.
Rahadin sighed. "By the look on your face, I'll take that as an answer for dinner."
︶꒦꒷✧꒷꒦︶
Rahadin left and came back a moment later with a small cart, upon which was a platter of food—a succulent-looking roast, full and hearty vegetables, soft-looking bread, and a bowl of fruit. Rahadin transferred the plates over to the table, then slid plates over for himself and Cassian. He started casually taking food for himself.
Cassian frowned at him, suspicious.
Was this some sort of trick? He’d expected to be thrown in some dingy cell or drained to a husk by now. Or given more sad, meager soup. Porridge maybe. Certainly not whatever this was— waited on like he was at some kind of five star hotel. Cassian couldn't even afford food half this nice back home. Now they were going to treat him like some honored guest? After Strahd had harpooned his leg and dragged him, kicking and screaming to the castle?
Cassian was beyond stunned, to say the least. He didn't know what to think.
But he was also exhausted. Even with the slight healing, his body had been worn to shreds from the night’s events, and Cassian had been running on less than empty for a while now. The food smelled delicious.
"Help yourself, unless you need me to feed you."
Cassian frowned at Rahadin, but took the hint and dug in.
“Um, thank you,” he stammered between bites.
It was delicious—it was also probably poisoned, some paranoid part of him thought. But Rahadin was eating too. And Cassian was not exactly in a position to look this unexpected gift horse in the mouth. So he allowed himself to enjoy it. To feel grateful for the tiniest fraction of good fortune.
And water. Blessed, glorious water. It spilled down his shirt when he tried to chug the glass too fast.
Then Cassian saw Rahadin display an emotion for the first time—he smiled.
Rather, the corners of his lips turned upwards slightly. More like an evil smirk. It was unclear if Rahadin was capable of a smirk that wasn’t evil.
Rahadin very politely cut through his roast with a table knife.
"Usually I am the only one in the castle who eats real food. I'd almost forgotten what it's like to eat at a table together with someone else."
Rahadin didn’t want to say he enjoyed it. He wasn't sure if he enjoyed anything anymore. It was not unpleasant, at least.
“Did you really make all this yourself?” Cassian asked. He was more than a little amused at the mental image of Rahadin cooking. Rahadin didn't look like he had a flavorful bone in his body. He looked like he ate plain porridge and flavorless hardtack for a living. By choice.
"Yes. There is typically no one else in the castle fit to do any cooking. I've gotten quite good at it over the years." Sometimes there just wasn't much else to do.
Cassian was learning a thing or two about Rahadin that evening, and it wasn’t entirely unwelcome. If he was going to be stuck here until he managed to find a way to escape, Rahadin didn't seem totally awful. At least. Not completely.
Rahadin sighed.
"Enjoy my cooking until such a time that the master sees fit to switch you over to.... the typical blood diet."
Cassian’s train of thought slammed hard on the breaks. He was sure he must have heard him wrong. Some symptom of the concussion he no doubt had.
“The.. the what..?”
Rahadin chewed the roast, then furrowed his brow at Cassian.
"Blood,” he said dryly. “The master may decide to turn you into a vampire spawn at some time in the future."
Rahadin casually took a sip from his glass of water, completely unemotional about the bomb he'd just dropped.
Cassian dropped the fork he was holding. It clattered loudly against the plateware.
“He what—?”
Cassian looked as if he’d seen a ghost. Like a man who’d just been read his own death sentence. Like a man come face to face with his worst imaginable nightmare.
He'd heard this was a possibility. That first vampire spawn they’d encountered in this land had warned him this could happen. Doru, the preacher Father Donavitch’s son, who they’d found starving and feral in the basement of that old church, had warned him. Doru had been reduced to that state due to some curse Strahd had placed upon him that forbade him from ingesting blood. Doru was the reason they’d ended up in Strahd’s castle gates that night in the first place, attending a dinner party to try to negotiate to lift Doru’s curse.
When he was no longer rabid and starving, Cassian remembered asking Doru how he’d been turned. Doru had warned him. A bite. A grave. A call.
