Blood and Other Necessities
From the room around him, Michael could detect only his own heartbeat. Relying on his extra senses, he determined without rolling over to check her side of the bed that Selene was no longer beside him. The absence of her heartbeat from the room suggested that she was not present at all.
Not a massive surprise. In the one month that had passed since they had discovered her pregnancy, there were a lot of times that Michael woke alone. Initially, he knew he would find her in the bathroom, dealing with bouts of morning sickness that would strike at any time of day. The sickness had subsided somewhat in the past weeks, and now he knew that if she was not beside him, she was more than likely feeding. She was, after all, now feeding for two.
Stretching before he braved the chill of the morning, Michael reflected on how much things had changed. One month was a relatively short period, especially given the eternity he was facing as an immortal. He could only imagine how minute it would have seemed to Selene. And yet so much could change in that short time.
The dynamic between them had shifted greatly. Selene had gone from dominant and independent to someone who relied on him quite willingly. It was her dwindled strength that first saw her relying on him. The morning sickness had left her weak, virtually bedridden. He waited on her without a qualm.
But that was just the start.
Hormones were going to be the biggest adjustment they would face during the pregnancy. Selene had been a death dealer, cold and unfeeling, completely inscrutable when it came to emotions. The change had not seemed so severe at first to Michael. Of course she would be upset when she spent most of her day feeling miserable, unable to tolerate the mere scent of blood, and vomiting up whatever blood she was able to swallow.
But when tears remained even after the sickness had resolved, Michael realised that it was plausible the new version of Selene would be around for months. Small things would set her off, either in tears or fits of rage. He became thankful that they kept no weapons in the apartment, that all of their ammunition was kept in her upstairs storeroom. Michael was sure she would have shot him enough times now to end even his immortal life.
Even through the emotional rollercoaster the past month had been, Michael felt blessed. Almost two years prior, he was living a life that was only just bearable. Without knowing it, he had mourned the death of his beloved Samantha for three years, every single day allowing her passing to be a roadblock to him living his own life. He was a med student putting in more hospital hours than a day allowed. His prospect on life had been at best pretty glum.
It took being bitten by a lycan and a vampire, being thrown headfirst into a chaotic world of mythical monsters and blood drinking, to feel alive. Meeting Selene had cinched that feeling, and then falling in love again was like turning a light on in a life he had lived for so long in the grey of dusk.
And now, they had a baby on the way. He never would have dreamed any of this, even in his most joyous of dreams. And every morning, he awoke with a smile, happy in love.
With a content sigh, he levered himself out of bed, stretching once more as he pulled a t-shirt on along with some track pants. The animal within him required regular stretching, regular activity. It was the same reason that he regularly went for a jog around the local streets. He didn't want to think about what would happen if he didn't keep that part of him in check.
Michael yawned as he headed out of the bedroom, moving through the hallway into their living room. Sparsely decorated when they had first moved in, Michael had managed to talk Selene into a big screen LCD. It was only natural then that the black leather couch be purchased in order to have something to sit on while watching the TV. The place felt more like a home with the additions, even if they used them so rarely.
The couch was bare, the television turned off. Even the laptop, set up like a personal computer in the corner of the room, was off. Selene was not there.
Moving past the living room to the kitchen, Michael was shocked to find that Selene was not there either.
If not feeding, watching TV, researching on her laptop or being physically sick in the small bathroom that adjoined their bedroom, there was only one more place that she could be.
Michael returned to the hallway, bound for the door that led to their upper level. He took the stairs three at a time as he ascended, more anxious to find her now than ever. Whether due to the pregnancy or to the abundance of love he felt, he was more protective of Selene now. When she was not near him, he felt a physical pain, and it didn't take a lot for him to imagine her lying unconscious somewhere.
Images that were now flowing through his mind…
But the images were replaced by a flood of relief when he opened the door to their attic of sorts, to find Selene's silhouette framed in the dim greyness. She was standing by one of the four large refrigerators they used for blood storage.
Before he could open his mouth to greet her, she spoke, her words sounding strangely strangled.
"We have no more blood." Her grave face was pale in the light from the refrigerator, making her brown eyes seem even darker than was usual. Even her lips were dark, a tight line on the perfection that was her face.
"None?" Michael asked, incredulous. He moved to stand beside her, seeing for himself the rows of empty shelves. "I thought we had enough to last for another year."
She turned to him, her teeth worrying her lower lip. "I've been feeding more than usual." Her hand moved to rest briefly on her stomach before dropping away. "I knew that. I just didn't realise how much more."
Her concern was evident, almost like a physical presence in the room with them. Even without her saying it, he knew exactly what those concerns were.
