Author's notes: Next chapter may take a little longer, but I'll make up for it with even more-I don't know, I'll come up with something awesome. Going on a road trip, so there won't be as much writing time. On the plus side, Grand Canyon!
It was an itch he couldn't scratch. An intrusive, nagging little voice in his mind. An urge to go faster, despite the darkness and the fog. Or the fact that he could only push his bike so hard. Michael wasn't going to the boardwalk to track his 'friends' down, nor did he even stop to consider their underground hotel near Hudson's bluff. In all honesty, he had no idea where he was going. He only knew that at the end of it, he'd find David. Michael had no fucking clue what he'd do after that, but it wasn't going to be pretty.
Star said she was supposed to kill him. So was that the plan the whole time? Play some sick games, fuck with his head? Why? Why pretend they even wanted him around, and why-why did David have him drink blood?
"Son of a bitch," Michael hissed under his breath, using sheer brute force to beat back his thoughts. Anger was easier to focus on than stupid questions without answers, and he had a feeling if he asked, each response to those questions would end with the simple and infuriating word 'because'. Because he was just a game. Because he was just a joke. Because they were monsters.
Whenever he seemed to slow down, the chanting of his name around him seemed to get louder. It was a bitter song now. A predator's chime calling out in the dark, and he wanted to kick himself for feeling the urge to join in with a chant of his own. David. Marko. Paul. Dwayne.
Instinct somehow seemed to tell him when to turn or twist, almost unnaturally, to just barely avoid riding into unseen hazards. When the chanting seemed to finally die in his mind and Michael almost believed he had somehow escaped the taunts of the things he'd called friends, siren songs of summer led him from the fog and into the tiki lights of a summer-night pool party.
It was-well, it wasn't exactly what he'd expected. In fact, it looked like a run-of-the-mill pre-hangover bash, complete with kegs, teenagers, and a distinct lack of responsible adults. Yeah, sure, a few middle aged perverts feeling up girls with daddy issues on the patio, but that was about it. No sign of David. No sign of any of them.
"Michael."
He swung around with his fist, ready to go down fighting with every last ounce of his anger-only to just barely avoid knocking out an innocent party-goer's front teeth.
"Holy shit, man!" The guy dodged, holding up one free hand and another grasping a crumpled beer can, "watch it! Dude, chill out." The guy lowered his ray bans to the bridge of his nose to level Michael with a raised brow, "your friends just wanted me to tell you they're in the house. Lay off the nose candy, huh? You're lookin' kinda freaky."
Michael dug his shades out of his jacket pocket and shoved them over his face, stepping back quickly to avoid doing anything else to draw attention to himself. So they were here.
The moment the guy stumbled away to join a group of idiots clumsily attempting a keg stand by the pool, Michael knew this whole thing was a mistake. Beneath the music and the chatter, beneath the haze of his own frantic thoughts, and a familiar whisper of his name coming back into his head like it had never left-he heard something far more terrible, and far more intriguing.
Pumping hearts. Loud, rhythmic, and every single one of them seemed to be joining together to match his own. Coming to this party was a very bad idea.
Somehow, perhaps miraculously, or perhaps because the thought of facing his brother tomorrow with that same look of fear in his eyes was far more powerful than the lure of the thrumming pulses around him, Michael managed to walk towards the patio. The back door stood open, an invitation.
"Come on," he could almost hear them calling out to him again. "Let go."
The moment he stepped foot over the threshold, everything went silent around him. The music. The chatter. The hearts nestled in their fragile cages just waiting to be ripped out. That blessed silence was almost as jarring as all the noise.
"I was beginning to think you stood me up," a soft, raspy voice remarked in the dark. Michael frowned, watching a spark strike on a match tip as all of the lights came on at once. "Welcome to the party, Michael."
He expected something else. Blood-spattered walls, maybe. All four of them sporting dime store capes and plastic fangs? Instead, everything in the small beach house looked perfectly normal. A couple of rattan chairs with white fur-lined cushions. A rag tie rug. A sparse kitchen with a couple of ice buckets. It was entirely spotless and almost boring, except for one minor detail. In the middle of the room was David, standing there, watching him.
