There's this thing called imprinting. No, not that Twilight crap – I have read those books so my opinion is as good as yours. The idea is kind of the same, though. The newborn vampires are like baby birds, completely dependent of either their maker or any other older vampire who provides them shelter and food. Newborns are followers, completely and utterly smitten by whoever takes care of them because there is no one else for them out there.
My first memory through unconsciousness was being cold and immeasurably thirsty. I was quite disoriented at the time. It was like I had just woken up from a lifelong coma. My throat felt like sandpaper and I just couldn't clench my thirst. I was too tired to panic and too broken to get any consolation from the fact I wasn't dead. I wanted to feel a liquid to run down my throat. I wanted this pain to be over.
I didn't know how long I had been there or how I had gotten there in the first place. But there I was. Hanging from the ceiling of an abandoned warehouse and being driven insane by my thirst, bloodied clothes dried to skin and cold shackles chafing my wrists. I growled, struggling against my restraints. Apparently that's what alerted the vampires of my awakening.
"Hey, kid, it's okay." The tall, dark skinned vampire spoke to me. She walked my way until she was inches away from me and she dared to offer a small, plastic container. "Shush, it's okay. Drink this," she said, raising it near my lips.
I didn't recognize the tangy scent despite its familiarity and out of sheer stubbornness I turned away. My voice was merely a raspy growl when I voiced the question:
"What is it?"
The vampire smiled. "It's blood."
She said it like it was the easiest thing to say, which to her, it probably was. She moved the container again and I turned my head away like a petulant child I was. It was blood. I wasn't going to drink that even though the every cell in my body wanted to have a taste. The scent was heady; it was making my head spin. The second set of teeth pushed through my gums, drawing out blood, but my own blood didn't help my hunger.
"No," I hissed.
"Come on," she coaxed. "You need to drink or you'll just dry out and die. And we don't want that to happen, do we?"
I knew what would happen if I drank that but it wasn't really up to me anymore. So she poured and I drank. I enjoyed it then, how it felt against my tongue and how it rich it tasted. In retrospect I'm not proud of enjoying it. Someone had died so I could be fed but that thought didn't even cross my mind before the container was empty and my secondary teeth had sunk back in.
The damage was already done by then.