The first thing he does when Ragnarok leaves is to order the others from the room, because he has things to discuss with Bertrand, and Bertrand alone.

Bertrand understands, he can tell. Sinks to his knees obediently and watches him reverently. He can't keep the smirk from his face, the display of easy submission as thrilling as the raw power his reflections have given him is intoxicating.

"I have been too lenient," he says, stalking towards the older vampire, smugly watching the way Bertrand's eyes darken as he reaffirms his authority. "You are mine, and you will obey me."

He pushes one hand into Bertrand's hair, pulls his head back so that his neck is exposed and vulnerable. He leans in close, to hiss in Bertrand's ear,

"Do we understand each other?"

Bertrand can't nod in this position so voices a quiet,

"Yes, Master."

Vlad closes his eyes, enjoying the surge of want / need / take that flows through him at the sound of that word. His hand is still in Bertrand's hair and he tightens the grip still further, twisting viciously, and speaks in low, dangerous tones,

"Prove it."

Dimly he's aware of the protests of his former self. Of this being wrong, and cruel, and immoral, but that Vlad is gone now, and Bertrand doesn't risk his displeasure by wasting any time in carrying out his demands. His fingers are careful with his clothing, and he looks up at him, all wide eyed like a whore, before opening his mouth and getting down to it.

Bertrand's good at this, too good, and Vlad sneers,

"How many impostors were you taken in by? How many of them did you do this for?"

He can feel the hurt pride and the shame before Bertrand slams down his mental defences.

"Ah, ah," he tells him, though the leaked emotion only serves to stoke his arousal higher. "Are you forgetting that I'm your Master? You can have no secrets from me."

Bertrand does as he's told, Vlad revelling in the hint of fear and the second hand arousal. He uses him roughly, enjoying the way Bertrand fights to keep his fangs from descending, and his hands away from himself. Bertrand wants to touch so badly he can smell it, and Vlad thinks of all the things he can make him do, all the pain, and the tormenting, and the suffering, making it all that much sweeter.

"There, that wasn't so bad," Vlad coos when it's over, trailing one finger down the length of Bertrand's throat and watching him shiver.

Bertrand doesn't say anything, just waits for him to do what he will. It makes him laugh, harsh and manic, and when Bertrand dares to glance at him, from the corner of his eye, he leans in close and sinks his fangs into his neck without warning, loving the hiss of pain Bertrand isn't quite able to swallow.

He lingers for a moment, licks a stripe across the puncture wounds once, and tells him,

"Don't make me have to hurt you,"

before disappearing from the room. There is so much carnage and destruction he has to catch up on.

The pathetic weakling that has spent so long appropriating his body surprises him with its insistence. Prevents him from draining the breather, though his fangs tingle desperately with the desire to.

"I'm stronger than you," it tells him in the mirror world and, when they remerge, to his horror he finds that perhaps the statement has some truth to it.

Vlad feels sick when he comes back to himself. Can't help but replay, over and over, the way his father had looked at him, and the fact he hadn't even felt a twinge of guilt at leaving Ingrid outside in the sun to burn.

Erin calls after him, entreating, but he can't deal with it, doesn't know how to explain to her, so walks away to find some dank, dark little cubby hole in which to while the day away.

Vlad can't sleep, can't switch off enough to even think about relaxing. Thinks of what he's done to Bertrand, and the humiliation that the older vampire hadn't been able to hide from him.

He's a monster, he thinks. A real monster. Because Bertrand has done nothing but try to help him, and the repayment he's gotten is something Vlad wouldn't wish on anyone.

His reflection battles with him at that, tells him he's a loser, a wimpire, and that he shouldn't feel guilt, or sorrow, or compassion.

The argument goes around and around and around all week, until he can take it no longer, and returns to Garside Grange to find Bertrand alone and maudlin, though he doesn't shy away from him, or look unhappy to see him.

Vlad launches into what they need to do with a confidence he doesn't quite feel. It's easier now. The voices are slowly subduing, becoming a real part of him. It can't last though, his conscience is now working almost perfectly, and Bertrand is halfway through a list of Count Vitali's bastards when Vlad cuts in, helpless,

"I'm sorry for what happened."

