Shadows blended, graduating from light grey to the darkest black. They neither stayed still nor moved in any direction. The harder Andor strained to make out any tiny detail, the more the lights pulsed with a weird life of their own.
A cough drew his attention to a larger shadow standing where he knew the door to his study was.
"He's arrived, sir."
They had sent Tony to inform him. Andor recognised the hesitation in the young man's voice like Tony weighed every word before he spoke.
"Good. Where is he now?"
Andor didn't move from where he sat, not wanting to appear weak in front of any of his herd.
"In his room, sir. Malachi escorted him there before sending me to tell you."
A heady surge of relief swept through Andor. It had almost killed him when Sven left the compound, yet he stayed away from the young human. He hoped Sven would have returned on his own, but with Andor's health and very existence in jeopardy, he couldn't wait any longer. Hopefully, he'd be able to convince Sven to help him instead of forcing him to give Andor what he needed. Also, with Sven back home, Andor wouldn't have to worry about something happening to the human meant to be everything to Andor.
"His door isn't locked, is it?"
"No, sir. Malachi has someone watching it, but there's nothing to keep him here."
Tony was right. There wasn't anything to keep Sven at the compound, yet Andor hoped the mortal would be angry enough at being forced to return, he'd stick around, if only to chew Andor out.
"Thank you, Tony, and relay my appreciation to Malachi. Tell him he may have his choice from the herd as an award."
Unhappiness filled Tony's voice and Andor knew the young guard hoped Malachi would choose him instead of one of the humans making up Andor's herd.
"Good night." He waved, dismissing the messenger and the dark block he assumed was Tony disappeared through the black square behind it.
Andor rubbed his eyes. Damn vision was fucked and not having fed for a week didn't help matters. Being an older vampire, Andor didn't have to feed as often as the younger ones, but with the poison still ravaging his body, he should have been feeding every other day to try and combat it.
Standing, he remained still until he oriented himself with the large desk at one end of his study. No one had been in his suite of rooms since he awoke and there wasn't any way they could get in while he slept. It was one of the many precautions Malachi instituted when he'd come to work for Andor.
He made it across the room without mishap, hating the shuffling steps he had to take to insure he didn't run into a coffee table or a piece of furniture he'd forgotten was there. There was truth in the cliche, 'you never know what you have until it's gone'. He never knew how much he relied on his eyes until they had been taken from him, or at least, his eyesight had been stolen from him.
Andor had been a god in the vampire society he travelled amongst, but now he was pathetic and helpless. Weak when being weak could get him killed. There were those waiting in the wings for his downfall. The loss of his eyesight was only the beginning of his decline in power, if he couldn't do something to stop the deterioration or assert his power in a different way.