It’d happened to Escher too, from what he had heard, although he’d hardly said much to the blonde vampire. Doru seemed alright, but Cassian always felt so bristled around Escher. Something about him. Besides, Cassian wasn’t here to befriend vampires. They were the enemy. They all wanted the same thing, after all. And they would say or do anything to get it.
But the series of warnings flashed through his head as he assessed his current situation. Even that dusk elf paladin girl, Veruska, had warned Cassian that something bad would happen to him, if he kept on ‘like this’ or whatever she had said. Really, he hadn't been that bad while traveling with the group, in his own completely unbiased opinion.
But Veruska had warned him of a dark end. Of consequences. Of the universe correcting itself. Was this what it all meant? Was this the inevitable dark end he had dug himself to fall into? Was he trapped in a pit of his own making?
He cursed whatever he’d done—everything he'd done, to garner the vampire lord’s attention. He was a fucking fool for assuming he’d just be killed. Like it would be that easy.
But why?
Doru hadn’t even said why he’d been turned. Cassian couldn't fathom a reason, given that Strahd turned Doru just to starve him until he lost his mind completely.
“Why would—why would he do that?” He asked Rahadin when he finally found his breath again.
Rahadin shrugged. "His reasons are his own. He does as he sees fit."
Cassian frowned again. Rahadin was really going to give him absolutely nothing to work with, wasn’t he.
“What am I doing here anyway?” he asked, like he was going to get any further with more questions. Well, it felt better than saying nothing at all. In Cassian’s mind, to argue with a brick wall was better than not to argue at all.
"You are eating dinner," Rahadin said. "And after that, you will be washed up and given new clothes. Then the master will attend to you in whatever way he sees fit. You are here for his benefit, as are we all. Now, you should know my cooking is best enjoyed in silence."
Rahadin’s fork clinked on the plate as he cut more roast.
Cassian took the hint again, for what it was. An invitation to shut the fuck up before he dug himself deeper.
And shut the fuck up he did. For the rest of the meal, in fact. There was too much new information swirling around his likely concussed head for him to be of much conversation that didn't revolve around said intrusive narratives, and Rahadin had made his position clear—that was all he would speak on the matter.
Frustrated for the lack of information but grateful for the momentary, albeit confusing hospitality, Cassian finished the meal with Rahadin in silence.
He thought of Rahadin’s words.
‘You are here for his benefit.’
It unnerved Cassian.
What use could he possibly have for Strahd beyond his own blood? Which should, by the way, be gone by now, and certainly not fed and treated like a guest and expected to live in any sort of way around vampires—surely, right?
But, Rahadin. He wasn’t a vampire, was he. He ate food the same as Cassian did. But he worked for Strahd.
As they were finishing up, Cassian decided it was worth a try.
“Can I ask you something,” he didn’t wait for a response. “Why do you, you know. Work for him?”
Rahadin paused in the middle of loading their plates back onto the trolley. He then continued, his hands moving more slowly.
"I have faithfully served the von Zarovich family for hundreds of years. They are part of me.”
Cassian didn’t know what to do with that. That basically told him nothing, apart from the fact that there would indeed be hundreds of years worth of stubbornness to go up against if he wanted to get anything useful out of the elf right now.
“Now, come.” Rahadin said. “Follow."
Rahadin left the comfort of the fire’s warmth and strode out and into the cold, stone hallway, beckoning Cassian to follow with a flick of the wrist like a dog.
Cassian squinted at the gesture. But he relented, eyeing the rafters and the windows on the way out, looking for any possible way to slip out later in the evening.
The castle was old, decrepit, and looked like someone had not only preserved the natural spider webs but added more. Rahadin walked Cassian into a bathroom with no window and barely any light. He gestured to a washbasin filled with water– cold, by the looks of it. There was soap and towels nearby.
"Wash yourself.” Rahadin ordered with that same bored unamused drawl. “I will get you some clean clothes."
Without waiting to see if Cassian would obey, he left.
Cassian was at least grateful that Rahadin hadn’t decided to stick around and watch him bathe.
He glanced around the dimly lit room for any easy way to escape, and, when none presented themselves beyond the door through which he had entered, he opted to accept it for what it was.
