section7mfu | The Seven Days of Hallowe'en - Day 4

By the time Illya arrived at his apartment, his energy levels had plummeted to almost zero. Without bothering to remove his jacket or holster, he flopped down on the sofa, utterly exhausted. He remained there for another hour, doing nothing outwardly, other than breathing. Inside, however, his mind was in turmoil over what was happening to him, and his stomach felt like a deep, empty pit. The steaks at lunchtime had sated him a little, but it hadn’t been anywhere near enough. He knew he had to take what he needed from something living. He needed freshly drawn blood.

As soon as the thought came to him, Illya felt a strange sensation in his mouth. He was certain he could feel his canine teeth growing and, running his tongue over them, he discovered they were longer and pointier than they had been. Unable, and unwilling, to summon the energy to go to the bathroom, Illya unsheathed the knife strapped to his ankle and used it as a makeshift mirror. His fears were confirmed when he saw his now-pointed teeth. Napoleon’s coded knock on the door dragged his thoughts from the reflection.

“It is open,” he called out.

On the other side of the door, Napoleon frowned. Illya was usually so careful about security as to be almost paranoid. The fact he hadn’t locked added to the worry Napoleon was already carrying. His apprehension rose when he entered and found his partner holding a knife. The Russian was also even paler than he had been earlier that day, which was saying something. Yes, strangely, although he looked drained and sick, his eyes appeared bluer and brighter.

“I’ve brought Chinese food,” he stated, sighing slightly in relief as Illya put the knife on the coffee table. “Do you want a plate, or are you happy just to eat from the cartons?”

“I am sorry, Napoleon, but I do not feel like having any of it.”

“What would you like?” Solo asked, reaching out for the telephone. “I can easily order something else.”

“I am not hungry for food.”

The simple statement caused numerous alarm bells to ring out in Napoleon’s head. For Illya not to be hungry was unusual enough to cause comment, but it was the words he had used which were the bigger cause for concern.

“What do you mean?”

“I require . . . something else,” Illya replied, staring disconcertingly at his partner.

Napoleon realised, with horror, that Illya wasn’t looking at his face. He was actually fixated on this throat.

There was another knock at the door, and Napoleon found himself grateful for the distraction. That feeling didn’t last long as, with his hand ready to draw his gun if necessary, he opened the door to reveal a woman on the other side.

“Amarande,” breathed Illya, his lethargy suddenly dissipating.

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