Author's note: Wait a minute...this looks different. If you've read this series before, and you're a little confused, I just went back and did some cleaning up. It's still the same story, so don't worry. I didn't just trash it and write a new one.
"It's too late. My blood is in your veins."
"So is mine!"
From one second to the next, it happened too fast for him to react, and then sharp spikes of bone were punching through his chest and stomach, trapping him, impaling him. He screamed, staring at the horns in shock. Pain. Overwhelming, blind, white pain. David wondered in the split second between agony and bliss whether he'd finally have peace from the hunger. The very thought was what made him smile when smoke began to rise from his body. Well, that and the fact that Michael had more than driven his point home for him. He really was a killer. It was a shame he still didn't seem to get it. Their fight in the air had almost been like a dance, exhilarating enough to almost make these final moments worth it.
David didn't feel the gentle press of his maker's fingers against his chin as the elder vampire inspected him. Nor did he hear the pompous little speech Max spouted out in his big moment, or register the building around him shuddering with the impact as the older vampire was driven into the wall by enormous wooden poles. No, he didn't feel much of anything in the darkness now. Nothing physical, at least.
He was neither cold, nor hot, nor anything in between...and so David pondered on the creature he had tried to make. The brother he had tried to welcome into his pack. He regretted the lie he'd uttered before his death, because it really wasn't his blood he'd given to Michael. It was Max's. Max...the man who ultimately made every decision for him and the boys. Max...the man who put on a performance for the locals and pretended they were nothing to him but a common nuisance, rather than his own 'children'. Children. What a fucking joke. More like errand boys he always expected to be at his beck and call, and raged at when they only did what nature intended. They were predators. Not a cute little family. Not a group of young boys who simply needed a mother's guiding hand. Killers, plain and simple.
...fuck Max. David was free from him now, though he really didn't know what it really meant yet.
If it had been his blood running through Michael's veins...David would have been stronger than him, had a firmer guiding hand. He would have sensed everything about Michael, known the boy inside and out. Hell, he'd even be able to force a few of his own desires on the brunette, with Michael none the wiser. But since he was truly the childe of Max, and not David, thanks to the master vampire's blood he insisted the boys always use in welcoming a new member into their 'family'...it was no wonder Michael caught him off guard in that last moment and pierced him through and through with the grisly horns that killed him. He had no doubt whatsoever that he was dead...
Was he going to Hell? Was there a Hell? Surely, if holy water burnt like a bitch, there must be something after death. Otherwise it wouldn't really make much sense. By all rights, he wouldn't be thinking anymore, and certainly not concerned about the very near future he had to look forward to. He knew he definitely wasn't going to the other place, after all. A smile tugged at the corner of David's lips, which he actually realized was pretty odd, now that he thought about it. Why did he still have lips to smile with? Or for that matter...a body? Shouldn't he have melted or crumbled to dust by now? Exploded? Burst into flames and taken the whole goddamn place down with him?
David began to claw at the darkness he was suspended in, seeking light in the abyss. Light that had for so long shunned him, and driven the blonde to seek shelter in caves during the day, seemed like it would be a blessing now. At least...enough light to see by. Enough light to know truly without a doubt whether or not he was rotting in Hell or slipping into nothingness. The idea of simply floating in darkness...that seemed far worse to a man who spent his nights seeking endless thrills and excitement to keep eternity from dragging him down. Because if you lived a life like Max, playing house, playing human...it would definitely do that.
The more he struggled, and clawed, and kicked, the more he realized that the pain of his death was coming back. It wasn't as intense now, and he didn't feel the horns anymore, but he was no longer comforted so much by the utter lack of feeling in the darkness. It was as if every limb had gone numb at once, and was gradually coming back to itself. Almost unbearable. Perhaps Hell was closer than he'd thought.
"Fuck!" He mentally screamed, reaching to his own chest and finding several gaping holes large enough to push his fists through. He pulled his gloved hands back and rubbed his fingers together. They were tacky and glittering with his own blood. He growled, plucking at the leather and peeling the gloves away, clenching them in his fists.
He wasn't dead. Not completely. Despite the gut-wrenching pain that was beginning to assault him in full force, the thought filled him with a devious glee. He should have realized of course that Michael couldn't have really killed him. After all...horns were made of bone, not wood. No, tonight there'd be no Hell for David. Nor, he realized, would there be any freedom, if Max had his way after all.