A gesture of unexpectedly, almost suspiciously good hospitality.
Maybe Strahd didn’t want to eat him if he was all filthy from being dragged through the dirt. It made sense, he thought, disrobing and stepping into the cold water.
The chill was welcome on his fresh wounds. The water stung but he knew it would be worth the pain. He grit his teeth and hissed as he rubbed soap into the layers of dirt and blood on his skin, enduring the sharp burn where the roughness of the road had torn and bruised its tanned expanse.
He was grateful for the water. And the soap.
He was grateful to rinse his face. The blood and dirt from the road had done a number all over him, but washing his face felt particularly like a blessing.
He was grateful for the fresh clothes. His own clothes had been torn half to shreds, practically falling off him in bloodied strips when he’d removed them, and now lay in a tattered bundle on the floor.
He caught himself in the irony, feeling momentarily grateful for things that Strahd had ruined in the first place.
No, Cassian couldn't allow himself to lose perspective yet, not on a few basic niceties. It was Strahd who had done all of this. Strahd who had harpooned his fucking ankle and dragged him all the way to the castle like a piece of fucking meat.
Curse his fucking water and his soap and his stupid clothes. Cassian would rather wear his old ones, dammit.
But looking down at the puddle of tattered bloody garments on the floor, he sighed defeatedly, and decided a little following along could be worth it in the long run. Usable clothing and a clean slate meant he would heal faster, could escape faster, it was all part of a plan. He didn’t know which plan yet, exactly, but he knew he would think of something.
The clothes were fine--made of satin and embroidered with gold patterns. They were, Cassian noticed, the kinds of clothes that Escher wore.
Fuck Strahd, fuck this, he thought as he put on the clothes he’d been given.
He would think of something. Before it was too late.
He had to.
Notes:
ra ra ra rahadin lover of the russian queen
Chapter Text
Cassian startled at the sharp creaking of hinges when the bathroom door swung open. No knock? he thought, but didn’t say anything. He only frowned at Rahadin as the elf entered the room, looking satisfied when he saw that Cassian was dried and dressed.
"If you're finished, I'll escort you to the master's suite. He's ready for you now," Rahadin said.
Cassian silently seethed in the stuffy outfit. It reminded him of Escher, that damned blonde vampire. Wearing some shit like this, getting groped and manhandled and bitten and worse probably.
Cassian didn't like this. He didn’t like this at all one fucking bit. But he wore it anyway, with his old clothes unusable. He grit his teeth. It was better than nothing, he told himself.
Eye twitching slightly, but biting his tongue, Cassian followed Rahadin out of the bathroom and down the castle hallway. He vowed to give Strahd a piece of his mind as soon as he got the chance.
Down more dimly lit stone hallways, until Rahadin escorted Cassian to an ornate door. Cassian could hear a faint whimpering through the carved wood. Rahadin opened the door, bowed, then gestured to Cassian to go inside.
"Here he is, my liege."
"Excellent, thank you, Rahadin," came Strahd's voice.
Rahadin stepped aside, revealing a large, ornate, four-poster bed with red sheets and black curtains. Strahd was laid across it, in a satin dressing gown.
Cassian slowly stepped inside, then visibly recoiled.
A human woman lay face-up on the bed beside him, paralyzed. There were two puncture marks in her neck, which were still dripping blood. Strahd licked a drop from his lip, then beckoned Cassian to approach with one curled finger.
“Wh-what are you doing to her—!?” Cassian exclaimed, even though it was pretty obvious. Strahd was going to feed from that woman right in front of him. Shit— what was Cassian supposed to do?
Was not his whole entire job—his reason for existence—predicated on the premise of rescuing innocent human life from the jaws of greedy sadistic vampires? And here was the king bastard himself, feeding on an innocent human being right in front of him. He had to do something.
Cassian’s wrist instinctively flew to his hip, where his silver dagger typically rested—where it always had, before it’d been knocked loose when he’d been dragged through brambles and boulders on the Old Svalich road. A jolt of panic hit him when his hand found nothing there but empty space and the textured embroidery of his too-fancy regalia.
Strahd let out a purring laugh. "Even if you had your knife, you'd still be just as helpless. I appreciate the effort, though. The fear in your eyes."
