OH MY GOD. THIS TOOK ME FOREVER. AH.

ALMOST 3,500 WORDS. HOLY SHIT.

CHAPTER 24 IS COMING SOON, TOO. JESUS I'M SUCH A BUSY BEE.

FUCK I'M TIRED.

Anyways. Enjoy. Please. XD

Just his luck, the bike wouldn't start.

Maybe it was because of the freezing cold temperatures it had endured in the drafty garage over the last few weeks. Maybe it had something to do with its aged battery. It could be a mixture of both… Or maybe God hated him now and was doing this on purpose.

Michael's fist collided with his grandfather's workbench, which—inconvenient for its contents—was situated right next to where his bike was resting. Various pressured cans and empty soda bottles rattled in place, some falling over and rolling onto the concrete floor. He fought to contain all the feelings that were stirring in his chest—frustration, mostly, but there was also anxiety, and…panic.

It wasn't a big deal. His bike wouldn't start—so what? He could walk to Max's house, but that would probably take quite a while to find, so it would be smarter to just stay here and wait another hour or two before Dwayne woke up—or he could call Max's number again and ask for a ride there, if he was really impatient.

But the thing is…he didn't want to wait. Not for Dwayne to get up, not for someone to come get him. No, Michael was on edge; he needed to go somewhere—anywhere—right now.

He fisted his hair between his fingers and quickly paced the back of the garage. Back and forth, over and over again, breathing rapidly and visibly shaking. What was wrong with him? Surely whatever happened last night, coupled with his broken bike, couldn't be enough to work him up like this. There had to be something else, something he couldn't pinpoint directly, that was agitating him so much.

His head was pounding. Not the kind that was induced by a rapid heartbeat, causing his body to pump blood through his system much more quickly. This was caused by a very painful, powerful migraine that suddenly swept all thoughts out of his head, making him think of only the pain in his head and nothing else. In his throes, he cleared off half the workbench's contents, and held his forehead to the cool wooden surface of it. He closed his eyes and tried to breathe in and out (as unnecessary as it was, it actually helped), and his hands clenched and unclenched multiple times on the solid table.

Eventually, after what could have been a mere minute or a whole hour, it subsided—whatever it was. Probably another sign that his hunger was starting to catch up to him already. That dog had quenched his thirst for a very short period of time, and next time, it might not do anything for him at all. If he doesn't kill a human before then, that is…

He exhaled deeply and unsteadily; his shaky breath mirrored the tremors in his hands.

Come on, Michael, get yourself together…

He was just able to chastise himself when there was a disturbance in the room. He knew who was standing just outside the open garage door before he even looked.

"You okay?" Dwayne bore a friendly expression, but behind his smile, Michael could see traces of worry. Absent-mindedly, he wondered if he looked as bad as he felt.

It took him a minute to respond, because then he noticed that it was dark outside. Black, almost. How long exactly had he been preoccupied with the pain in his head? Hours? Jesus… "Uh…yeah…" Wow, how convincing. He cleared his throat and tried again. "I was just… My bike won't start." He gestured to it awkwardly, and when his hands still shook he hastily stuffed them in his pockets.

Dwayne eyed him skeptically for a moment, and if Michael wasn't already as wide awake as possible, the other vampire was shirtless. Dear god. "What's wrong?"

A lot of things were wrong. He was a vampire who hadn't killed anyone yet but probably would soon, he may or may not have (but probably did) sleep with a (very attractive and distracting) man, he was seriously concerned with all the interest his brother showed in their new "family members," and he had about a million fucking questions that no one would answer, among them being why he was in the sun earlier today without bursting into flames, why his skin was burned by the shower water, and why in the world he ended up here last night, of all places he could have crashed. But a lump formed in the back of his throat and he couldn't answer Dwayne's question. A quiet moment passed between them that seemed to stretch on forever before he finally managed to say, "I'm going home… Sam wants me back. I'll meet you there later." He had to force his feet to move away from the workbench and toward the garage entrance, where Dwayne was standing.

And of course, Dwayne stood in his way. Michael had hoped to walk out and then just leave, but a hand pressed firmly on his chest, effectively stopping him. "You're not seriously going to walk all the way to Max's, are you?"

Michael briefly glanced into Dwayne's dark brown eyes before focusing his gaze down the length of the dirt driveway that he intended to walk. "My bike won't start," he said, "and clearly I didn't drive here last night. If I walked to this place…I can find my way to Max's."

Dwayne shook his head. "You don't have to go back right now."

"What'd you say a few days ago, though? That Max is having some kind of party today? He probably wants us there for it."

"Max can wait." Dwayne sounded so serious, so sincere, that Michael spared another glance at him. As soon as their eyes met, he couldn't look away. That's when he knew that they weren't leaving this place without having a long, long discussion. A possibly awkward one. But hopefully it would be informative as well, and Michael would get an answer as to why he'd been lied to. "Come on." Dwayne tugged lightly on Michael's jacket before turning on his heels and walking away from the garage.