Feral eyes squinted in the darkness as another fresh wave of agony washed over him. But he could move. He could see. He could feel. David slowly turned his head to glance about the room, survey his surroundings, and that simple movement more labored than it should have been. His muscles screamed in protest with the effort.
It was still a mess...through the doorway he caught a glimpse of a dim light in the kitchen. The family must have dragged him from his resting place and left him to wait until morning to properly dispose of his corpse. Perhaps to let the sun do the work for them, so all that was left would be a bit of dust to sweep up and throw in the trash or bury in the back garden. That was the only conclusion David could come to. Not really the grand finale he'd always pictured for himself, or very worthy of any vampire worth his chops in his opinion.
Noting a pile of Dwayne's darkened limbs in a corner nearby, and the skeletal remains of Paul...David knew he was right. There'd be no funeral for the Lost Boys. Dark rage filled him when he gazed at what was left of his brothers, aside from Marko back at the cave, no doubt still soaked in his own blood and shriveled up by now. He would make the Emersons and the Frogs pay for what they did to his pack. He would make Star pay for taking Laddie with her and aiding in their destruction. What's more...he would make Michael pay...and then he'd probably fuck him a few times for good measure. Because he still wanted him; still owned him, even if he'd never gotten around to properly taking him.
David stretched his limbs, slowly testing his strength as he tried to push himself into a sitting position. It was...not easy. In fact, it was just another reminder of the insatiable hunger he'd thought he escaped from in death. His stomach began to churn, and little streams of blood oozed from the holes in his body, leaving him weaker with the passing second as his precious life fluid departed from his body in steady trickles of thick red globs. He'd have to eat soon, or his own lack of blood would finish the job the Emersons had started.
Frowning, David did not have the energy to smooth his features. His face quickly reverted to its ghastly vampiric shape, and the blaze of his yellow eyes seemed to illuminate the shadows about him. He pushed himself onto shaky legs, stumbled, and fell, barely managing to bite back a stream of curses.
This was not going to be easy...and the only thing that kept him from letting out a beastly howl was the fact that it would probably wake the assholes responsible for this whole mess in the first place. Why did Michael fight him so much? Why had Star been so difficult? Why were Max's ashes and bits of charred bone sitting in the corner of the room?
Actually...that last part wasn't so bad. David weakly smirked and begun to drag himself across the floor, leaving streaks of blood behind him. With 'dad' gone, David was the head vampire now. That meant Thorne would be his...and finally, Santa Carla as well.
Combinations of angry expletives, frustrated questions, and gleeful thoughts of his future swirled in David's mind as he pulled himself towards the stairs. Bit by bit, inch by inch, he progressed forward. His muscles screamed with the effort, but he pressed on. If he stopped, they'd wake up. If he stopped, the sun would rise and destroy what was left of him. He couldn't stop…
As he drug himself up the stairs, each step left him drained of more energy, the motion of rising forcing larger spurts of blood to flow from his body. How much of it did he have left to lose, he wondered? Hopefully he wouldn't have to find out. How long had it been by the time he finally found himself lying in front of the doorway to Michael's room? That was a question he didn't care to answer. David was quite satisfied to note, however, that Michael was lying huddled in a ball on the side of his bed, back turned to the door...and neither Star nor Laddie could be seen. He imagined the boy's mother insisted they sleep with her that night. It was almost amusing to think that after what she must have seen, premarital sex could have upset her in anyway. He vaguely recollected Star mentioning Michael's parents being hippies at one point, and almost chuckled at the thought. Half of Michael's bed was absolutely destroyed, by what looked like a very small and very angry vampire. It was a wonder he was able to sleep at all with what little there was left of an actual mattress.
But David kept pressing forward into Michael's room, the metal bits of his leather jacket scraping on the floor. The boy slept on...and David grinned. The blood lust was calling in full force now, when he was so close to that he could hear the enticing staccato of blood pumping beneath Michael's sweet white flesh. It gave David just enough strength to gently close the door behind him, and finally rise to his feet to cross the room.
"Michael," he whispered darkly, almost hissing between his fangs, his voice a dangerous warning, a sinister promise.