Michael clenched his fists, trying not to focus on the twisting pain in his gut or reality finally settling in to nibble way at the edges of his anger. "I know what you are."
David settled down into one of the rattan chairs, flicking the ashes off the tip of his cigarette, "what we are?"
"You, not me," Michael repeated, a slight edge to his voice. "Star told me. Everything."
"Did she?" He looked nonplussed, as if Michael had just been mentioning the color of the sky and David had no strong opinion whether it was blue or not. "She told you that you were a means to an end? A nameless face she picked out of the crowd to play with? A distraction? I don't give a fuck what she told you. She lied."
Each word was like a slap to the face, and despite the fact that Michael knew Star had used him, that didn't make it any less painful. "You wanted her to kill me."
David rolled his eyes as he took a long pull from his cigarette and then slowly let his head settle against the back of the chair while a cloud of smoke rolled out from his lips like a sleeping dragon in exhale. "You'd already be dead, wouldn't you?"
"So why did she run away?" Michael shot back at him, struggling to remain in place. A disturbing sense of calm was creeping over him, as if he wasn't staring his own death in the face right now. A wolf who wasn't even bothering to wear sheep's clothes.
"She does that," David responded irritably, "I guess she's hiding in your bed right now?" He didn't even wait for an answer, as the look on Michael's face probably gave him away, "come on, take a seat." He cocked his head to the side, eyeing Michael up and down, "unless you're scared? You've already come this far. Don't chicken out now, Michael."
"Eat me," Michael retorted, willing himself to take one step back towards the door. One step further from David and out into the hellish night. In an instant, the vampire was standing in front of him, his face transformed into an inhuman mask of sharp ridges and fangs. He lashed out and snatched Michael's sunglasses from his face, flicking them to the ground to crush them under his boot.
David clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, "no. I don't think so. We're not finished yet."
Warring with fear, and a strange feeling of excitement he neither wanted nor understood, Michael glared back into the blonde's face, "what do you want?"
His gloves were gone now, Michael realized, when David flicked his cigarette to the carpet without even bothering to put it out. Then he felt something on his cheek. Claws, sharp enough to slice down to the bone. Sharp enough to kill. A feather-light touch on his cheek, drawn just under his right eye. If he moved, it would only take one blink to carve out an eye.
"What do you want?" Michael asked again, this time his voice coming out as a whisper. A plea. Dying, he could handle. Being fucked with was an altogether different story. He was a mouse right now being batted about by a smiling blonde house cat.
Drawing back his hand, David met Michael's eyes head-on, the grin quickly receding from his features as Michael stared back. Ice chips seemed to trickle down his spine, and he felt like he was taking some unspoken test. Everything with David felt like that, he realized. Only this time he wasn't hanging from a bridge, or risking his health with rancid chinese food before washing it down with blood. Michael tried to stare right back into David's eyes, to fight, to challenge him.
His head was pounding now, just like the rhythm of the dozen or so hearts he'd heard hammering all at once outside, only this actually hurt. It didn't feel good in the least. He wanted to look away. To give in. He'd do anything for the pain in his head and his stomach to stop now, and Michael was sure at any second his skull was going to crack from all the pressure beating against it. Then, all at once-
It was over. Michael had torn his eyes away from David, and bowed his head. If only to make the pain go away, because he knew it would. Somehow.
"Initiation's over, Michael," David remarked, his voice laced with self-satisfaction. A small victory, and yet at the same time, it was everything. "Time to join the club."
Horrible images washed over him, waves of thoughts and needs that made a part of Michael want to embrace his growing hunger, while the rest of him could only watch and fight. He saw his own nails curled into deadly sharp claws sticky with blood and clumps of shredded flesh. Bodies painting the water pink as they were washed away by the tide. Michael saw death, and he liked it.
David was circling him now, watching, indulging in the sight as Michael fought to maintain some sense of control over himself. Each breath he took became more difficult, and he could actually smell blood in the air, taste it on his tongue.
There were no more words, no more taunts, just the promise in David's smile and the threat in his narrowed eyes. Bit by bit, Michael's will began to chip away, and the monster hiding beneath it all forced him to his knees.
