Thirst

It was a pitch black night and loud music was blasting through the streets in the North End of Boston, coming from the 'La Notte', a night club famous for both kinds, humans and members of the Breed – and Rogue activities.

The warrior was standing there silently, watchful and patient. He had time. Even if he was hungry for a fight – but no one would bring him to go into that club – he knew himself too well for doing such a thing.

He was humming silently while waiting, nearly inaudible and even if audible, it would only reveal one more he wasn't from around here. Not even close.

"Jungfrun hon skulle åt stugan gå, Linden darrar i lunden, Så tog hon den vägen åt skogen blå, Ty hon var vid älskogen bunden - Och när som hon kom till skogen blå, Linden darrar i lunden, Där mötte henne en ulv så grå, Ty hon var vid älskogen bunden - Kära ulver du bit inte mig, Dig vill jag giva min silversärk, Silversärk jag passar ej på, Ditt unga liv och blod måst gå…"

He interrupted himself when he heard a loud roar, metal clashing against brick walls – and the smell of blood hit him like a train.

Immediately his fangs grew long and sharp, his formerly blue eyes were now of a glowing yellow and his dermaglyphs were pulsating in the colors of a fight.

The battle noise in the dark alleyway next to the 'La Notte' was hopefully going by unnoticed by the humans – but hell, he was not.

The gun scabbard over his back was clearly not containing a rifle – a long handle was sticking out of it – and as he drew it out in the dark, hopefully out of sight of most humans, he brought a two-handed, Celtic broadsword to the dim light of the faint lantern in the alley.

He heard these bastards, he heard them fighting – and he SAW them.

Three men – no, three members of the Breed, engaged in a deathly fight with… JESUS CHRIST!

That weren't only two or three Rogues. They were over ten.

Bloody hell, he had heard about the Rogue problem they had in Boston – but whoever was responsible for THIS… He must be outstandingly mad.

And somebody had to be responsible for that. Nobody went Rogue so easily – and so young already.

None of them was looking older than bloody 17!

The three warriors fighting were young too – Generations after him, not as strong as him, not as experienced – but still doing well – just not well enough.

One of them was in close combat with two of the bastards – a third approaching from behind.

"KADE!"

The yell from one of the other warriors was deafening and the man turned quickly – just to look in the horror-stricken face of a Rogue – the pointy end of a sword rammed through his back sticking out of his chest.

"Bastard…!"

The growl from his throat was dark and deathly, the word already spoken with accent, clearly not American – not only the Rogues stared at him, the warriors did too, just he did not hesitate a second, did not care about the looks, just took his advantage and smoked another Rogue – before they came back to their senses just a second later, luckily alongside with the warriors.

Just he hadn't been the only one with the element of surprise – he snarled angrily when he caught a Rogue at the last moment, elbowing him away – and nothing but his gift preventing him from severe damage by the fangs. As for his gift…

It was boiling in his blood, heavy as lead, slowing him down and burning up his last reserves, thirst painfully pulling at his stomach, the cramp only seconds away now – he knew it – and fought it, keeping up the fight – but it was no use, his reflexes were slowed down – and so the next severe attack hit him like a train, breaking through the already fragile, invisible physic shield his gift had formed for him – and he was smashed against the wall.

He growled, gasped in pain, dropping his sword – the Rogue was at his throat, the fangs deeply sunken in his flesh, ripping skin out, tearing the veins open – he was breathing heavily, his sight was blurred already by the blood loss – only a little bit of blood, only a bit blood lost, but…

With a last, desperate move, he drew one of the daggers from his belt – and rammed it in the Rogues throat to the hilt.

He must have lost a few seconds, must have blacked out for a short while – as when he blinked again, he was on the tarmac, on his knees, trembling, gasping in pain barely able to even only hold himself up with his shaking arm, the other grasping his cramping stomach.

He couldn't see even only one thing clear, all was blurry and he knew… If nobody helped him now… This was the bloody, disgraceful end of him.

613 years of existence ended by a pack of Rogues in a dirty back alley in Boston.

"Hey! Hey, hang in there!"

The words were muffled to his ears, but he felt hands touching his shoulders, helping him, leaning him against the wall, a hand holding the huge wound at his throat closed as much as possible.

"Need… Blood…", he mumbled, coughed, breathy.

"Damn hell, yes! – Kade!"

All he caught were blurry glimpses of a world fading to his eyes – until the iron scent touched his tongue, the smell of the hemoglobin tickled his nose, a wrist opened already and brought to his mouth – but he was almost too weak to suck on it. He only managed a few, weak gulps, most of the blood running down uselessly, lost forever, not even enough to heal the wound at his throat properly, just to stop the worst.

"Gideon! – Yes, it's Rio, listen, we just smoked a damn pack of about 15 Rogues – Yes, I KNOW! – We got help, don't know who, but, fuck, Gid, these glyphs…! Think he is a Gen One – Gid, I've never seen someone needing blood more urgently! – No, DEFINETLY not from the Havens, he carries a bloody two-handed titanium broadsword!"