Bertrand looks across at him, shocked, Vlad thinks, but doesn't say anything. Vlad starts rambling to fill the silence,

"I could have – I should have tried harder to stop it. It won't happen again, I –"

"You have nothing to apologise for," Bertrand says, before he can go any further. "You were only taking what is rightfully yours."

It makes his head spin a little, to have Bertrand so close – they're sitting almost side by side on the sofa – telling him that he can do it again. Right now, whenever he wants to. He swallows, thickly,

"I bit you."

Bertrand looks down for a moment, and Vlad can feel him trying not to hide his emotions, so that he knows that it's genuine when Bertrand says,

"I am honoured."

It's a new one on Vlad because he knows what it means to be bitten by another vampire. It's a mark of ownership, of dominance. He doesn't want that, he knows with sudden certainty. He wants it to mean what it had in one of Robin's terrible softcore vampire films, a sign of trust and loyalty and friendship.

Bertrand meets his gaze, one of the first times Vlad has ever seen him unguarded, and continues,

"I have known for almost my entire unlife that my purpose is to serve you. I did not imagine that you could believe me worthy."

Perhaps his control isn't what it could be, or he has more in common with his reflection than he like to think, but it sends waves of confusing emotion through him. Some of it is discomfort and embarrassment, but in the mix is want, and pride and satisfaction.

Since Bertrand arrived, quite literally, out of thin air he's been more than a little in awe of him. Of his knowledge, and his wisdom, and his power. And to have him sat in front of him, telling him that his goal in life is for Vlad to think him worthy makes him feel strange and breathless, though the latter should be impossible.

"I don't want you to do things for me just because you think you have to," Vlad tells him, though he had meant to say something about how he was honoured in return, and how it was nice but he had a kind of, sort of, maybe girlfriend and she definitely wouldn't be cool with this. "The things I said, I – " Vlad can feel himself blush, though he can ill afford it. "I want it to be different."

He doesn't know how to explain any more clearly, but Bertrand seems to understand anyway, touches fingers to his cheek and says, like he can't quite believe it himself,

"I like you better when you know yourself."

The tension around them now is palpable, and Vlad can't help but think about the nights they'd spent alone in the training room, and how Bertrand had felt beneath him, when he had been trying to goad Vlad into getting the book open. His mind settles, finally, on the look Bertrand had given him, open and obedient, before touching his mouth to him, and he moves forward without really thinking about it, relieved beyond measure when Bertrand's response is to meet him.

They kiss, and it's softer than Vlad had expected. Somehow he had imagined it would be clacking teeth, or split lips, or something equally as violent. Perhaps Bertrand is holding back, being careful, but when Bertrand nips at his lip it's Vlad who moans, and kisses back more forcefully.

Bertrand lets him, doesn't protest when Vlad pushes closer and closer, so that he's almost in Bertrand's lap, his hands clutching at his shoulders. It isn't like last time, where he thought of nothing but himself, and of making Bertrand obey him. Instead he worries that he doesn't know what he's doing, and that he's useless at what he isdoing, and then he makes to apologise for biting down so hard at Bertrand's lower lip, but Bertrand makes a noise, low and desperate that makes his skin burn, and hauls him closer, so that Vlad can feel what he's doing to him.

It's almost like bloodlust, the way it makes him feel, and he presses himself tighter and tighter, claws at Bertrand's back in the way he can tell he likes, until Bertrand takes the initiative and pushes him down into the sofa cushions. Vlad hasn't really done this before, and Bertrand keeps pausing to look at him, like he's checking for Vlad's approval.

He can't quite bring himself to speak, not to encourage or to say what he wants to happen next, but Bertrand solves the problem for him, making short work of buttons and fastenings, and rendering him completely incapable of speech by wrapping a hand around him. Vlad's own move is tentative, uncertain, but Bertrand sounds so appreciative, kisses him with such renewed enthusiasm, that he's sure he must be doing something right.

It gets harder to concentrate with every movement Bertrand makes, and Vlad pushes his head back, eyes clenched shut, wishing he could ignore the voice in his head telling him it's a bad idea, and just beg Bertrand to bite him. It's quickly becoming all he can think about. In the event Bertrand bares his own throat, lets him sink his fangs deep, even as his body stills.

Bertrand moans and follows, and kisses him somewhat clumsily in the aftermath, like his brain has been fried just as bad as Vlad's has. Bertrand sorts out his own clothing, and helps Vlad with his, and then pours himself a glass of blood and sits there like nothing has happened, though Vlad can tell from the slight sheen of his skin and the way his lips are swollen.