Strahd sat upright, looming over the woman on the bed next to him.
"Come here, Cassian. Come sit with me. Tonight, I am going to make you the thing you hate the most: A murderer of the innocent, to take their blood. And you will not even have the excuse of being a spawn under my control to shield yourself."
Cassian stepped back, recoiling in horror. “No—!”
He didn’t even fully know what he was objecting to. But it sounded like Strahd was going to make him kill that woman. Or turn him into a vampire and make him drink her. With his shit luck, it’d be both.
“No,” he said again, more resolutely this time, voice shaking a little less.
“You’re going to let me fucking go. And her too. Im not here to be your fucking plaything,” Cassian spat.
"That is exactly what you are here for, foolish boy."
Strahd's eyes flared with hypnotic power--not enough to completely overwhelm him, but just enough to make him squirm and struggle to keep his resolve.
"I said, come here."
Cassian’s breath hitched as he felt Strahd’s will overtake him— not fully, but enough to muddle his senses, to compel him to move his feet without his fully sober consent. He didn’t feel sober anymore—Fuck— Was he actually intoxicated? Was that how Strahd did it?
Strahd’s face shimmered in the light now, just a bit. The rest of the world seemed to warp around the vampire lord’s face. Cassian loathed the way it made him feel—like that time his friend had dared him to try those weird mushrooms they had found in the woods. It had made the colors all weird—made everything hum and buzz and glow— it had warped his senses in a way that went galaxies beyond his control.
Strahd made him feel a little bit like that, every time he’d encountered him, but this time the feeling was radiating through him—penetrating through bone. Strahd seemed to zoom closer, getting larger and larger in Cassian’s narrowing vision, before Cassian realized with horror that it was himself that was moving, not Strahd.
It was like being ridiculously high with moments of stark sparkling blinding clarity. Clarity that horrified.
He was within Strahd’s reach now, some awful invisible gravity pulling him closer to him against his will.
Cassian found himself kneeling on the mattress in front of him, gazing up at Strahd with slightly glassy eyes that still shook with fear.
Every rational inch of him wanted to scream. To run away. To stab and kill and— but with what?
Cassian tried to move. To lunge at Strahd.
But it just felt like so much effort. He couldn't bring himself to move from the kneeling position. Every fiber of his being felt woven of lead.
"There you are," Strahd said, his face twisting into a smile.
One talon came up and ran through Cassian's hair.
"You've cleaned up so nicely. To think a few hours ago you were being dragged through the mud behind me."
Cassian felt something metal pressing into his palm, then looked down to see Strahd handing him a knife. He leaned over and whispered into his ear, almost sensually.
"The knife you wanted so badly. Slit her throat. Make a feast for me. Do it by your own hand, knowing that if you'd only been just a little stronger to resist, she would still be alive."
Cassian felt his fingers grip around the knife. Shaking, he looked down at his own hand, and knew that this arm was no longer his own. It belonged to Strahd now, his authority sealed the moment he’d uttered the words and given him the weapon. Strahd could order Cassian to slit his own throat right now, and Cassian’s arm would probably move to make it happen.
Cassian could only hope he had control of his other arm at that point, but he had no idea how any of Strahd’s mind control abilities worked. He was worse off now especially, his mind still swimming in the swirling notes of the mushroom’s haze—of Strahd’s particular haze, he had to remind himself.
It was like he'd been drugged. He hadn’t let himself be dr— or—or he had? Had he? Maybe?— fuck— it was getting so hard to think.
“Please don’t make me,” he managed to say, but it came out still weak and hoarse. A desperate whisper.
He wouldn’t do it. What Strahd wanted. He couldn’t. He willed his arm to raise and sink the knife into Strahd’s own chest instead, just to make a point.
’You will never own me,’ the point said. ‘I will never be your puppet.’
Raise, his arm did. Sink into Strahd’s chest, it did not.
Instead, it rose to meet the woman’s quivering form.
“No—!” he cried out, not recognizing his own voice.
Cassian felt the liquid in the corners of his eyes swell in anger—in frustration, terror— in anguish at his own sheer fucking helplessness. He had to fucking do something.