Stopping in front of him now, David ran a hand through Michael's curls, blunt human nails soothing him, deceitfully tender despite the very real danger his touch could bring. He needed to fight, but—
"Hungry?" David asked, and Michael didn't know if he'd actually said it out loud, or the question was ringing in his head like an intrusive whisper. It was a stupid question. He might have pointed that out if he was thinking straight, but he wasn't.
David took a good, long look at Michael, examining his face, studying his reaction to the question. Drawing everything out as if the brunette's need for blood wasn't clawing its way up his throat that very minute, fighting to eat him alive.
"Do you want a taste?" David asked, bringing his wrist to his lips. Not biting, just waiting. "Beg me, Michael. Tell me what you need."
"David," Michael's voice cracked, a plea for escape. Something else, too. "Please." He broke. "I need it."
The vampire bit into his own wrist, drawing two fingers through the blood that welled up there and pressing his lips back to the wound to staunch the bleeding until it subsided, taking his time as Michael dug his fingers into the material of David's pants. Sharpened nails were just barely on the verge of piercing through the leather as Michael waited impatiently.
He was rewarded finally, when David pressed bloodied fingers to his lips. Michael took them into his mouth, too hungry to savour the taste until he had licked the blood clean. It wasn't enough. He needed more.
Behind them, the door swung open with full force, nearly cracking the drywall behind it, and as David stepped back from Michael with no further offers of his own blood to slake the half vampire's burning thirst, the echoes of the music outside came back in full force. This time, however, it was punctuated with screaming and the tantalising scent of iron and salt.
"Come on," David urged, reaching out to help Michael to his feet, "enjoy the party."
Unfortunately for everyone outside, he did just that. He enjoyed every minute of it.
David had always known there was something binding him to Max. Some sense of loyalty he couldn't shake,despite how much he and every single one of his brothers fucking hated the bastard. It went beyond desire, or obligation. It was a nagging compulsion. A parasitic link that bore its way through their skulls more and more each time they'd been forced to drink Max's tepid bottled blood. In the same exact moment Michael's first victim died and he truly became one of them forever, David's link to Max vanished. It was like flipping a switch. He couldn't feel anything. A barrier in his mind he had never really noticed in the first place was suddenly gone, and David felt free. More than that. Strong. Powerful.
He leaned against the doorframe, drinking in the chaos of the pool party with a smile, and the occasional wave to one of Dwayne's, Marko's, Paul's, and yes even Michael's victims. Every few years, some stupid tourists would rent out one of these beach houses. They couldn't crash all of them, but when they did-it always a night to remember.
Funny how useless people were without functioning cars or a telephone. Marko had painstakingly ensured there would be no straggling survivors to ruin the fun. Now that things were quickly beginning to wind down, Dwayne was getting into the spirit of hide and seek. David supposed he should eat someone before Paul ruined them all by seeing how high he could drop them without Marko getting in the way.
"Quit fucking around," David warned them with a mental command. Too much of a mess and cleanup would be a bitch and a half. They knew better. For the most part.
He caught sight of Michael by the pool slowly draining one of the last remaining survivors at the edge of the pool, a bloodied arm draped just over the edge and creating a small cloud of pink smoke in the water. He'd had a lot tonight, far more than enough for the others. Death suited Michael very well.
Between spoiling Dwayne's fun or salvaging the remains of the half dozen wasted deaths from Paul's little game, David elected to join Michael for a bite. Or two.
"Feel good?" He asked as he strolled towards the newly turned vampire, enjoying the calm after the storm just as much as he'd delighted in the earlier chaos. Somewhere along the way, Marko had busted the stereo, so now they were simply left with the sound of the sloshing pool filter and echoing summer night air to keep them company.
Michael very reluctantly tore himself away from his victim's shoulder, blinking up at David several times with a relaxed, glassy look in his eyes. Too much of a good thing could be a lot like a drug for them. It was a far better alternative than seeing him mope over Star. Another problem entirely that David would take care of later.
"Sam's gonna kill me," Michael replied, looking down at the girl in his arms as if just now realizing what he was doing.
"Your brother?" David asked, finding it hard to picture that. "Saw him a couple times. Screams a lot, doesn't he?" He pondered whether or not they should be concerned. "You could eat him," he suggested helpfully.