"We should get back to it," Bertrand says, businesslike, and Vlad knows it's terribly unvampiric, and his mind is already working overtime worrying about Erin and his dad and what Robin would say, but still he bites at his lip, just for a moment, and says,

"Does this mean we're…" he trails off, unable to voice it.

Bertrand smiles, genuine, as he finds his page in the book and answers,

"We are whatever you want us to be."

Erin clings to him and it's nice, nothing like the tense, half desperate need to impress he had felt with Bertrand. He wants to talk to her, needs to figure things out, but then Jonno Van Helsing is there and, as is so often the case, his private life gets shoved onto the backburner.

"Bit awkward," Jonno quips at him, and he can feel the barely suppressed rage emanating from his sister. He can't say he really blames her, and for a full minute it's almost like he's back at Stokely Grammar, and Robin is nudging him and joking around and making everything seem that little bit brighter.

But he isn't, and it's not, and it's only the way Bertrand nods and accepts his decision on the Van Helsings that settles the nervous fluttering of his stomach. He's a leader, the Chosen One. He knows what he's doing.

Bertrand follows him from the room, and it makes Vlad walk a little taller as they make their way through the school corridors, to think that Bertrand has faith in him. He sees Jonno again on the first floor, and Jonno claps his arm as if they had been best mates, and sweeps a gaze over Bertrand before smiling at him.

"It's good to see you dating again, Vlad," Jonno says, oblivious to Vlad's bewilderment. "I know how cut up you were about Robin. You and Ingrid are so alike really, sensitive romantics."

Vlad has to curl the fingers of one hand into a fist at his side, and nod. He dares to risk a glance at Bertrand, but the older vampire's expression is inscrutable.

"Not that your type's changed much, eh?" Jonno winks and Vlad feels his stomach sink. This is not the kind of thing that is going to endear Bertrand to him.

"Me and Robin were just friends," he says calmly.

"Come off it!" Jonno exclaims. "You and him were joined at the hip. Everybody knew; remember that time –"

"Well, it's in the past now," Vlad cuts in sharply. Bertrand doesn't need to know about how unpopular they had been, not if he wants Bertrand to continue to look at him like he can make the dawn black, at any rate.

"Of course, I understand. It's still painful," Jonno says, and gives them a parting smile before making for the stairwell.

"That mind wipe really had him good," Vlad jokes, though it falls flat, because Bertrand is having none of it, raising one eyebrow and asking,

"Who was Robin?"

Vlad sighs. "He wasn't my boyfriend." Bertrand is too perceptive for his own good, watches him for a moment before saying,

"But you wanted him to be."

He opens his mouth to protest, because they had been very young, and it hadn't been like that, and if sometimes he had wished Robin would tell him he was fit, and that he was perfect, it didn't mean anything. He toys with retaliating, and asking about Bertrand's exes to deflect his interest, before remembering what his reflection had said and deciding that he doesn't really want to know, anyway.

They run into Jonno again on the stairs, and this time he's busy embarrassing Ingrid. Bertrand smiles at him, proud, when he explains his plan for Mina, and it really feels like a crisis has been averted. They skulk about waiting for his dad to give in to his baser instincts, and when Erin comes to warn him, Bertrand touches his arm afterwards, sending sparks through him, and says,

"You are truly becoming a great leader, Vlad."

Unlife is seeming pretty good for once come mid-afternoon. Ingrid's still being as civil as he's ever known her, and she forces herself not to wrench Jonno's head from his shoulders when he gives her a tutu. And, really, the whole idea of Jonno and Ingrid is just too priceless for words.

Bertrand kisses him before he disappears for a liquid lunch, stroking his tongue into his mouth and leaving him flustered, and Vlad retreats to sit in his own room with a soya blood grinning like an idiot.

Because maybe things really can work out. Maybe the clans really can be won round, and if even the Van Helsings have given up wanting to kill him, who knows what might be possible?

It can't last, that would be too much to ask for. His dad catches him walking with a spring in his step, to tell him that Bertrand is attempting to stake his sister.

