"Well that certainly was a conversation," Dezzy said as they made their way back down the hallway, away from the room where Cain had clearly dismissed them.
"I wish he'd listened more," Damien muttered, still more than a little stung by the harsh rejection of his mate. He'd always longed for a time when his transformation wouldn't be a harsh, lonely affair, and now it was looking like he was cursed to be alone in his transformations forever.
"It's still a new situation," Grace said encouragingly, glancing up at him with a sympathetic look. "Give him time to adjust."
Damien knew she was right, but he still hated feeling so alone even with the warmth of the mate-bond glowing in his chest. If Cain were a werewolf, he would feel it – the longing and loneliness. Instead, the bond seemed to be shouting into a void, as if his mate had intentionally cut off any sense of Damien's emotions or experiences.
But Damien's side was still willingly accepting everything from Cain, which meant he could feel the exhaustion of his mate, the fear when Damien had suggested spending the full moon together, the anger when Damien had tried to insist. He felt like he was bearing a burden meant for two alone, and it hurt.
"Should we find the best cell in the dungeon for you?" Dezzy suggested, trying to make the situation sound funny instead of pathetic, and only marginally succeeding.
"Sure," Damien agreed, even though all he wanted to do was curl up in a ball and cry, or maybe scream until his voice was hoarse. But neither of those actions would accomplish anything, so he allowed Grace to lead himself and Dezzy deeper into the foundations of the castle, lower than he'd ever gone before.
Upon arrival, it became clear that the dungeons were every bit as miserable and disgusting as one would expect from a vampire's fortress. They were cold, dank, infested with all manner of vermin, and smelled of fear, anguish, and blood. So much blood. It made Damien's nose sting, and made him long for the lonely cellar where mother and Dezzy used to lock him up for his transformations. At least it had been dry, and relatively comfortable.
The stone walls and stone floors looked as though they hadn't been cleaned since construction of the castle had been completed, and what little bedding had been thoughtlessly tossed into the cells reeked of urine and sweat.
Dezzy held her nose, looking around the dungeon with wide eyes. "Are you even gonna be able to smell your mate with all this?" she asked Damien.
Damien nodded. It wasn't pleasant, smelling all the excrement and refuse, but his mate's scent had a grip on him that even the worst smells couldn't hope to overpower. It had only gotten stronger with the bonding completed. That didn't mean he enjoyed the smell of this place, though. It made his eyes water.
"Maybe we should clean the two adjoining cells," Grace suggested, turning to Damien with a hopeful look. "I'm sure we can both be spared from duties for the day, especially since only a few people even know that you've recovered."
Damien nodded.
"I'll confirm with Morgan," Grace added. "We can get some cleaning supplies down here in under an hour, I'll bet."
"Me and Damie will start by moving the straw piles out of the rooms while you go find the cleaning supplies," Dezzy suggested. "Sounds good?"
None of this sounded good at all, but Damien wasn't in the mood to argue anymore, so he just nodded. He clearly looked miserable, because Dezzy clapped a hand on his shoulder.
"Chin up, Damie," she said. "I'm sure he'll warm up to the idea once he sees how the bond keeps you calm."
Damien really hoped that was the case. He also hoped that the bond would keep him calm. He worried that being separated from his mate might make him frantic to find him. That might make the vampire think that he was truly dangerous during the transformation, and then he would never spend a transformation with him. There were too many unknowns to really know what to expect, and given how badly everything had gone so far, Damien didn't think it was wise to expect anything good.
"I'll go get the supplies," Grace said, casting her gaze around the dungeon, looking for something. "I don't see any shovels, or…"
"We'll think of something," Dezzy assured her. "Go on."
Grace nodded, and headed back up the winding stone staircase leading back to the more populated halls of the castle.
"What are we thinking of?" Damien asked, afraid he knew the answer.
Dezzy gave him a look. "You have hands, don't you?"
Gagging, Damien gave her his best indignant look. "You want me to pick up that moldy straw with my bare hands?"
Dezzy shrugged. "Seems faster than kicking it around," she said, and marched into one of the cells without waiting for further argument.
"But," Damien protested, following her to the cell, only to step aside as Dezzy bustled out with an armful of rancid straw. "But it smells!"
"There are baths here," Dezzy said dismissively, waving off his protests, dumping the straw in the cell across the hall before dusting her hands off and turning back around to see him still standing near the entrance. "What are you waiting for?"
Damien's heartbeat had started pounding in his chest at the thought of the baths. He'd nearly been drowned, and then handed over to Crowe, all because he'd been too careless in the baths. "I don't think a bath would be a good idea," he said weakly.
Dezzy sailed past him back into the cell. "What do you mean?" she demanded. "Damie, you can't go around unwashed, you'll start to smell like dog."
"I will not!" Damien protested, momentarily derailed. "I just meant that the public baths aren't secure."
"So get a basin and sponge-bathe," Dezzy said, marching out of the cell again with another foul-smelling armload. "I don't understand your aversion to creative problem-solving."
"I don't understand your proclivity for jumping headlong into things without a plan!" Damien protested.
"I have a plan," Dezzy countered, once more crossing from the dumping cell into the cell she was clearing out. "It's called move the straw and take a bath when we're done, and it's a pretty easy plan to execute if you don't stand around making excuses!"
"I'm–" scared, he didn't say. Couldn't bring himself to say, really. "I'm not a fan of the smell."
Dezzy tossed her most recent armful in the discard cell before turning around and planting her hands on her hips. "Oh, and you think this smells like roses to me? I'm helping. Maybe you should try it sometime."