His hand quivered with the blade just above her throat. Why wouldn’t she resist? Why wouldn’t she stop him? Do something!
‘Resist me, please,’ he thought desperately. His hand quivered, the blade just above her jugular.
The woman's cloudy eyes fixed on the knife. Strahd stretched out beside her, propped up on his elbow. He reached out and curled a lock of her hair around his finger.
"What did I tell you, Gertruda? That your knight in shining armor was coming? You probably didn't expect which of us he'd be killing, though."
She strained against whatever force was holding her, raising one shaky hand to press against Cassian's wrist, as if to say, please don't.
"Go on, then," Strahd said.
Despite Cassian's desperate prayers, his hand moved and brought the dagger down on the woman's throat, slicing it open. She gurgled and thrashed weakly.
Strahd leaned over and took her in his arms, like they were going to make out, except his mouth went to her neck, not to kiss, but to sip at the open wound. He swallowed over and over as though it were the sweetest nectar. The color gradually faded from her cheeks, and her eyes rolled back in her head.
Cassian shuddered in horror at what his own hands had just done. The way it had felt. How soft her flesh had been beneath the sharpened blade of the knife. How easy it had opened before his eyes. Beneath his own fingers.
He felt the tears falling before he realized he was crying. He was crying for this woman, shaking for her and for the anger he felt—at Strahd—at himself, for being too weak to resist it.
The blade slipped from his fingers and he numbly sat back on his knees. Cassian watched helplessly as Strahd sucked at the fresh corpse. It was nauseating. It was revolting. Cassian felt his stomach churn and his fingers itch for the blade again just so he could sink it into Strahd’s throat. If even just in protest for this woman’s death. So it wouldn’t have been for nothing.
The desire to stab Strahd was a funny thought, considering Cassian had done it before. Shoved his own silver dagger straight through Strahd’s neck only a few days prior. Not that it’d had much effect on the vampire—the wound had healed in seconds—but Cassian didn’t regret the choice, even though it had gotten him bitten nearly to death. It was worth it to save Veruska, the dusk elf paladin who was, when Cassian really thought about it, the only one in that ragtag group of travelers that he actually sort of liked. He had respected her. He wondered if he would ever see her again.
Cassian found himself twitching to grab the knife again. The memory of Strahd choking Veruska out with his superhuman strength, the image of Strahd right in front of him, sipping from a fresh human corpse—Cassian couldn’t take it. He couldn’t just sit there and let it happen. He had to stop being so useless.
But Cassian found he once again couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Could only sit there and watch and let the tears silently roll down. Strahd’s will held him completely still, and he knelt there, petrified.
The world still shone and glimmered around Strahd, even as he fed from the corpse. Everything sparkled off of him as if light and shadow themselves were forged to accent the peaks and valleys of his face. The woman’s blood ran down his chin, a bright vivid crimson against his snow-like complexion.
Strahd picked up the knife, licking the excess blood off it like it was cake frosting. "Poor Cassian. All alone with me now."
He tossed the knife away, then held Cassian's face in his hands, wiping Cassian's tears with his thumbs. He released his hold over Cassian—au natural—for whatever delicious struggle he was sure was about to ensue.
As though plunged into an icy pool of water, sobriety hit Cassian and a freight train of horror came with it. Whatever part of him Strahd’s magic was keeping at bay broke loose like floodgates, and Cassian found himself shaking miserably with hatred and heartbreak in Strahd’s proximity.
Strahd tilted Cassian's head and leaned in, very delicately licking Cassian's cheeks, tasting the salty tears and the remnants of smeared blood from Strahd's own hands.
Cassian flinched hard, letting out a noise of panic when he felt Strahd’s tongue on his face. Instantly, his hands rose to push back against Strahd’s chest. It was more unconscious than anything. A normal, confident version of himself would’ve decked Strahd right in the face. But there was nothing normal about this. Nothing normal or sane about what had just happened, or about where he was, or about who was in front of him, pulling all his threads like he were a mere toy on a string.
“Let me—fucking go—!” He shouted, trying to push Strahd away and scramble back on the bed. The other human was dead. He’d surely be next. He had to get out of here now.
