Abraxos awoke with a throat tickle; his neck lunged out from the tight curl he had been sleeping in and hacked out a cough. He groaned, it was a fever. He knew he had felt ill the past week or so but had been ignoring it in favour of creating additional imbued sulphur for the clan's supplies. He shook out his sweaty mane and rolled onto his back with a huff. "Steady on!" A small voice squeaked. Abraxos looked down at his sternum. A Veilspun was clinging on to him, tiny claws dug into his scales. He was a tiny thing, all green and fluttery. His long mane braided back from his head. "Oh, err, apologies..." Abraxos managed hoarsely, too weary to question what he was doing in his chambers, "... who are you again?" "Soroush." The Veilspun gave a little bow, before padding up to his neck, "I am the clan nurse. I was informed you weren't the sociable type when I did my rounds of check ups when I first arrived. Nevertheless, Lassuarium sent me--" "Of course she did..." He muttered. "Don't interrupt. She sent me because she was alerted to the fact you were ailing." Soroush, pressed an upturned ear to his throat, presumably to check his pulse and temperature. "She never minds her own business." He grunted. "It is the lair's business when you insist on coughing and wheezing all night and waking up Marmaroth's little ones!" He snapped, "You have Alchemist's Pox. You must be kept warm and supplied hot peppermint tea." "I see." he said, raising an eyebrow, "That was a quick assessment--" "Are you doubting my qualifications? Because I'll have none of that." Soroush snapped, before drawing himself back up on his hind legs to glare at him eye to eye, "As I was saying, you're to rest and not leave this chamber. I'll see to it that it is well ventilated and remove the dust covering everything as it is no doubt exacerbating your condition." The idea of this tiny nuisance cleaning, and no doubt rearranging and changing the calibration, of his laboratory was a pox in itself. He had dwelled in the Wyrmwound as a hatchling, a pox couldn't hurt him. And, he thought, his chamber wasn't dirty, it was attuned to his exact liking! Dust couldn't do any harm to his tough lungs; it was just flecks and bits from his experiments. The truly toxic things were all kept in sealed jars and never opened for long. Besides... it was his room. His own chamber. No one bothered him usually, why care now? He was about to protest when he felt another wretched tickle in his throat, he coughed and growled as the pain seized in his chest. Soroush fluttered onto his antlers and peered in him in the eye and put his cheek to Abraxos' huge brow. "I'll send for some honey tincture..." His voice soothing, "You're a strong thing, but you need to sleep. From the look of this place and the sound of your phlegm, this has been a long time coming, hm? Please trust me, I shan't move anything out of place, you'll thank me in the long run." "...You promise?" "Promise. The dust in here is nasty stuff, I can smell it. Poor thing, you've been breathing it for so long you don't even notice it. I'll have it out in no time at all." "... Okay..." Abraxos sighed and laid his head down on his pillow, which Soroush took to plumping immediately. He felt the tiniest claw on his snout, petting him before he closed his eyes. He fell asleep to a small voice chanting a enchanted wind into the room; a warm but fresh breeze swirling around every nook and cranny. It tousled his mane and tail tuft, it cooled his throat and left him feeling adrift. As the wind caressed him, he soon fell deep asleep.

Soroush & Abraxos. Grumpy Boy meets Grumpy Nurse C:

adoptable by @squeeblestudio

Need something to sink your teeth into? How about a story about a queer vampire mourning his beloved in Medieval Persia? Check out the preview for my piece The Longest and Darkest Night from the NSFW add-on book of @carpenoctemzine​​!

Soroush’s vision tunnels at the sight of the first ruby drop, his breath quickening. He unconsciously leans forward. Blood spills over Ismail’s arm into a waiting vessel, rich and stark against the polished metal, the same deep red as pomegranate seeds.

There’s a heat coming off it. It’s tempting, comforting, even. It begs to be enjoyed and savored. Soroush wants to dip his hand in it, feel it in the grooves of his fingerprints, suck each and every finger clean.

“Well?” Ismail says, impatient. The wad of cotton pressed against the incision is stained and already browning at the edges. The tourniquet lies on the floor between them like a discarded snake skin. Ismail watches him. “Is that enough?”

It’s not. In truth, it’s never enough.

Get the 18+ add-on booklet Carpe Noctem: Fine Dining and other vampire goodies when you pledge at our Kickstarter!! Our fundraiser closes on December 11, so don’t miss your chance!!