"If we don't feed, Michael, we could die. I could lose the baby." The sob he knew so well, had at first seemed so out of character, emerged from her parted lips. "I don't want to lose the baby."
He took her shoulders in his hands. "You won't," he said with as much certainty as he could muster. "We can find blood somewhere else. I'll go to the butchers. They're bound to have buckets of it."
Selene's eyes were shimmering pools. "We'd need a slaughterhouse just to sustain me alone." As he watched, her tears overflowed, and then with a cry she threw herself into his arms. "I'm so sorry. I've doomed us both."
It was at times like these that Michael wished hormones didn't exist. They made it extremely hard for him to take control when Selene was a virtual basket case in his arms.
"You haven't doomed us," he said softly, wrapping both arms around her and rocking her gently. "We'll find another way."
He felt her head move as she shook it in response. "No," she said, her voice so feeble. "It's too late."
"No it's not. It's still early. I'll go out now."
"No," she repeated in a whisper. "I mean I need it now."
On cue, she slumped in his arms. Thinking fast, Michael quickly lifted her up, cradling her against his chest in one arm, while stroking her face with his free hand. Her eyes were closed, lips still parted. She was breathing, but her pulse was dangerously weak and slow.
Moving at his superhuman speed, he had her back in their bedroom in seconds. As he laid her gently on the bed, her eyelids fluttered and she released a soft moan.
"Selene," he began his voice frantic. "Listen to me. You need to feed."
Without hesitation, he bit into his wrist. Once the blood started flowing, he held it to her mouth. No more than a few drops made it through before she pulled away, pursing her lips to prevent any more of his blood entering her.
"No," he commanded. "You have to."
Her eyes opened, that almost transparent silver greeted him. "I won't drink your blood, Michael," she whispered.
"You will," he said adamantly. "You need energy." He offered his wrist again, spilling precious blood on her clothes in the process.
The blood was clearly causing a reaction, the scent causing her fangs to descend. Still, stubborn as ever, she turned away from his bleeding wrist.
Michael was chasing away his own monster, awakened by the scent of blood in the air. He was still in control, still gravely aware that he needed to make his love feed. She was in danger of going into a blood coma if she didn't.
He pulled on the only lifeline he had, knowing that his words were true, but that it was a cheap trick to try in this time of need.
"For the baby," he said firmly. "Drink."
Her eyes met his, and whatever certainty or concern she saw there dissolved her stubbornness. With an air of reluctance, she accepted his wrist, and drank deeply, her eyes closed.
The pull on his blood was intoxicating, more than anything he had ever felt before. Far from feeling faint or a sensation of being drained, the knowledge that each mouthful of his blood she swallowed was restoring her strength, that she was relying on him for life support, it was almost arousing; a truly positive sensation.
Selene's eyes opened, the silver slowly bleeding to brown. She was gripping his arm in both hands, the hold almost vice-like. Her mouth was first to detach, leaving her panting. In a swift movement, she released his arm and grabbed his shirt, pulling his lips to hers with a force that startled him.
The heat from his blood had made her warm, and he could taste the sweet nectar on her lips as he kissed him. He found himself wanting more; not blood, more of her, so much more that it was almost painful.
And then she ended the kiss, pulling him back with less force, her endless brown eyes bearing into his. He was drowning in her, desperate for a lifeline; desperate for more, to be swept away by the current of her love.
But the emotion in her eyes sobered him, returned him to the room, and restored his mind to the gravity of their situation.
Her hold on his shirt remained, while her free hand moved to take his wrist, the blood flow now reduced to a few ruby droplets. Without lowering her gaze, she wiped the drops away, pressing her fingers to the already healing wound.
"Thank you," she whispered, tears once more trailing her cheeks. There was clarity in her eyes, warning as she added, "But don't you ever do that again."
Catching her tears with his thumb, Michael answered in a voice that was just as firm.
"I'll do whatever I can to keep you well."
There was no other way. She needed to remind herself of that. They needed blood; not just to sustain the pregnancy but to sustain both of them. What he did he did out of desperation. And it was the right thing to do.
Of course, that didn't alleviate any of the anxiety she now felt six hours after he left the apartment.
When her strength had returned, Michael and Selene discussed options for future sources of blood now that the Ziodex supply had run out. While Michael was optimistic, Selene was adamant that butchers would not have enough blood on hand to provide them. And of course, if they did have blood on hand, she doubted they would readily give it away to them.
Apart from taking human lives or diminishing local wildlife, their options were very limited.
It was Michael who had thought of it first.
"What about other safe houses?"
Ice had settled in Selene's stomach at his words. It was not something she wished to consider, not something she would ever think about. But it was clearly not too taboo for Michael.
"What about them?" she asked cautiously, knowing exactly what he was referring to.
"Well, they would all have blood supplies, right?"