His eyes flicked to the door behind him. Could he make it? Maybe if he managed to injure Strahd somehow, he could make a break for it. His leg was still fucked, but what choice did he have?
Strahd noted the direction of Cassian's gaze and smiled, showing his teeth had shifted into something more wolfish. An animalistic growl rumbled in his throat. "Go ahead, hunter. The chase is fun. Seeing you be hunted is thrilling." He nibbled on Cassian's earlobe, breathing heavily. "Run, then, if you want to go so badly."
Cassian scrambled off the bed, losing his balance in his panic and crumpling to the floor in a heap. He groaned at the pain in his leg before staggering back to his feet.
No, no— Cassian remembered the last time Strahd had ordered him to run. He’d ended up harpooned through the leg and dragged around through the mud for miles.
Cassian knew this was just another game to him, Strahd was only playing around. But this was no game to Cassian. This was life or gruesome fucking death.
He would just have to find somewhere to hide. Maybe something to cover his scent so the vampire couldn’t smell him? But fuck, what could he use?
There was no time to think about it. He took the opportunity for what it was. A chance, however slim, to put some distance between himself and this monster. Strahd really did look monstrous once again, to Cassian now. The warm glow around his skin was gone, the light no longer shined to reflect in his eyes. He was a gruesome horrid sight, covered in that poor woman’s blood and bloody fanged smile splitting his face apart. Cassian wasn’t going to spend another second in here if he didn’t have to.
Pain from the harpoon’s bloody performance radiated up his leg, but he found he hardly cared now. Finally free of Strahd’s persuasion, adrenaline once again flooding his system, Cassian bolted to the door and booked it.
Notes:
Ok before you say anything, I know it wasnt *technically* Cassian's first time killing, as he has killed an uncountable number of vampires throughout his years as a hunter, BUT it's his first time killing a human, and he values human life above all else, so, its a big deal for him. (sad!)
Chapter Text
Cassian bolted from the blood-drenched room and down the dark stone corridor, trying to remember the way he’d come in. The walls felt closer this time, as if the hallway had narrowed since he had last walked its length. He passed door after ancient-looking wooden door, turning corners at random when he didn’t know what else to do. More hallways. More doors. Fuck, he was never going to get out of here. He needed to find a window or something.
He opened a random door. There was a window on the far wall. Thank god. He flew to the frame and threw the latch open, a fresh chill hitting his face. He panted into the night air for a moment, relieved to be smelling freedom.
Cassian stuck his head out to assess the building’s outer facade, but flinched back hard when he saw something twitch in the darkness. He caught features, a wild bestial visage—but he calmed slightly when the thing unforled itself and he saw it was just a bat. A particularly large, menacing-looking bat hanging down from the adjacent turret.
Vampire castle… yeah, the bat checks out, he thought.
The creature studied him. They studied each other. Then the bat tittered in a way that almost resembled mocking laughter, though perhaps Cassian was projecting. It then released itself from the spire and flew off into the night, expansive wings beating near-silently against the inky night sky. If Strahd was gloating, the message was clear. I could have already won at any time, but keep running, boy.
But this was no time to be fraternizing with the local fauna. Cassian knew he needed to focus while he still had a chance. He looked out and down the side of the building and felt his stomach lurch. He was at least thirty feet off the ground. He’d need something to shimmy down. A rope maybe? He looked around the room, it looked like a guest bedroom. Maybe the sheets? He could tie them together and— yes yes. That would have to work. He’d have to be silent. And fast.
Cassian got to work ripping the sheets off the bed and knotting the ends together. He tied one end to the window frame and tossed the crumpled pile of fabric out, down the vast stone exterior of Strahd’s castle.
When Cassian reached the ground, he hadn’t time to congratulate himself on his successful descent before he felt eyes on him. He whipped around and froze. A large grey wolf stood still, watching him. Its yellow eyes bore into him and Cassian felt frozen again for what felt like the hundredth time that night. The wolf crouched and started stalking towards him, fangs bared, growling. Tail swishing. Blood already on its muzzle.
