Exsanguinate

Onesmartcookie78

Summary: She's Zero's jailer, for all intents and purposes. Her job is to control him—but how can she when, lately, she can't even seem to control herself? Or: Kaien Cross probably should have called the Hunter's Association when Zero started to succumb to blood lust rather than appointing Yuuki as his tamer. Zero/OC, Yuuki/Kaname

Disclaimer: I don't own Vampire Knight or any of the characters associated with the franchise. This work is purely fictional. Any events that parallel real life events or people are coincidental. I do, however, own my original characters, so don't steal them.

Chapter I

I lie panting. I'm sore and thirsty and every other breath is a cough as my weak lungs struggle to pull in air.

"Suzume." Her voice is sharp, a warning.

I ache. This time when I cough, it devolves into a fit that worsens my wheezing and has me spitting up yellow phlegm.

"Suzume." Her next iteration of my name carries a threat as she cracks the bo staff she wields near my head.

Phlegm turns to blood.

"Suzume." This time my name is a sigh. She hastily pulls me to my feet, her normally tight bun in disarray from exertion, purple-gray hair that's streaked with silver spilling loose down to her navel. Her other hand drops the staff and catches me against her as I collapse.

She helps me inside, not complaining, not even when blood splatters against the pale pink of her kimono. She sits me down at the island and fixes me a glass of water. Then she pulls out the blender—a protein shake is in order.

I choke down the water and then accept the inhaler that she passes me. Only when she's peeling a banana do I feel like I can breathe again.

"It's getting worse," Grandmother says, her light green eyes boring into me from across the counter.

I let out a chuckle, and I'm not so delusional as to think it doesn't sound hoarse. The taste of copper lingers in my throat. "I know," I mutter, playing with the inhaler. I'm staring at my hands, avoiding her gaze when I say, "I need the transplant."

She slams the yogurt container onto the counter. "I know."

"Grandmother I—"

I'm interrupted by the ring of the landline and she quickly excuses herself to answer it.

With a sigh, I take helm on the smoothie. All that's left is the beet juice. I open the fridge and grab the bottle, pouring a quarter of a cup or so into the mixture. The juice is concentrated, viscous, and it slides from its container with a little coaxing. It doesn't help that we're at the end of the bottle. I tap the bottom to get as much out of it as I can, and I'm overwhelmed with the smell and taste of pennies once more.

The experience is so disorienting and sudden that the bottle falls from my hands and shatters on the tile as I convulse over the sink basin, coughing, convinced I'm about to throw up.

"Suzu—oh my, are you—"

Blood. There's blood all over my hands because I've been coughing into them.

Wordlessly, Grandmother tucks my hair behind my ears and moves my water and the inhaler closer to me. She works on the cleanup while I work on pulling myself together. She's pulsing the shake when I finally manage to, and she wordlessly slides me a glass after I've sat down.

Despite the odd combination of ingredients, the shake goes down smooth, and the cold soothes my throat. I don't feel better, per say, but it satisfies me for now.

"Who called?" I ask as I tip back the dredges of the drink.

"Cross," she answers cautiously. She's on the verge right now, teetering ponderously on the precipice of something that's either absolutely genius or completely stupid. It's the same look she got when she suggested beet juice and bananas and, even more worrisome, the same look she got before accidentally sending my parents to their death.

My eyebrows rise of their own accord. "Interesting," I intone. "I thought he was done with us since he opened the school. Isn't he all about coexistence or something now?"

"A pipe dream," Grandmother agrees with a dismissive wave of her hand. "You and I know better than anyone the damage a pureblood can do, let alone a Level E."

I toy with the ring that weighs heavily on my index finger and clear my throat. "What did he need then?"

"Kiryuu Zero." Her reply lacks spite, but her eyes don't.

I feel frozen. "Oh?" I try to maintain a casual tone and fail.

"Control, Suzume," she says, whipping a fan from her sleeve and nearly swatting one of my hands. Her eyes linger on the space my hands had been occupying only a fraction of a second previously, and her lips curl into a half smile. "He's falling to Level E," she finishes, and despite everything, my stomach drops to my feet.

I'm silent for a moment. "'Falling'. He's in the process of becoming a Level E. He's still fighting."

She nods once, and the fan snaps open almost faster than I can register, concealing the lower half of her face. Even still, I can tell that my observation pleases her. "Indeed. And he needs a jailer."

Even though it's something I thought I'd long since forgotten, the image of the tattoo etched into the delicate skin of his neck flares to life in my mind. I haven't seen Zero since—

"He wants you."

I snap back into focus faster than her fan, and it whizzes by my left ear before I can even realize I've dodged it. "Zero or Cross?"

Her brows lift. "I suppose you'll have to find that out for yourself." She straightens to her full height, resolved, and I tip my head in reverence. "As President of the Hunter's Association, I am assigning you to tame Kiryuu Zero at Cross Academy, preventing him from spilling any human blood. You will pose as a student of the Day Class and act as a member of the Disciplinary Committee. You leave tomorrow morning."

"Hai, kaicho-sama."

And with that, my fate was sealed.