Laurent senses something wrong before he awakens for the night. Elays isn’t there. His precious fox isn’t laying beside him, peering at him with those eager eyes for him to wake. Nor is there any sign of him in the room. None of his familiar scent, none his footsteps sounding through their home. Nothing.

Something’s wrong.

Even as he wakes, Laurent’s straining to listen for his beloved. The one who’s always beside him to greet him with his stories of the daylight life every night. Every night, without exception. And yet he’s not here. He’s not even skipping toward the house having been distracted by some pretty flower or smile or an adorable child to whom he could tell his stories.

The vampire strains his sense, stretching out further for something… Elyas’ steps, his scent, the familiar beat of his heart. Nothing. Laurent pushes through the haze of consciousness, the desperate lingering cling of his unnatural sleep. Alarm helps him claw through it until his eyes are clear and he’s throwing back the blankets and the heavy draperies around the bed. He’s climbing his feet on instinct alone tearing across the room.

These modern times are nice in that no one will look twice at a man in his pajamas out in public. Especially when said pajamas are a pair of loose-fitting sweatpants and a t-shirt. His shoes were by the door, so Laurent simply stepped into them, grabbed his jacket, and stepped into the freshly darkened world to find his eternal lover. He’s so intent on his task that Laurent doesn’t even notice the light snow dusting the world and falling around him. Neither heat nor cold trouble him terribly. And now he’s too full or worry bordering on panic to care.

Vampires are predators at their core with the heightened senses to make them deadly. He follows the paths he knows from Elyas’ stories of his time in the light and, eventually, catches his scent. As it gets stronger, Laurent also notes something else in the air. A lingering odor of rot and decay.

Fomorians!

Even as strong as aged creatures like he and Elyas’ are, fomorians are a danger. One-on-one they could survive, but those most monstrous of creatures tended to roam in packs. And given their strength, facing more than one at a time is practically a death sentence.

Maybe it’s Laurent’s imagination since he’s been dead for such a long time, but the spike of anxiety that grips him makes him sure he can feel his heart racing.

Masked beneath the scent of death, blood – Elyas’ blood! Oh, Laurent would know that scent anywhere. A thousand years apart and he would still know it and every other thing about his gumiho. He doesn’t care that he’s running and that, very soon, he’s moving at inhuman speeds. The snow pelts his already cold skin, making it sting, but does nothing to deter him from his quest.

And then – there! In the distance just ahead – he finally lays his hunter’s eyes on the fox. His fox, his beloved Elyas, lying under a lone flickering streetlight bleeding into the snow. Before Laurent can blink, he kneeling at his lover’s side, tugging his jacket off to cover his shiver frame. From the looks of things, there had to be more than one fomorian involved. Elyas is fierce when he must be.

Laurent barely feels the sting of tears in his eyes over the burning anger in his dead heart. The wounds are grievous, but Laurent presses his hands to the worst in an effort to staunch the bleeding. It’s surprising those monsters didn’t tear the gumiho apart. Something must have distracted them. The light, perhaps? They often took them out, preferring to hide in the cover of darkness. Had this one come back on? Had this inanimate thing being Elyas’ savior?

Well, Laurent may be weeping, but his eyes were still sharp, scanning the area for any more attackers. They didn’t smell close and he sees no signs of movement to the horizon.

“I’m here, my love. I’m here.” Turning his full attention back to Elyas, he tries to ascertain whether or not he can move the fox. Well, he could move him, but it’s more a matter of keeping him in one piece. It would be of no help to his beloved if Laurent picks him up only to have his guts spill out on the earth. None of the wounds look big enough for that, but his blood-soaked clothes make it hard to ascertain. It’s a risk Laurent has to take. He can sense death lingering close, ready to claim Elyas. Not if Laurent had anything to say about it. Scooping his fox up in his arms, Laurent breaks into that unnatural run to get him away from death and danger.

The night staff in their home is minimal. But they’re alert when the door swings open and Laurent is barking out orders. Lights, hot water, towels, a needle and thread… Yes, he’s going to stitch Elyas up himself.