Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, they are the property of their creators, nor am I seeking to make a profit from this.

Another short chapter, sorry. Please review!

Chapter 11

Anders woke up in a dimly lit room. It was dirty, and he was sprawled over a very uncomfortable bed. His head was pounding, and he was still drunk, so not much time had passed. He tried to sit up, but his head started spinning and his stomach turned. He lurched to the side just in time to retch over the side of the bed. He completely emptied his stomach and then slumped back down, his arm pinned under his side at an awkward angle and his head hanging over the edge.

He must have passed out again, because when he woke there was a bucket next to the bed and the sick had been cleaned up off the concrete floor. His head still throbbed, but his stomach felt fine. He wasn't drunk anymore, and he was able to sit up this time and really look around. There were no windows, and there were two doors. The one to his left was closed, and the one to his right was opened to reveal a very small room that looked like it only contained a toilet. He assumed the first door was the exit, and Anders would have bet money that it was locked, so he didn't even get up to try it. Anders looked back at the toilet, and was struck with how much he needed to pee. He stood, his legs shaky, and walked over to the corner. Once he'd relieved himself he went and sat back down on the bed, kicking the bucket away. He felt his pockets, but his wallet and keys were gone.

Who the hell- His thought was interrupted by the door clicking as it was unlocked, and then opened. He stood abruptly as five people entered the room, led by the blond man that bashed Anders' head.

"Hello," the man said, his voice pleasant. Chills went down Anders' spine, and he took a step back.

"Who are you and what do you want with me?" he said, his voice steady – steadier than he felt, at least.

"My name is William Herrick, and I'm just here to teach my recruits something I learned many years ago." He turned to the four people behind him. "This is a god," he gestured to Anders, and Anders' eyes went wide with shock and fear shot through him. "Not many know this, but in small quantities god blood is more amazing than you could ever imagine. But you have to be careful, because if you have too much it acts as a powerful hallucinogenic, and it's never fun. His blood with sustain you longer and make you stronger than human blood. So, who wants to go first?" He clapped his hands together with a smile on his face.

Anders was starting to panic. How the fuck did they find me!? They had him isolated, locked in a room intent on using him as a blood fountain for an indefinite amount of time – and there was nothing he could do about it. They were blocking the door, and there were more of them, and they were stronger.

He did the only thing he could do, which was back up so he was against the wall, staring at them wide-eyed.

"Tom, why don't you go?" Herrick said, and they all approached. Anders lashed out, trying to get away when two of them grabbed him, but it was useless. They held him still, and Tom held his head to the side with one hand as his teeth tore into Anders' neck. It hurt significantly more than when Mitchell had bitten him, and he couldn't help the cry that escaped him.

"Stop!" Herrick called after what felt like an hour, but was only about ten seconds. Tom ripped himself up and stumbled away, a euphoric smile plastered on his face.

"Oh my god, you guys gotta try this," he slurred. Anders was beyond fear now, and into full-blown panic. His breathing came in short gasps, and he struggled wildly, but it was in vain. The others held on even tighter, now practically salivating for the blood that was flowing down his neck and soaking his shirt. A woman went next, and by the time the last person went no one even needed to hold him still. They'd probably taken about two pints between them, and Anders was feeling woozy. He slid down the wall, and the woman at his neck went down with him, falling to her knees while still holding his head.

Between the blood loss and the overwhelming fear he felt, Anders was unconscious again before she finished.

When he woke up he was still on the floor, and he felt even worse than when he'd passed out. He wondered how many more vampires fed on him after he passed out. He slowly looked around, and jumped when he saw an older woman – probably in her fifties or sixties – sitting on a chair that hadn't been there before.

"It's alright dear, I'm human, and I'm not going to hurt you." Anders relaxed slightly, but still felt wary. "What's your name?"

"Anders," he said after a moment. She sat up a bit straighter.

"What's your accent, dear?"

"New Zealand."

"Oh dear, you're certainly far from home."

"Well, this has been my home for a year now. But I can tell you that if I make it out of here I'll be on the first plane out."

The old woman didn't respond, but the grim look on her face gave Anders the impression that she didn't think he'd make it out. "What's your name?" he asked, not liking the silence.

"Mathilda." She smiled and stood. Anders noticed the large water bottle in her hand for the first time, and hesitantly took it when she offered it to him. "You'll need to drink lots of water to help your body produce more blood. They know you're off limits unless Herrick is here to make sure they don't kill you or drink too much, but I wouldn't put it past them to try something – especially once word gets around what you are. You're their new drug of choice."

Anders was parched, but the stubborn side of him wanted it to take as long as possible for his blood to replenish – just to piss them off. He eyed her, and considered trying to use his power on her, but in his extremely weak state he doubted it would work at all.

