It was hell keeping a newly turned vampire concealed when all he wanted to do was rip apart everything and everyone he saw.
Michael was no exception.
He had slept—dead as a doornail for the rest of the night he had been bitten, into the next day. Destined to rise when the sun began to leave the sky.
It had been their hope he'd be a more reasonable vampire, but as soon as the brunette opened his eyes, realized he recognized nothing and no one and there was a burning sensation in the back of his throat, his reaction was exactly what they were prepared for.
His panic resulted in a shattered lamp, several shredded pillows, ripped sheets, and more than a few scratches and bruises on his captors—or so he instinctively called them.
Somewhere between all of that, he was vaguely aware of a woman and a little boy leaving in a hurry. His mind never connected that it was him who caused their fear.
Michael had no idea what had happened to him—or what was happening to him, for that matter. Hell, for those few minutes he was ripping apart everything around him to get away from the two guys who were too close to him, he didn't even know his name. It took one of the men saying it many times for him to remember a couple things.
One – his name was, in fact, Michael.
Two – he had been attacked. By who, or what, he had no clue.
And three… Well, there was no third. His mind could only handle two things at the moment.
"Get away from me!" he bellowed, scrambling to the only sign of an exit he could see—a spiral staircase leading up. It was a desperate attempt to get away from the men that were making him paranoid as hell—a desperate and futile attempt.
He was grabbed from behind and thrown backwards, to the far wall of the constricting space he was in. Away from the stairs. Closer to his captors—on the edge of becoming insane from extreme claustrophobia.
In reality, they were several feet away from him—but to Michael, they were looming directly over him, leering and snarling their malicious intentions.
"Get away!" he warned, falling on his side and clawing at the boards beneath him. He saw, through blurred vision, long, ghastly nails on his fingers. They left deep indentations in the wood. His throat was burning with an incredible craving for something, just like his senses were on fire with an irrefutable need for air. His chest was tight, constricting his air intake to mere gasps.
Michael's clawed fingers found his hair and settled with pulling on that instead of ruining the floor. The pain he experienced from hair coming out of his scalp actually kept him grounded enough to focus on loosening the knot in his chest, until he was breathing in and out quickly but deeply. That also soothed the back of his throat, but only for a moment.
"Help me," he panted without realizing he had even said anything out loud.
But nothing happened. No one did anything—no one helped him. He wasn't even given the courtesy of being put out of his misery. He grit his teeth until they cracked under the pressure, squeezed his eyes shut, and curled up into a ball. And he waited for something to change.
Eventually—after what felt like an eternity—the tightness in his chest loosened until he could breathe more freely again. The pounding in his head ceased; he instead heard nothing. And, finally, his claustrophobia ebbed away; instead, it felt like he was in a very stuffy, warm place. That was all. There was no longer an urge to rip the hair out of his head or claw his way out of this place.
Michael tuned in for any sounds in the room, any signs that the two men were still there, since he was facing a wall and didn't want to move, in fear that awful experience would start all over again. He heard nothing, but he could smell them.
What?
He smelled the air again. Yes, he could definitely smell them. It wasn't a scent in the air itself, but something he just knew was radiating off of each of them. The smells were both very distinct from each other, but they weren't clear-cut; Michael couldn't even begin to pick out exactly what the scents were like.
It was oddly…nice, and it calmed his jumpy nerves even further.
A door creaked open and the noise was like fingernails on a chalkboard to Michael's newly sensitive ears. Michael panicked slightly and thought about getting up—and before his mind had even finished that thought, he was already standing on both feet, facing the spiral staircase. The action had been faster than anything he could have imagined doing.
He saw the two men from before had been lounging around, and as soon as Michael had gotten on his feet, they, too, bolted upright. Michael instantly got defensive and—holy shit he growled at them. A low, guttural sound from his chest. How was he capable of making that sound?
They both had the same posture, and it took Michael two-point-five seconds to realize that it was a defensive position. They were bracing themselves against him.
Michael backed down instantly—lowered his shackles, if you will. But he didn't dare take his eyes off them, or the person who was descending the staircase.