Michael didn't follow immediately. A million hesitant thoughts flowed through his brain. In the end, though, he figured that he may as well just follow and try having a chat with one of his new "brothers" for once. "Okay," he conceded quietly—mostly to himself—and shadowed Dwayne into his grandfather's house.

After that upsetting scene with Marko, all Sam wanted to do was shut the TV off, go upstairs, and climb into his bed. He was feeling dejected and a little embarrassed (hopefully no one had heard what just happened…), but also…frustrated. What did he have to do to become completely accepted here? Most of them were nice to him (albeit they could be kind of creepy and/or scary sometimes), but there was still a gap between where he stood and where all the vampires mingled. Being the biological brother of one of their own didn't matter; all blood ties were reshaped when somebody became a vampire, apparently. Sam wasn't like them. He had no connection to them, and they were hesitant to let him into their tight group.

But that's the thing. Maybe they weren't just being hesitant; maybe they couldn't allow him to be a part of their lives—and thus, in on all of their super-secret vampire stuff—as long as he was human. Was that a thing? Vampires couldn't get close to humans? He didn't know if the disdain Marko held for him was personal or somehow related to Sam's mortality or if Marko was like that with everyone. Hopefully it was the latter; Sam didn't really want to become a vampire in order to gain some respect around here… Hell, he knew next to nothing about them. He most likely wasn't cut out for that lifestyle.

If he wasn't cut out for being a vampire, though, then how would he ever be able to fit in with these guys? He couldn't just sit at home and play ignorant while they went out into the night and drank blood from their victims and did God knows what else.

…Could he?

Max said they only kill once. He could have been lying, but…Sam trusted him. If Max said they don't drain humans dry, then Sam would take his word for it. So maybe they weren't vicious killers (at least not completely), but Sam still knew nothing about them, and he already got the distinct impression that there's a big divide between what vampires do and what humans are allowed to be a part of. There was probably a reason for it, too. A part of him wanted to be fully included in their group, but a part of him didn't…

While he was deep in his thoughts on the couch, the front door clicked shut. He shot up from his seat and peered out of the living room, expecting it to be Michael. Sam hid his disappointment when he saw that it was Max instead, who was just coming back from his work or errands or meetings or…whatever else he does.

"Hello, Sam," Max greeted, a smile stretching across his face. He made his way into the dining room and set his briefcase on the table. Sam got the strange feeling that he was supposed to follow, so he curiously trailed after the businessman. "How was your day?"

"It was good," Sam replied nonchalantly, coming to lean on the table.

Max frowned. "What's wrong?"

Crap. That obvious, huh? "Nothing. I'm good." Unfortunately, he wasn't very convincing. Max pulled a chair out and sat down in it. He gestured for Sam to do the same. Sam sighed and plopped himself down in a chair adjacent to Max. "Seriously. I'm fine. You don't have to bother yourself with a pep talk or anything."

Max's smile returned. "I needed to have a talk with you anyway. But your thoughts and well-being are more important than that right now. What's troubling you? Something's upsetting your thoughts."

"What, you can read my thoughts or something?" That was…positively creepy and off-putting.

"No…no, I can't." Max removed his glasses, folded them up and placed them in his suit. Déjà vu. This was a flashback to when Sam had first been brought here, and Max explained to him what his and Michael's new situations were. "With other humans, yes. But not yours. Your mind is well-shielded. I can still sense the intensity of your thoughts, though, and it doesn't take a mind-reader to see that you aren't content." He paused, and Sam let that new info sink in. So in addition to not being able to physically hide from these people, he couldn't even hide his emotions from them. Fantastic. "I couldn't read the mind of the other gifted human I once knew, though, so that isn't anything unexpected."

Max paused again, as if waiting for Sam to answer the previous question. After some thinking, Sam responded with the most basic thing that had been frustrating and bothering him ever since arriving here. "I'm so…in the dark. Like, you have no idea how many questions I have."

"Well… I believe we have some time to spare before David arrives. I could answer a few of your more specific questions, if you wish."

"Okay, great." Really great. He thought for a moment on what he could ask that would get answered quickly. "So, um…how old are you?" It didn't pertain to his earlier concerns, but it was still something he had been wondering.

"Well, I was thirty-seven years old when I was turned, and as of today, I've been a vampire for two hundred and eleven years. So I suppose I'm two hundred and forty-eight years old, but vampires often don't count their years spent human in their age."

Sam gaped. Over two hundred years old? "Wait, today's your birthday?"

"Yes. I was turned on January 25, 1776 in Castine, Maine, and I awoke as a vampire the next day."

"Whoa." That's all he could say to that, really.

Max smiled at Sam's awe. "I'm really not that old. You will meet many vampires that are much older than I am. You've already met someone older than me, actually. Marko's age surpasses my own by over five hundred years. And he will still be fairly young compared to some others vampires you will meet. You will be fascinated to see the different eras and regions of the world many vampires represent, I hope. The intriguing differences between an eighteenth century middle class Englishman and a young woman who was an African slave a thousand years ago, for instance…"

Sam's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets at this new information. "Are you kidding me? He's that old? Why is he with you, then? I mean…he's so much older than you but he lives with you and follows your rules. And he doesn't have any little vampire minions of his own, does he?" He probably shouldn't have indirectly called Max's boys "little vampire minions." That wasn't nice. Crap.