"Do you know how they found out what I am?" Anders asked, his head falling back against the wall. He felt incredibly tired.

"I think it was John," she said. "Drink the water, dear. You'll feel better."

Who the hell is John. . . he thought irritably.

"Am I going to meet this John?"

"Probably not, he's been acting strange the past few months."

"Strange how?"

"Well, he's one of the few vampires who doesn't drink blood. He stopped very abruptly a few months ago, and as far as I know he hasn't touched it since."

Anders sat up, suddenly alert. "What's John's last name?" It can't be. . . but there can't be many that gave up blood besides him. . .

"Mitchell, John Mitchell. Lovely boy, that one."

Anders suddenly felt sick again. Mitchell had been clean, and Anders had broken his own asshole record. Oh my god what have I done? Why did Mitchell tell? Well, why not, I kicked him out over a misunderstanding. What the fuck is wrong with me?! He looked down at his shaking hands.

"Drink the water," Mathilda gently prompted. Anders grabbed the bottle, opened it and put it to his lips. He gulped it faster than he should and choked on it, coughing and spilling it down his shirt and on his lap. He groaned between coughs.

"Slow down," Mathilda chided, and Anders shot her a weak glare.

"Yeah, I got it." She pursed her lips and stayed silent. Anders drank more water, slowly this time, and put it down when he felt marginally less dehydrated.

After a few moments Mathilda stood and walked over to him. She crouched down and put a hand on his shoulder, her other lightly gripped his chin and tilted his head to the side. She gently brushed the wound on his neck. Anders flinched; it was only two small puncture marks on the juncture between his neck and shoulder, but they still ached. When she pulled her fingers back they had blood on them. She tsked and shook her head. She stood, crossed to the door and left. Anders frowned wondering if she'd be back. But she was back a moment later with a small bag in her hand. He guessed it was first aid.

She knelt before him again and pulled out the things she needed to bandage his neck. "The last thing you want is an infection," she said with a smile that Anders felt disinclined to return. He managed to grit his teeth and stay silent when she disinfected it, though it burned. She used some of his water to wet a rag and wipe the dried blood off of him, and then bandaged his neck. When she was done she helped him stand and walk to the bed. He sat heavily, the bed's squeaking loud in the otherwise silent room.

"You'll want to get some rest," she said, giving him a smile and then she turned to leave the room.

When she was gone some of the panic Anders had felt earlier crept back. His hand shot up and covered the bandage and all he could do was wonder how long they were going to keep him there. Until he died? I'll be damned if I become a fucking vampire juice bar.

He was too angry to sleep, but he felt bone-tired, and there was nothing else to do so he laid down, trying to will himself back home – whether his home in Bristol or back in New Zealand he didn't know.

Whatever he did, he tried his best to not think about how much he hated himself at that moment. Fucking self-fulfilled prophecy. I thought I would screw it up, so I did. Why didn't I just let him speak?

Eventually his exhaustion won out over his anger, and he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

It was incredibly hard to tell how much time had passed since he'd woken up in this room. Mathilda came in at regular intervals to bring him food – usually a sandwich or something equally simple – and give him more water.

He finally asked her how long it had been one time she came in, and she told him he'd been there for four days. It may as well have been four years for how bored he was. Once the fear went away a little all he could do was sleep and think. And worry.

He had no idea when they'd be back, or how many of them would come. He also thought about Mitchell a lot more than he wanted to. Did he know Anders was here? Did he know they'd come for Anders when Mitchell told them he was a god? And if he did know, would he come?

Anders had no idea, and thinking about it only upset him, even though he couldn't stop the thoughts from coming.

He was thankful for Mathilda. She changed his bandage once, and brought him a book to read, though he didn't touch it. He was too anxious to read. She never stayed to talk, though, which only added to his boredom. A week passed and Anders' only company was Mathilda's visits.

Anders woke suddenly when the door opened. He sat up quickly, eyes wide and scrambled back so his back was against the wall and his knees pressed to his chest. Herrick entered, followed by seven vampires Anders had never seen before.

Herrick gave the same spiel to them, and Anders was once again held down as one by one they fed on him. Even though this time he knew what to expect it still hurt like hell when the first one jerked his head over so they could have access to the other side of his neck. Once again he couldn't help the scream that ripped out of his throat as the vampire's teeth tore into his skin. And this time, just as the last time, Anders was unconscious before the last vampire could finish.

This continued for two months, with a week and a half between each feeding. Anders slept a lot, and when he was awake he had no energy to do more than eat a little food and drink water – let alone try to escape. The time he wasn't eating, drinking, sleeping, or shuffling to and from the toilet was spent sitting or laying on the bed, staring into space and wondering when rescue or death would come, and whichever came first Anders would welcome it.

Every time he fell asleep he hoped he wouldn't wake up, so this torture would end.