Selene had sighed deeply before nodding slowly. "Right," she conceded. "Assuming they are still running."
"And you have the access codes to all of them?"
It was with extreme reluctance that she answered this honestly. "I do."
A light of hope was glimmering in Michael's eyes. He was trying to find a solution to their dire problem, and clearly he thought he had the right idea.
"Then we can get our supplies from the safe houses," he concluded, the smile on his face akin to the joy of a child solving his first Algebra equation.
Selene hated to destroy his hopes, put such a dampener on his plans. She knew he was trying to help; that he loved her and cared so much that he would announce any idea he thought would work. That she would see each of his suggestions with the negatives made her heart ache.
"I don't think that would work, Michael," she said softly. "For one, I think it would be too dangerous."
"No," he said, moving up the bed to sit beside her, taking her hand in his own. "Hear me out on this. What are the chances that the safe houses would be stocked with blood?"
She sighed again. "As I said: if they're still running. I imagine there must be death dealers out there still, and they would be using the safe houses. I don't know if they'd still be stocked, though."
Michael nodded, serious as he took this in. "Okay, and would the safe houses be occupied during the daylight hours?" he asked.
"It was very rare back when I was…" She shook her head. "But things have changed. They don't have the mansion any more. For all we know, they could be living out of the safe houses."
"But we don't know for sure that they are."
"We don't know for sure that they're not." Selene sighed again, squeezing his hand in her own. "Michael, I know you're trying to think of solutions, but this one-"
"It's worth a try, Selene," he said softly. His gaze lowered to their hands. "I want to try this."
She shook her head slowly. "It's not safe."
But he remained adamant. No amount of coaxing or begging could stop him.
He had dressed, had kissed her good bye, and then walked out the door.
That had been well over six hours ago.
She had given him the directions to the safe house nearest to them. He left shortly after midday, when the sun was at its highest and the streets busier with the lunchtime crowds. He would blend in so much easier, and it was the perfect time in order for him to get to the safe house, obtain the supplies and return to the apartment by sunset.
Sunset had come and gone, and with every passing second, Selene became more and more concerned.
She should not have allowed him to go. She should have stopped him physically, not just try to convince him with her words. If she had the strength, she would have. She would have taken him down, done whatever she needed to do to keep him safe. Hurting him in that scenario would be for his own good.
As it was, she could not. Even with his blood, her strength was not at its peak. While blood now satiated her hunger, feeding for two meant she needed twice as much to cover both hunger and energy levels. Her energy suffered; she was keeping herself and the baby alive, but for what cost?
She almost wished she was not pregnant.
No, she couldn't think that way. Whether she was pregnant or not, eventually they would have faced this problem. The blood source was going to run out sooner or later. Being pregnant had only sped the process for them.
Of course, if she wasn't pregnant, she could have been out there with him finding blood, instead of being locked up in their apartment…
She heaved a sigh of relief when she heard the key turn in the door to their apartment. There was silence, several moments of it. And then there was a loud thump, as of someone collapsing.
Her concern increased when the strong scent of blood met her nostrils.
In an instant, she was in the living room.
The body on the floor in front of the open doorway lay face down.
The leather bomber jacket had holes in the back, reminiscent of bullet holes.
Blood circled those holes.
Hair that was curled, long to just below the nape of the neck.
The scent in the air was one that was a mix of lycan and vampire.
Selene collapsed to her knees beside the body, choking on a sob.
"Michael?" She rolled him over, gasping at the vast amount of blood that covered his chest.
His eyes were open and glazed. Blood seeped from a corner of his mouth.
"I made it back," he smiled, his voice emerging as a rasp; a noise which injected fear into every part of her body.
"Oh, my God." Her fingers touched the soft leather of his jacket. The blood there was warm, recently spilt. Michael's blood.
Was it only hours ago she had drunk the same fluid straight from his veins?
"It's not all my blood." He was still smiling, still trying to appear strong in the face of what would be fatal wounds for any human. "The bullets hit the…" He paused to wince, visually suppressing a moan. "Blood bags I was carrying."
"Don't talk," she shushed him, her own voice although tearful betraying the well of emotion she was feeling.
She ripped open his shirt, inwardly cursing as she viewed the true damage. The number of wounds was too numerous to count. She couldn't even guess at how many times he had been shot.
He was not healing, which was likely due to the lack of new blood to replenish his body. He had fed her on his own life fluid, leaving himself extremely vulnerable.
Selene knew she could not move him. The pain that would cause him would be unbearable, and she could not be sure how severe his internal injuries were. Moving him could only serve to make the matter worse.
Pursing her lips, certain she needed to act fast, Selene took his hand in hers.
"Michael, I need you to hold on."
