Don't Love Me Like You Used To
Nefertiri's Handmaiden
Disclaimer: I don't own Blade: Trinity. It is a painful fact, but a fact nonetheless. I wish I did own Blade. Imagine the money that I would be rolling in!
Note: This is my first Blade fic, though I've been in a fan since the first time I saw the original Blade. Please be kind in reviewing, but honest.
Please keep in mind this is not what I wished had happened. I was very satisfied with the end of the movie. It's just thought that's been rolling around in my head.
This is an AU fic in which Danica actually does bite King again after he is captured by Drake. What would have happened if Whistler and Blade hadn't shown up in time and Zoë had been thrown to the wolf?
King screamed as Danica's fangs ripped into his flesh. He could almost feel the vampire DNA corrupting him as it flowed through his blood stream. When she pulled away her mouth was red and she was laughing.
King collapsed.
The last things he could focus on before he lost consciousness were the sound of Danica's heels clicking into the distance and the fact that Zoë was so close.
Darkness.
When he came to, the first thing he was aware of was the lack of pain in his shoulder. He sat up slowly and pulled away the bandage that kept the stab wound clean.
There was no wound. His skin was perfect and unbroken. No blood, no scar.
"Fuck."
By the next day King was thirsty.
He tried to think of something else. Abby would come. She wouldn't leave him here to the vamps. He focused on his hate toward Danica, the way it felt to dust a vamp, the way it felt to feel the sun on his face, and what it was like to drink a glass of water and be sated.
He refused to give in.
"I am not a vampire."
By day three, all King could think about was blood. He tried to pray but he felt like there was a wall between him and whatever God there might be.
Please, let it end.
"I don't what to hurt her."
On day four, he was crazy with thirst. He would die, he knew, if he didn't feed soon.
He wasn't sure what mattered then; his life or Zoë's.
On day five, the cell door opened, and Zoë was thrown in.
She looked scared and tired and hungry. When she saw his face she smiled. She knew he wouldn't hurt her.
He didn't.
She started to come toward him for a hug, but he backed away.
"Zoë, listen to me." His voice lacked the usual sarcasm. "Listen very carefully. Danica – that woman – she hurt me. Do you remember what your Mom told you about vampires? How they need to hurt other people to live?"
She nodded gravely.
"Good. That woman made me a vampire. She made me need to hurt people. But I don't want to hurt people, so I need your help."
"What do you need me to do?"
"I need you not to come near me. Even if I beg, or say it's okay, or say I was just joking. For no reason are you to come over here. Even if you think I'm really in pain. Even if you think I might be dead. Promise me you won't come near me."
She looked unsure. "Mom said to help people who were hurting."
He sighed. "I know. But this is different. You need to promise me you won't try to help me."
She hesitated for a moment. "I promise."
Relief flooded him. "And one more thing. If I somehow get too close to you kick me as hard as you can."
"What?"
"Remember that day I taught you boxing and you kicked me and it really hurt me?"
She giggled. "Yeah. You fell down and Abby laughed and told me good job."
King smiled as best he could. "Yeah. It was good. Listen, if I get too close you kick me again just the way you did that day. In the same place and everything. Harder, if you can."
"You want me to hurt you?"
"Promise, Zoë. It's important."
"I promise."
The next day, King saw stars. He felt dizzy. Zoë huddled in the far corner and looked at him.
"King?"
"Yeah?" he rasped.
"How do vampires hurt people?"
Silence.
"They bite their necks and drink their blood. It makes them healthy to hurt people."
"Can the people die?"
Silence.
"Yes."
On the day after that he wasn't King anymore.
He was something else.
He was thirsty.
He stared hungrily at Zoë for hours, disgusted with himself when he was lucid.
On the eighth day, Zoë stood up and took a few steps closer to him.
"King?"
"Yeah?"
"What if I. . . gave you some of my blood? Would you feel better? Would I die?"
King closed his eyes. "Don't you dare ask me that again. Don't love me like you used to. I'm not the same person anymore."
"I don't want you to die."
"Kid, if it means you live, I can take it."
On the ninth day she said nothing.
He was lost.
On the tenth day he was crazy. He cajoled, he coaxed, and he begged.
She kept her promise but she cried all day.
On the eleventh day he woke to find her too close. Almost close enough to touch.
She looked much older than she was.
"I thought about it. You can take some of my blood if you promise that neither of us will die."
Inside his head two voices raged battle.
In the end the stronger voice won.
On the twelfth day he sat huddled in a corner crying.
The skylight cracked. Abby fell through. She looked around, taking in the cell.
King, huddled in his corner.
Zoë, dead on the floor, blood still sitting a pool where it had drained from her neck. Her eyes wide open, a look of betrayal locked on her features in death.
She looked at King. His tortured eyes met hers.
"I didn't keep my promise."
Abby started crying.
Seconds later a sundog lit up the cell and a pile of ashes lie unassumingly in the corner.