Michael twitched in his sleep, no doubt already dreaming of some horrible vision. It was amazing he slept at all. David noted with no small measure of surprise that upon a bedside table nearby was an opened bottle of Valium. Thankfully it wouldn't affect him...in fact, it was going to make this job much easier.
He didn't take Valium very often. It was one of the many wonderful pills adorning his mother's medicine cabinet since things with dad went south and she had to find that extra push just to level her nerves, and she'd often encourage both him and Sammy to take a few when they were having off days. Like it was some kind of medical miracle, a solution to any and all problems they couldn't fix with talking. Though he usually turned it down, resting in his cold bed tonight, especially after the events that had unfolded, was going to be impossible if he didn't get a little nudge from 'mother's little helper'. So he popped two, and waited for sleep to come, and waited for the stress and the trauma of the last few days to uncoil from his chest. It was a snake, and he knew it would pretty much follow him for the rest of his life.
Within half an hour, the pills helped him fly away to an empty world where sleep was the only law. No dreams would haunt him tonight, and no thoughts of the nightmare that had unfolded for them all from the moment he stepped foot on the boardwalk and Star caught his eye. As he drifted away, Michael thought of that curly-haired gypsy girl fondly. They hadn't spent much time together, but already it felt like he could never be apart from her. That spangled skirt and soft breath caressing his cheek would follow him for years to come. His lips curved into a small smile, imagining what she must look like reclining in the sun and soaking it into her skin. How glorious that would be.
Speaking of soft breath...he could swear he felt it even now on his face, though he knew he shouldn't be dreaming. It had to be her, as if his mere thoughts of Star summoned the girl from his mother's room to his bed. Michael wanted to open his eyes and wrap her into his arms, encase her with him in the crumpled sheets so she could never leave. Kiss away the un-shed tears from her days spent in half-death, replace them with tender words and sweet promises. With daylight and the knowledge that they were both free from murder and death.
"Star," Michael whispered groggily, struggling to even move his fingers. He just felt too heavy. But he was sure she would wait for him, even spend the night beside him despite his mother's insisting she and Laddie sleep apart from Michael tonight. He smiled, and waited for the tickle of her hair to fall on his face. But it didn't.
"No, Michael...not Star..." Came the hushed whisper of the man Michael knew was lying in his grandfather's workroom, dead as dust. Michael's lips twitched, and he finally managed to pry his eyes open.
He expected to see her even now. Expected that those words in response to the name of his lover were merely a trick played on him by a nightmare trying to punch through the fog of his Valium. But he did not see a fall of dark hair above him, nor did he find himself greeting a pair of gentle and loving eyes.
"David..." Michael croaked, unable to summon enough air into his lungs to shout. The strength of the fight had left him, and so had the advantages of being damned.
"Tut tut, Mikey..." David chided, placing a clawed finger on Michael's full lower lip and grinning. His fangs twinkled even now in the darkness, and his eyes...those horrible yellow eyes held promises Michael hoped they couldn't keep.
"Did you already forget my name?" David asked, cocking his head to the side in a mocking semblance of hurt.
"Wh...How?" Michael gulped, his throat felt dry and raspy. Whether it was the drugs or simply the fear that now began to assault him, he didn't know. Nor did he care.
"Do you remember what you said, Michael?" David raised his eyebrows, leaning down until his face was a few inches away from Michael's own.
"Do you remember? Right before you rammed me into those horns? When I told you my blood was in your veins?" David repeated his question, licking his lips. The way he said the word 'rammed' didn't sit well with his victim. It sounded...dirty.
Michael couldn't shake his head. So he remained quiet, and he watched.
"'So...is...mine.' That's what you said, Michael. 'So is mine.'" David continued, leaning back and running the same hand that had touched Michael's lips over his own stomach, claws lingering on the holes in his shirt and chest. He was a gruesome vision, sitting astride Michael's hips, a reminder that he should be dead and rotting downstairs in a puddle of his own blood.
"Well, you were right. Your blood is in your veins. I'm truly sorry about that, Michael. I am..."
Michael spasmed beneath him, in one last attempt to move, to fight and push David away. But the heaviness in his limbs went beyond the mere effects of drugs. It was the dark power in David's eyes when they met his own that pressed him into his bed and kept him from throwing a good punch right into the smug bastard's face.