I can fix this, was what she repeated in her head again and again.
"Please hold on," she repeated as she stood up.
Panic set in as she left his side, making her clumsy in her immortal speed.
I can fix this.
Towels; she needed towels to stop the bleeding while she found him the blood he needed so desperately. She moved to the bathroom, taking every last towel she could find before returning to the living room.
His pale brown eyes, glassy now, passed over her face as she returned to him.
"Calm," he sputtered.
Typical. Even at a time like this, he was more concerned with her getting over-stressed than at his situation.
She ripped open his jacket and t-shirt in one movement. Folding the towels in half, she used one on his upper chest, covering five of the less-severe looking holes; another she placed on his abdomen, covering the remaining wounds.
I can fix this.
"I'll be back," she assured him as she jumped to her feet again.
As she searched through cupboards and drawers, she silently prayed that there would be blood she had overlooked. How desperately she wanted to give him her blood, to repay the precious favour he had bestowed hours earlier. Her blood however was barely lasting her. Even now she could feel the beginnings of dizziness. She would be no good to him unconscious.
Now, she almost cursed being pregnant.
Throwing open the refrigerator, she ran a hand over her face as she found it bare. She was running out of time. Michael needed blood urgently.
Like prayer, she had never given much thought to miracles. She was astounded when she found the trace of red on the bottom shelf of the refrigerator, tucked away at the back. Almost crying with relief, she pulled the bag out.
She would have kissed it had the time not been so precious.
She returned to the living room, returned to Michael's side.
He was warm, but his chest was still and silent. His pulse was gone.
"No!" she cried, ripping the bag open with her teeth. "You will not do this to me again!"
It took a micro-second for Selene to work out how to get the fluid past Michael's closed lips. Tipping the bag, she filled her mouth with as much as possible, successfully resisting the urge to swallow. Holding the bag closed with one hand, she pried his mouth open with the other. She lowered her lips to his, and then slowly released the fluid as a trickle.
Three times she repeated the action, each time speaking to him with desperation, praying silently in her mind.
After the third mouthful, she pulled away, watching for any change in his state. He was pale, still motionless, and his heart was still not beating.
Searching for any reason why her attempts would not be working, she carefully peeled the makeshift pads from Michael's wounds. The bleeding had stopped, but the healing process had not yet begun. In one last desperate attempt, Selene began taking the bullets from his body, one by one.
"Don't leave me," she cried over his still body.
The nectar was cold, thick, and saltier than he was used to. Despite the unwanted tang, it travelled over his tongue and down his throat smoothly, giving welcome life to everything it touched.
But the taste…
He groaned as he swallowed again, instinctively drawing away from the next mouthful.
"No you don't," came the soft voice, the voice that was sheer music to his ears. "You drink this."
Michael opened his eyes, squinting at the bright sunlight streaming through the window. In front of him was a most welcome sight. A glass half full of red fluid, with a little straw protruding from the top.
But even better than this sight was the person holding the glass.
"Selene," he greeted, his voice emerging raspy.
"I know it's not the greatest taste in the world," she said, scrunching her nose as she looked into the glass. "But you need it right now, so drink." She forced the straw back into his mouth.
With a smile, he did as she requested, taking several large sips before the slurp of air indicated the glass was empty. Watching her, he hadn't even realised how foul the blood tasted.
Selene placed the glass on the table beside the bed. Beside that, Michael noticed a much larger bucket. Judging by the red tint to the rim and the smell omitting from it, he knew that it was full of the same fluid he had just ingested.
"Where did you get that?" he asked, nodding his head to indicate the bucket.
She smiled, looking a little sheepish. "Butchers," she replied. "He looked at me like I was going to perform some sort of satanic ritual. But he said there's plenty more where that came from."
"We have a source," he said, broadening his smile as he took her hand in his.
She nodded, heaving a sigh. "I was scared," she whispered. Her smile faded. "For a while, I wasn't sure you'd wake up."
"That's the second time you've underestimated me," he smiled, trying to lighten her mood.
"I've lost people for a lot less than what happened to you." She sniffed, and he realised then just how upset she was.
"I wouldn't leave you, Selene." He was serious now, wanting to calm her, assure her, more than cheer her.
"You wouldn't have a choice." Her soulful brown eyes bore into his.
"It would take a lot more than a few bullets to make me leave you."
She wiped at her eyes, and the sunlight caught the moisture on her hand. "Don't," she started, and then paused. After a deep breath she tried again. "Don't you do that to me again." Her voice was chastising, but it was far from comical. He knew where these words stemmed from, and knew how serious the meaning behind them was.
"I need you here," she continued. She lifted his hand, placing it beneath hers on her stomach. "I can't do this without you. Blood isn't the only necessity for me."