Oh fuck. Cassian’s heart dropped until it was a cold lump in his stomach. He’d seen a wolf like this before, just a few weeks prior. The party had tried to pet it. Stupid, he had thought. But nothing could have prepared him for the sight that followed—when the wolf had turned into Strahd himself right before their very eyes.
Cassian stared at this new wolf. He knew what this meant. It was probably Strahd himself, yet again, if not one of his lackeys.
He sprang back, trying to make his way through the thick bushes at the base of the wall without walking right into the wolf’s path. He had no weapons, his trusty silver dagger long gone, scattered somewhere on the Old Svalich Road. Nothing could protect him but his own hands and feet. He decided he'd try to kick the beast if it charged at him.
Cassian made it out of the bushes and then no further, as the prowling path of the wolf semi-circled around him just so, pinning him to the area by the wall. He just needed to wait for an opening. He watched, frozen, as the wolf made its way to one end of its semicircle, then, Cassian immediately leapt into action and bolted the opposite direction, willing his legs to move as fast as they possibly could.
Behind him, the wolf let out a howl that echoed in the night. Immediately after, Cassian could hear the panting, snarling breath of the creature rapidly growing closer and closer. He glanced to his left and saw a second wolf keeping pace with him in the treeline, eyes locked directly on him. Turning his head to the right revealed a third wolf. Oh god oh fuck.
"Run, boy!" said a twisted, distorted voice, bouncing through the dark trees. "Give us a good chase!" The trees seemed to press in closer, their gnarled branches reaching out like twisted hands.
Cassian quickly grew frantic, maddened by the chase. He was desperate to out run these wolves but knew it was only a matter of time before they circled in on him and pounced for the kill. But what else could he do? Simply stop running and let them kill him? If he was going to die, he sure as hell wasn’t going to go down easy. He sprinted farther than he thought possible for his own legs to carry him, adrenaline blinding how much pain his injured leg may have still been in.
He ran until he felt like his lungs would give out. And then he started feeling dizzy. Not enough air? Not enough blood? Whatever was happening it was making his brain fill up with thick fog, was making his breaths heavier while his own head grew lighter and lighter. He was so dizzy— he just had to keep running.
For the second dreaded time that night, he lost his footing, something tripped him, and he fell hard on his shoulder in the dirt.
A moment later, the grey wolf burst out of the trees and bore down on him, instantly seizing him by the arm and shaking him with all the excited prey drive of a predator finally sinking its jaws around its kill. The other wolves came out from between the trees and bit down on his legs, dragging him through dirt and leaves with excited snarls and howls. The first wolf loomed over him and clamped its jaws around his throat, teeth sliding perfectly into the bite marks Strahd had left there. What remained of Cassian's blood began to pour out, his vision swimming.
Cassian cried out in pain, his voice hoarse and ragged. He screamed and screamed as they tore their way into his skin. He was being fucking mauled. He could feel their teeth slicing through him like knives, squishing through his muscle tissue, grinding down on his bones. He screamed in pure agony, no way to hold in the noises of anguish now, even if he wanted to. But there was no point in remaining stealthy anymore. Strahd had him pinned.
Speaking of Strahd, Cassian recoiled as the leader of the pack approached him, tears of pain and terror streaked down his face as he failed to move his limbs, wriggling helplessly in place, held down by the gnashing jaws of the other wolves.
Cassian screamed as jaws came down around his neck, screamed until the fangs sank through and the sound garbled around them, sounding horrid and guttural until it stopped entirely. Cassian looked up at the night sky through glassy, wet eyes as the wolf crunched down on his neck.
He would die here. He knew it. The twinkling stars overhead would be the last thing he’d ever see.
Cassian's vision went dark.
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akirarara on Chapter 1 Thu 04 Sep 2025 11:54PM UTC
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akirarara on Chapter 1 Fri 05 Sep 2025 09:23PM UTC
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MarinaLeopardi on Chapter 4 Wed 27 Aug 2025 03:18PM UTC
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akirarara on Chapter 4 Thu 04 Sep 2025 11:54PM UTC
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MarinaLeopardi on Chapter 5 Fri 05 Sep 2025 05:18PM UTC
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