"But don't worry, I can fix that. The first time, we did it the easy way for you. The blood in that wine bottle was stale, strong enough to do the trick." David wrinkled his nose, leaning down again and nuzzling his face into the side of Michael's cheek, which earned him a disgusted shudder in response. Though there had been teasing glances, the occasional awkward touch of a hand on his back or face when he wasn't paying much attention, David had yet to show this side of himself to Michael.
A mixture between a chuckle and a growl rumbled from David's throat. "...But not strong enough to have all the benefits. When you drink it fresh...it's much harder to fight your maker, Michael. I bet your little brother's Froggies didn't tell you that, did they?" He scoffed, tongue snaking out as he brought his lips down to meet Michael's in a small nipping kiss. Michael bit back in response, which drew an excited grin from David's face.
"We're getting to that part, Michael...so just relax. I promise you'll get plenty of me inside you soon enough..."
Michael's eyes grew wide at the implications of what David said, and he sucked in a deep breath of air. He would scream. He would call his family into the room, get them to finish the job and deal with David once and for all.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," David whispered against Michael's lips, pulling back into a sitting position. "I may not look like much now, but I can kill each and every one of them. I'm stronger than all of you, Michael. Stronger than Max now..."
He was bluffing, but Michael didn't need to know that. Honestly, this gloating was taking a lot out of him, but David was nothing if not a performer. Plus, he had to make sure Michael was nice and complacent for his plan to work.
"So here's what I'm going to do, Michael. I'm going to kill you. Then I'm going to bring you back...I'm going to make sure you love every second of it, even if you don't want to. Then I'm going to fuck you raw, and I'm going to make sure you never leave me again. I don't have any boys left, you know. Your brother and his little friends made sure of that!" David snapped those last words, bringing his clawed hands to Michael's chest and dragging them down his shirt collar, shredding it in the process until his chest was prominently on display, riddled with streaks of blood.
Michael flinched, but he didn't cry out. He may not believe David fully that he could kill each and everyone in the house, but he didn't want to take a risk that even one of them would die.
"Do you understand me?" David hissed, saliva dripping from his fangs. He couldn't hold off from his meal much longer. Michael may not have nodded, may not have even spoken, but the way his eyes seemed to scream 'fuck you' was enough to satisfy David.
In the blink of an eye, maybe less, he was upon his victim, sharp fangs plunged deep into Michael's neck. Michael wanted to scream, to claw at David and push him away...but he couldn't. He couldn't.
Seconds seemed to tick by like minutes, and with David's chest pressed against his own, Michael could feel the sucking pressure of the monster's wounds shrinking even as his own blood left his body. He whimpered, the strength of his anger and his hatred fading into a very dull pain. What's more, the ache in his neck as David growled and sucked at the wound he'd made was beginning to take on a whole new depth of feeling. It was like fire raging through Michael's body, reminding his muscles exactly what it felt like when he'd watched the Lost Boys dine on the beach, through the shadows of the tree.
"Please..." Michael whimpered pointlessly, trying to push David away. He didn't want this. He wanted the sun. He wanted to live, to grow old, to make love to Star every night for the rest of his days. The idea of David instead...well, it was repugnant. If Michael had known something like this was in store for him before he'd tried to kill David, he would have stuck around and made sure it worked.
David growled in response to his victim's feeble cry, the wounds in his chest and stomach finally gone. He could keep going, keep drinking until Michael was as dry as garlic skin. He could move on to each and every member of the household afterwards. He could do so much now, with Michael's strength and life pumping through his veins and reminding him exactly how exquisite it was to be dead.
But...he didn't. Because then, the game would be over. Truthfully, too, David didn't want to be alone. Even as he reluctantly pulled himself away from Michael's neck, and watched the clammy boy fade out of consciousness again, he didn't want to be alone...and he never would be. David grinned, wiping at his face and licking the sticky substance from his fingers. It tasted like the sweetest treat, made sweeter by knowing who it came from.
David looked at his own wrist with glee, tearing into it and pressing the wound to Michael's unyielding lips. For a long moment, Michael did not respond.
David frowned. Had he taken too much? It would be pointless to lose his own blood if Michael didn't even have the strength to swallow.
Clicking his tongue against his fangs, the lost boy waited impatiently, using one hand to force Michael's jaw open wider so that the blood would have easier access to drip down his throat. Still...he didn't move.