They stopped when their feet touched the floorboards. A man—more like a boy, actually. With curly hair and sunglasses and a firm expression. The brunette and platinum blonde in the room were both looking between Michael and the person who had just joined them warily.
Michael looked at the boy cautiously, but he didn't feel threatened at all; that fact kept his feet firmly where they were.
Until he smelled him.
It was toxic—a poisonous, green scent that made Michael's stomach do several flips. He felt ill, until he realized he wasn't repulsed by the smell. His stomach clenched painfully because he needed what the scent masked. He felt like it would solve all of his pain completely. He craved it. He wanted to reach out to it. He needed it.
So he tried to take it.
Michael made, oh…maybe a quarter of a step before he was stopped in his tracks by a heavy weight slamming him against a hard, unforgiving wall. He stared into bright blue eyes that were owned by the man currently squeezing the shit out of Michael's shoulders, keeping him pressed back. It was a necessary force, since Michael was trying to push him off in a desperate attempt to get to the boy he desired so much. He didn't even know what he would do once he had the boy—he just needed something he knew the boy could give him.
For the second time, Michael growled; his nails extended again and he tried to claw at the face of the man restraining him. He managed to leave a few scratches that oozed red, but otherwise the platinum blonde's hold was unrelenting.
"Michael," came a voice on his right—the long-haired brunette. Michael recognized him from somewhere—he knew he did. But whoever this guy was, he was different. Michael was seeing him from a completely different light—literally. The lighting down here was shit.
And for a second, Michael stopped. Hearing his name brought some reasoning back into him, and he did pause. He locked eyes with the brunette and he managed to think, What am I doing? But then the scent hit him again, this time causing him so much pain his knees gave out. He would have fallen to the ground if it wasn't for the man still pinning him tightly against the wall.
How was this happening? How was this only affecting him?
"How can you stand it?" he asked through clenched teeth. The curly-haired boy took several steps towards him and Michael cringed. "Can you feel that?"
"I guess I should stop using this perfume."
The platinum blonde rolled his eyes. "Why are you here, Marko?"
"I was curious." He tilted his head to the side at Michael. "I wanted to know how he would turn out."
"Obviously he didn't turn out so well," the blonde hissed at him.
Marko narrowed his eyes. "You were the one who asked me to do it. I saved his life, David. You were the reason he died in the first place."
"What the hell are you guys talking about?" Michael breathed, eyes flickering back and forth between David and Marko.
Marko opened his mouth to say something but David cut him off before he could speak. "What about the boy? Aren't you supposed to be watching him?"
Marko rolled his eyes. "He locked himself in the bathroom this morning and hasn't come out since. He's fine. Besides." He looked between David and the brunette standing at Michael's right. "I don't know if you've realized, but the sun's almost gone. Paul's gonna be awake soon."
"You mean Max will be coming home," the brunette corrected. "I wouldn't label Paul as a certified babysitter."
It was at this point in their conversation that something clicked for Michael. Through all his crazy cravings and jumbled up mess of a brain, he was finally able to think through what they were actually saying enough to realize one important detail he had been missing.
Sam.
He jerked under David's iron grip and all eyes turned to him. "Where is he?" he asked with a low growl. "Where do you have him?" He bared his teeth in David's face as he demanded an answer. David didn't even blink.
There was a long pause. Then, the brunette next to Michael slowly said, "He needs to see Max."
"Obviously," Marko mumbled. "I'll go let everyone know he's awake. Bat shit crazy, but awake."
When he turned and walked away, Michael glowered at his back. He tried to move towards the staircase, but—as much as he hated to admit it—David was stronger than he was.
Marko stopped at the bottom of the stairs and looked back at Michael curiously.
"You have to wait," the brunette told the new vampire. "The sun needs to set first."
"Why?" he hissed. "Why can't we leave right now?"
"Because if you do that," Marko said with a sweet smile, "you'll burn." Michael was disturbed by the manner in which the boy said that.
You'll burn.
It was like he was daring Michael to challenge that statement.
As if Marko would be entertained if Michael did.
"Is he serious?" he asked when the boy had gone.
"Yes," the brunette deadpanned.
Michael swallowed thickly. God, my throat.
What did I get sucked into?