Tegan cursed when he heard the description of the warrior together with Lucan over Gideon's speakers in the tech lab – Jesus Christ, he KNEW the warrior!

"Get him here and just don't catch him a woman, if he needs blood, Rio, he is going to push her away, damn his pride!"

He growled and cursed.

Lucan frowned.

"You heard him, do that. – And be quick, Rio, it's close to dawn already."

"So, Tegan, you know that one, right? Who is he?", Lucan asked grimly, as soon as he had ended the call.

Tegan growled silently.

"There is only one Gen One on this earth who would still wield a two-handed broadsword in public and not being caught doing it until now. His name is Mare Erikson. A Norwegian. About 100 years younger than me.", he explained shortly, not willing to say too much about the vampire.

Mare was a dangerous fighter, a devil. Tegan had only seen him fight once. – It had been like unleashing a hellish force onto hell's own demonic breed. It had caused Tegan to do something he had never done before: Asking an almost completely unknown vampire to join the Order.

And it was just not like Tegan to gossip – even though right here and right now his thoughts were running wild. A member of the Breed, a warrior like Mare, down? Even if fighting against 15 Rogues – he had seen Mare handle ten of the bastards together with him. And this had been Brock, Kade and Rio being with him too – and Mare had just barged in to help.

"What are you thinking, Tegan?"

Lucan still wasn't willing to drop the topic – even if he knew that Tegan was not one for talking about others.

"…It just seems unlikely that anyone can take him down. I've seen him fight, Lucan. He is no pushover.", he grumbled silently.

Something was seriously wrong with Mare if it was true what Rio had said – and there was no reason for Rio to lie.

"And it's not like you to praise someone who doesn't fight like the devil, we know that much, T…", Gideon said thoughtfully.

Tegan remained silent, but that was as good as a yes to what Gideon had just said.

Lucan knew he wouldn't get any further here. Not at this point. He knew Tegan well enough for that – and he saw that Tegan was pondering. And his tightened jawline and the grim look on his face didn't indicate that it was about everything being sugar and rainbows and plain boring for them – but a nagging worry about something – or, more likely in this case, someone.

Tegan's expression had already been grim, but it grew even darker when he actually saw the warrior Rio and Kade carried in. They had Mare's arms over their shoulders, while the vampire tried to walk by himself – a task almost beyond what he was capable of, more tripping over his own feet. Tegan cursed silently. Damn Mare's pride…! He was certain the Gene One had just been too proud to let them carry him – not that it would have been any different if it had been him.

He didn't hesitate a second to assist them or more likely pushing Brock aside who had wanted to help – and had almost gone down on his knees due to the pain which was radiating from Mare.

Sometimes Brock's gift to suck the pain from somebody else and to deal with it himself was helpful – but sometimes the pain was just too gravely. And the pain a Gene One could endure was no match to the tolerance level of pain of a Gene Four.

Tegan didn't say a word when he carried Mare to the medical station alone – Kade and Rio had given up keeping up with his speed when he had almost been running down the hallways. He had felt the pain too, was still feeling it – for Christ's sake it was the only reason why Mare still hadn't recognized him. The vampire was much too occupied trying to keep an almost stable stand and steady walk – and now he failed. Tegan had just been too fast for him in that state and he had picked him up, carried him to the next bed.

"Jesus Christ, what have you done, Mare…?"

He was just muttering, swearing under his breath – Mare was too light for his 1,98 m – a thing Tegan had already known and seen when they had met 450 years ago. But that it was still a problem didn't calm him down. Meeting him again and so unexpectedly was quite a surprise already – but the WAY of meeting him again… Seriously, he would have preferred Mare strolling by and knocking against the doors for a little chat – even though Tegan was no one for chit-chat.

"What did you get yourself into, eh?"

Gideon joined his muttered curses, peeling away the blood-soaked shirt to get to the wounds easier. The wound at Mare's throat was still bleeding, even after he had received blood – obviously that hadn't been enough. And none of the two, neither Gideon nor Tegan, needed to touch Mare to feel the heat he was throwing off. That was most certainly one of the major reasons why it hadn't been enough blood. It was burning up instantly.

Gideon gave him quite some injections, painkiller, antipyretic medication and antibiotic, disinfected the wounds he had, bandaged them. – But all that did not change a thing about him needing blood. And a lot of it.

"He needs to hunt. Just he can't in this state – can you call Lucan to tell our next patrol to get some blood from the hospitals?", Gideon asked.

It was not like he had no blood here – but not enough for this – and he had used up quite a lot for Milena already.

"Do you think he will make it until tomorrow? Dawn is breaking, there is no patrol out anymore."

Tegan was still cursing, looking at the vampire lying there – he knew that state from own experience.

"I am not certain about that, but I will try my best – he will have to manage, we can't send anybody out to bright daylight that's a suicide mission."

Tegan didn't say a word, but put his wrist to his fangs, opening the vein.

"Tegan?"

Gideon stared at him with disbelief.

"Time to return a favor.", he grumbled, holding the bloody wrist to Mare's lips.