"Michael, if you don't drink my fucking blood right now, I'm going to kill everyone!" David hissed threateningly. It finally seemed to do the trick, and Michael managed to rouse himself enough to drag his tongue across David's wrist. The blonde thrilled at the slick feeling, a shiver running down his spine. He watched as the hunger for life crept into the boy's face, forcing Michael to actively drink what was offered, and gradually it became an eager experience for both parties.
David watched Michael clamp down on his wrist, and bite into the skin, though he didn't yet have fangs to do much damage. Excitedly, he witnessed his first childe blossom into death once more. The other boys had been his, by way of Max, of course. But they'd never had David's blood. Never shared each other's. Only Max's.
Though his heart had little to do but rest lifelessly in his chest, David felt as if it would be thrumming a thousand miles a second right now, watching Michael intently. He remembered the day on the boardwalk, when he'd first glimpsed the boy jealously watching Star climb onto the back of his bike. David's thoughts at the time had been simple. He'd wondered what Michael's cock looked like. Frankly, he wondered it now too.
Oh, the boys had caught a good eyeful of Michael and Star going at it like bunnies in the hotel, but they hadn't been close enough to get a look at the important parts. David admired the curves of Michael's back then, the strength with which he clung to the girl. Honestly, he'd hoped even then to become more intimate with the boy in time. He might have even let Michael come to share a bed with him of his own accord, but things were much different now. David was not going to wait any more. Michael had lost the right to 'make his own decisions' when he'd led his brother and the Frogs to their sanctuary.
"Michael," David whispered, pulling his wrist away. Michael struggled to keep it against his mouth, which made David grin, but he needed to stop the boy now before he lost much more of the precious fluid again. There wasn't enough time to go on another hunt. He'd spent far too much of the night dragging himself up the stairs.
Michael involuntarily hissed, slamming his head back on the pillow and squirming.
"It hurts, doesn't it?" David asked, smirking. He kept his eyes glued to Michael's face and watched the change with interest. David had been the only member of Max's gang to experience the turn straight from the vein, so he'd never been a witness to just how erotic it could be.
First, Michael's heart ceased to beat. When it had happened back in the cave, they'd plied him with too much weed and liquor for it to hurt. But now, sober (save for the lingering effects of the Valium), Michael's eyes were filled with intense fear and pain. He gasped for air he couldn't find. David clamped his hands about Michael's wrist as the boy began to thrash in his bed. To be honest, it was getting him pretty hard, but he'd have to wait until later to deal with that little nuisance. If he did anything now, he'd want to go to sleep afterwards...and that was incredibly dangerous under the current circumstances.
Michael's teeth were stained with blood, and his tongue was darting out to frantically lick up every single drop. By the time they were once more as pearly and white as they should have been, two fangs had descended. David wanted to kiss those cute incisors, but he'd probably pull back without a tongue right now if he did. As excited as he was becoming right now, he was almost glad Michael had tried to kill him. Otherwise, he wouldn't get to enjoy this delicious sight. It was much better this way.
Finally, Michael ceased to struggle, and settled onto his bed once more, his eyes taking on an orange-ish yellow glow. David smirked even as he felt something stir beneath him. Trapped in the confines of his jeans, Michael was just as hard as him now.
Pain, hunger, anger, hatred, shock, and finally...arousal washed over Michael's face as he looked down at David's hips astride his own and back into the master vampire's face.
"What were you expecting to happen, Michael? You belong to me now..." David teased.
"Too bad we'll have to wait until tomorrow night to take care of it," he casually continued, slipping off of Michael and standing at the foot of the boy's bed. "It's time to go home," he finished, holding his hand out to the reluctant (and oh so angry) brunette. Michael wanted to jump up and slap that hand away, throw a few good punches for good measure, and kill David all over again. But...he also wanted to fuck him, and that last part definitely scared the hell out of the boy who'd never once in his life thought he'd want to even touch another guy's dick.
"Come on, Michael..." David quirked an eyebrow. The bastard could read Michael's thoughts, and it was making him even more excited.
Angrily, and very reluctantly, Michael managed to stand. But he did not take David's hand as they crossed towards his bedroom window and pushed it open.
"I fucking hate you," he growled before they took flight together. David's laughter echoed into the night air.