He doesn't want to believe it, but he can't deny his own eyes. It's revenge, he has time to think, for what he's done, before the anger completely takes over. Bertrand nods, accepting, and leaves, and when Ingrid and the Count do likewise Vlad doesn't know what to do, or how to make himself feel better, so snarls and throws the first breakable thing he finds to the floor. It doesn't make him feel any calmer, so he keeps at it, until the worst of the rage dissipates and he sinks into a chair, hating the way his throat feels choked, like he's going to cry over it.

Erin finds him like that he doesn't know how much later, and the look on her face says he might have gone a little far with the smashing things.

"What happened?" Erin asks, looking around her in bewilderment. Vlad looks up at the ceiling, blinks so that she can't see how tenuous his control over his emotions is.

"Bertrand," he manages, voice scratchy. "He tried to stake Ingrid."

"Oh, Vlad." Erin sits beside him, holds his hand, and tells him that things will be okay. He wants to believe her, he does, but when he opens his mouth to protest she kisses him. It's just a press of lips, sweet and chaste, and it isn't life changing or earth shattering, but it is nice, and he doesn't want it to end. He wants to disappear with Erin and forget about it all, just try and be normal.

Renfield breaks it up, rings the bell for supper, and Vlad feels like slime when his dad spends the entire meal talking about how much of a traitor Bertrand is. Bertrand doesn't join them, and Erin flashes him a half smile, for support, and Vlad just pushes his food around his plate because there's something wrong with him. What he should want is staring him in the face and, yet, all he can think about is Bertrand.

He goes to his coffin and tries getting some sleep, but it doesn't work and it's not even midnight when he makes his way down to the training room, watching as Bertrand attacks the punch bag, game face on, like his unlife depends upon it. He doesn't know if Bertrand is unaware of his presence, or is simply ignoring it, so he clears his throat after a long moment, mouth going dry when Bertrand's dark gaze meets his own.

Bertrand takes a towel from the back of the chair, swipes at his face and his hairline before wrapping it around his shoulders. Vlad sits opposite, and puts his face in his hands, wondering why he has to feel like this. With Erin he had wanted to make her smile, to protect her and keep her safe and have her look at him like he means something.

He wants Bertrand to be proud of him, to think well of him, to do exactly as he says because he believes it the right thing to do, not because some ancient piece of vampire lore says he ought to. He wants Bertrand to want him. He runs his hand through his hair, wishes that Bertrand would make this easier and sit next to him, but he's not going to ask. He doesn't want to sound that pathetic.

"The only reason I ever wore the crown was for my family. They mean everything to me. Can't you understand that?"

Bertrand is biting at his lip, looking at the floor, and Vlad forces himself to ignore his instant reaction to the sight, because he's not going to be distracted so easily.

"Don't you have any family?" He presses, and he wants to know, he really does, because Bertrand is such a mystery and suddenly he wants to know everything about him.

"They're dead," Bertrand says, and finally sits beside him. "It was a long time ago."

Vlad inhales deeply, for the scent of him, and Bertrand swallows but doesn't look at him as he says,

"I really am sorry. I will accept my punishment."

It thrills his reflection, pushed deep down inside him, as much as it angers him. He doesn't know why, there's no reason it should, but it feels like Bertrand is deliberately misunderstanding him. Ignoring everything he knows about him. Because Vlad wouldn't do that. Except that he had, at least a part of him, and the anger drains away, the little that is left turning inwards.

"We're your family now," he says instead. "I wouldn't let Ingrid stake you either."

Bertrand shakes his head, speaks more to himself than to his audience,

"You really mean it, don't you?"

Vlad shifts closer, hoping his next words are going to be a good idea,

"I can prove it to you."

"You don't have to." Bertrand looks so sincere but wanting, and Vlad reasons that nobody would be able to resist that, a thousand evil reflections or no. So he kisses him, and it isn't sweet and chaste like it was with Erin. It's hot and slick and dangerously arousing, so that before he knows what he's doing his shirt is undone and Bertrand is arching his head back, neck exposed in shameless invitation.

He doesn't hold back, kisses and touches and marks Bertrand for his own, and tries not to think beyond the moment. Bertrand leads, shows him how, and when it's over he rests against the older vampire's side and misses the way Bertrand smiles up at the ceiling.

"Do you believe me now?" Vlad asks, after a long moment. Bertrand strokes at his hair, surprisingly tender, and whispers,

"When the time comes, belief will be everything."