Thankfully, Max didn't seem to take offense to that. "He's never turned a human. Until recently, he never had the option to. Vampires have a…chain of command, if you wish to call it that. Age doesn't necessarily go hand in hand with power. An older vampire is smarter and stronger, but if their creator is still alive—or if they're under the wing of a Head Vampire—the amount of power they have can only reach certain limited heights. They will always have to answer to whoever is…above them. Of course, things get complicated when a vampire moves into an area with their creator and they have to answer to both the Head Vampire and their creator. Luckily, only areas with large vampire populations have a Head Vampire. When an area doesn't have one, anyone whose creator dies has the option of turning whomever they want."

"So in other words…age is completely separate from status, and status is determined by who's alive or dead or in charge."

"Yes. One vampire's creator could be alive for…well, forever. They could be ranked second to that more powerful vampire for thousands of years, and while they could grow to become very powerful or notorious on their own, they would always have to answer to their creator, and they'd never be able to turn anyone. Or, in a case like mine…a vampire's creator could die early into their immortality, thus leaving a very big opening for them to seize any level of power they desire." Max said this all very matter-of-factly, but thinking of all of this "power" gave Sam chills.

"I take it vampires like being in charge?" He couldn't really blame them, though. Who wanted to follow orders their whole life?

Max chuckled and shook his head. "Some enjoy it immensely. But while my status is convenient, I don't enjoy forcing my will over others. And clearly I'm not alone on that, or Marko would be the Head Vampire of Oakland right now, seeing as that's the title that was left for him. He gave it to someone else."

The thought of anyone just giving up the title of Head Vampire made Sam laugh out loud. "Are you serious? Is he nuts? He gave it up? Just didn't feel like being the most powerful person in Oakland and decided to hand it to the next guy in line? I guess he'd rather live where he's clearly not happy or wanted."

Max looked somber for a change, and Sam swallowed any further comments. "The circumstances that led up to him receiving that title—and then declining it—are very tragic, Sam. I wouldn't expect you to understand yet. Those events are very fresh, too. He's sensitive to a multitude of things right now." Sam averted his eyes, feeling guilty for taking such a negative view on somebody he didn't know. Still, though, that scene earlier was completely out of nowhere and not his fault in any way… "Please don't give him a hard time. Tonight we're going to be celebrating Michael's initiation into the coven, and since Marko is going to know many of my guests, I have arranged that he and David will accompany you for most of the night. It can be a dangerous setting for a human, which is why I'm going to mark you. It should keep most vampires away from you tonight. But just to be on the safe side—"

"Mark me? What the hell does that mean?"

"I'm going to bite you, of course."

Oh, of course. Max's inner vampire was showing now. Sam knew deep down that they would try this sooner or later. He was a fucking human living with vampires, after all. He was surprised they hadn't tried to drink his blood sooner. And of course, there was no "Is it all right if I bite you?" or "Would you like me to shove my crude teeth into your sensitive neck, Sam?" No. It was "I am going to bite you." He didn't even have the option of proposing an alternate plan of action for tonight.

In the kitchen, Sam could hear the side door opening and closing, accompanied by audible footsteps all the way to the dining room. "No," he said in response to Max's statement. He had a flashback of Neil, and the nightmare-inducing look on the vampire's face before he plunged his fangs into Sam's neck. He shuddered just thinking about it.

"No what?" David inquired curiously from the archway between the kitchen and the dining room.

"Sam, this could be a very dangerous party if I don't mark you somehow."

"I don't think… I mean, I can't… I don't want you to do it. That. I don't want you to do that." He was starting to panic at the prospect of being forced into something like this. Surely, that would be a very scarring experience. Neil's bite had been so painful….he couldn't experience that again…

Max sighed. "I suppose...I can't force you to comply... It still isn't a safe route to take, though."

"What if I did it?" That was when Sam actually looked at David. The platinum blond was standing there, clad in leather as always, looking confident and attractive. David was very good-looking, on top of all the allure that came with his personality. Sam didn't know him very well, and he was still drawn to this guy. Not drawn to him enough that he'd be allowed to get a taste, though.

"I really don't want anyone to do it," Sam said honestly.

David shrugged. "Just offering."

"I want you to think about it," Max pressed gently. "There's another hour before the guests are due to arrive. Prepare yourself for it, and consider letting either David or myself bite you."

"Does it have to be one of you two?"

"Yes. David is the second most powerful vampire in this city. He's the most respected of my boys. A bite from him would mean protection; a bite from anyone else would not."

Sam sighed, dreading the moment that hour would be up. He nodded and pulled himself up from his chair. "All right… I'll think about it." Right now, he just really wanted to get out of this room and lay in bed like he had planned to do before Max came home. So he dragged himself out of the dining room, down the hall, and up the stairs. It felt like too long of a trek. Jeez, he was tired already. It was going to be a long night… If only there was someone here to help protect his neck virtue…

Where the hell was Michael when you needed him?