Damien sighed. "Fine," he growled, trudging to the other cell, adjacent to the one Dezzy was already almost finished clearing of mildewy old straw. "I'll try helping." He figured so long as he held his breath while he was carrying the straw he'd survive the ordeal, though he wasn't sure his olfactory senses would ever forgive him the offense.
By the time Grace returned with the cleaning supplies, both cells had been cleared of straw and any other items that seemed to be producing foul odors. The mop and bucket full of sudsy water was a sight for sore eyes, and Dezzy immediately attacked the first cell with it, scrubbing the stones vigorously. Damien watched her work for a moment before turning to Grace to ask if she had anything else to work with. The thrall handed him a washrag, and indicated the bars that separated the two cells. "You can wipe down the doors and the windows," she said.
Damien did so, barely dodging some of Dezzy's wilder swings with the mop. Still, eventually, they had the two cells looking in decent shape. The dirtiest things in the cells were now Damien and Dezzy.
"Well," Dezzy said, setting the mop down with a wet splat in the middle of the dungeon, "Now would be a great time to check out those baths you've told me about," she said to Grace, grinning tiredly.
"I'll just wipe down," Damien said quickly, having taken Dezzy's advice from earlier to heart.
Grace gave him a look. "A wipe-down? After all that?"
Damien tried very hard not to feel defensive, and failed. "What's wrong with that?"
Grace didn't deign to answer such a ridiculous question. Instead, she picked up the bucket, dumped the waste water into the drain at the center of the dungeon, and said, "Let's go to the baths," to Dezzy.
"I heard there's an outdoor bath with a view!" Dezzy said excitedly.
"This is a castle, not a resort," Grace replied, sounding more than amused than annoyed as she walked out of the dungeon, swinging her empty bucket as she went.
Dezzy followed, the mop dripping dirty water behind her as she went. Damien hoped they noticed that before it tracked nasty dungeon water too far into the castle. Sighing, he eyed the two clean cells, imagining what it would be like to be curled up in one of them for the full moon. He really wasn't looking forward to it.
Shaking his head, Damien trudged up the stairs behind Grace and his sister, trying not to feel needlessly sorry for himself. When the two of them peeled off in the direction of the public bath, he deeply considered following them, but he couldn't shake the nerves of being alone in the baths so soon after being attacked. He reached up, feeling at his throat to where the amulet – the ward against vampires – should be strung around his neck. He missed it, especially when he moved through the castle halls by himself. He still needed to get supplies to clean himself even if he wasn't going to the bath. He considered the kitchen, but didn't like the idea of being so dirty near all the food. So, with no real alternatives, he headed in the direction of the laundry.
When he arrived, Ellen was managing the place as strictly as she had during the days he'd been able to work for her. He hung back near the doorway, not quite sure what to say. Before he could quite manage to decide on his words, the woman spotted him lingering in the doorway and did a double-take.
"Damien!" she shouted, marching over. "What happened? You look terrible!"
"A lot happened," he said, rather sheepishly. "But, I guess, if you mean this," he gestured at his sweaty, straw-specked body, "I was cleaning out an, er…" He didn't want to say, exactly, in case someone came and found him. He was always very vulnerable after his transformations, and since Cain wasn't in good condition, it seemed prudent to keep as many details to himself as possible. "...a room."
Ellen raised an eyebrow, but didn't press for further details. "You thinking of heading to the baths? Need a change of clothes?"
Damien felt his face heat with embarrassment as he said, "Actually, I was looking for some towels and cloths. I don't feel exactly safe, being in the baths alone, after…" he paused then, wondering if Ellen even knew about what had happened in the bath.
But if she didn't know, she must have been able to guess, because her expression shifted to one of concerned understanding. "Of course, of course," she said gently, "Wait right here."
She returned a minute later, carrying a bucket half-filled with steaming water, two washcloths draped over the side and a fluffy towel slung over one shoulder. "Here," she said, a kind look in her eye and concern written on her face. "Will this do?"
"This is great," Damien said, taking the bucket gratefully. He didn't know what to do with the towel, but Ellen glanced between his hands and the washcloths. "Oh!" he quickly dunked one of the cloths, wiped his hands, then accepted the towel. "Thank you Ellen," he said. "Really."
"You take care now," Ellen said. "I've missed your handiwork in the delicates."
Damien didn't believe her at all, but he appreciated the sentiment. "I'll see you…" he glanced meaningfully at the sky outside the laundry. "…soon."
"I look forward to it," she said, moved like she was going to pat him on the shoulder, remembered how dirty he was, and settled for a wave instead. "Go on now," she said.
He nodded gratefully, then hurried out of the laundry, heading back down the hall to the one room he trusted to be safe. When he arrived, he didn't bother knocking. Pushing the door open, he struggled to fit the bucket in without sloshing its contents too wildly, setting it down beside the bed. It was a narrow room, but he figured he could make it work.
"Ugh," came a weak, thready voice from the bed, "what is that stench?"
"The dungeons," Damien snapped irritably. "Someone had to prepare the cells, and I didn't see you volunteering. It was a bit of a mess."
"Be that as it may, have you not heard of baths?" Cain bit back, clearly no better-tempered than Damien.
"I've heard of them, but the last time I used one I was nearly drowned, my vampire-repelling amulet was stolen, and I was snatched by Crowe," Damien growled back. "Forgive me if I'm a bit hesitant to repeat the experience."
Cain made a noise low in his throat that could have been a scoff, a sigh, or a grunt. It was a bit muffled, and Damien couldn't tell if it was a sign of approval or irritation. Deciding he didn't particularly care whether Cain approved or not, he peeled off his dirty clothes, piling them in a heap near the door, dipped the first washcloth in the hot water, and began scrubbing.