Michael's shoulders stiffened a little, and it became pretty apparent that idea was a no-go. No promises if the twerp came after them, but he wouldn't press the issue until it became a real problem. Before they'd really settled into Santa Carla, and Max acted more like a real predator and not some clown with fangs, a few of Dwayne's cousins had followed them around for awhile. Tried to save him long after it was too late. They'd been an annoyance, but they more than made up for it as dinner guests. Old family ties could be a hassle.
"I don't think so," Michael finally replied, bringing the girl's wrist back to his mouth. She was still alive. Barely.
David smirked, pulling the girl's other arm out of the water, "the choice is yours, Michael." That seemed to placate him, as he visibly relaxed then, focusing his attention back to feeding. It would take a little time for him to shake the last shadows of his old life off. David wouldn't push too much. He wasn't Max.
They fed together until their victim's heart gave out, and the dregs left weren't worth the effort anymore. Then David shoved the girl's body into the pool and left Michael to relax with Paul and Marko, who'd just now settled down to the ground beside them as the blood high took over. They'd all gone a little overboard tonight, and the poppers Paul spiked everyone's drinks with hadn't helped.
He found Dwayne in the kitchen, kicking away the scraps of what had once been a kitchen cabinet door. "Got the last one," Dwayne said as David picked his way through the kitchen, stepping over the middle aged pervert who'd lost his hiding game. Probably the guy who threw this party in the first place.
"How you wanna take care of this?" David asked, pulling out his pack of cigarettes from his coat pocket and offering one to Dwayne.
The other vampire gladly took it, hopping onto the kitchen island and fishing a matchbook from one of the drawers beneath him. "Fire always works." Though David was and always had been their unofficial leader without Max's constant oversight, Dwayne had a certain flair for cleaning up their messes that the others lacked. Perhaps because Marko liked to collect more souvenirs or because Paul's idea of cleaning up involved conspicuous body pranks that would only lead hunters to their hotel that much faster if they weren't careful.
David licked his bottom lip, lighting up a cigarette of his own and discarding the remains of the pack. "Does Max know?"
Dwayne raised an eyebrow, "course he does. Always feels it when we go wild. Can't you feel it?" There wasn't much they shared with their head vampire, but the edge of an extreme blood high was something he'd definitely catch a taste of, even halfway across the world.
Unable to hide his smirk, David leaned back against the island as he spoke, "can't feel anything. We're cut off. Felt the link snap when Michael turned." They had never tested their blood on anyone else before. Even sharing amongst each other was something they hadn't tried very often in the past. Doing so was like waving a red flag at their 'sire'. Max didn't appreciate it, and the fights tended to be nasty afterwards. He always won.
They shared the silence for a little while, letting everything sink in. Now that the party was over, and the screaming had stopped, it was as if they'd wandered into the very eye of the storm. Max would be too distracted with his supper party tonight, and his delight at the prospect of a 'real family' with Lucy Emerson. The little woman and her son. Star and Laddie. Never mind Santa Carla's food supply was already stretched to its limit. No thanks to a few friends of Max's taking advantage of his hospitality.
"So you're free," Dwayne stated. Not a question. A fact.
David grinned, flicking the ashes off his cigarette, "I guess so."
Dwayne looked back at him, thoughtfully, almost in awe, "what's it like?"
It was tough to answer. He hadn't known freedom like this since he was human. David wasn't even sure he fully remembered what it was like not having a constant tether to his thoughts, a nagging desire to gravitate towards Max every so often despite himself. "Peaceful," he finally decided, "fan-fucking-tastic."
"Do you think-" Dwayne paused, hopping off of the kitchen island and crossing over to the sink where he'd placed half a dozen bottles of kerosene, "do you think maybe it'd work for us?"
David frowned, "what, you all pick some assholes off the boardwalk and make a couple more fledglings?" He didn't much like the idea of even more mouths to feed. Picking at random wouldn't be much better than dealing with Max's choices.
Dwayne rolled his eyes and tossed a canister to David, "no, I mean what if you shared your blood with us again? Maybe you're stronger now. If turning Michael made you a head vampire, it might work. Strengthen our bond, and break Max's."
"It's worth a shot," David replied doubtfully. What was the worst that could happen?