With a smug smirk, Bakugou walked off. He knew he had pissed of the other blond bitch. Knew that it would surely get on his nerves. It was an old rumor in the coven, older than he was. After all, whispers of the old never die in the crevices of the cold stone walls of the castle. Only those with attentive ears could catch glimpses of those whispers.
āGood.ā He thought. He heard Monoma growling and storming off the other direction. Thatāll teach that bastard to talk lowly of him.
The hallway was empty, bar the singular undead making his way towards the throne room. It was late in the evening, surely the others are out and about; either out for blood or out for souls. He doesnāt give a shit. Doesnāt care for the others in the coven. Bakugou only cared about himself.
The blond felt eyes watching him as he continued on, those lifeless paintings staring at him, judging him. Paintings of the cursed family that took him in.
'I hate them. I hate them. I hate them all.ā the voice in his head was angry.
'Remember where your loyalties lie, Bakugouā he could hear the bi-colored princeās words, belittling him. As if heād forget! They shove that loyalty bullshit onto his face every chance they get! Itās unlikely heād forget about it anyway!
'I probably shouldnāt have agreed to let them take me. I couldāve made it on my own.ā
'Noā a small part of his mind whispered. 'You wouldāve died had they not taken you in. You would'nt have known how to get stronger.ā
'You wouldnāt have met our lovely priestā an even smaller part of his mind provided, stopping the vampire in his tracks. Yes. The red headed priest. His beloved clergy. His target. The man whose blood sings to him everytime theyāre together, calling for him to take, to tasteā¦. It agonizes him to be near the reverend, but he canāt get enough of him.
He wants Eijirou so badly.
Bakugou doesnāt even remember taking another step. Doesnāt remember climbing the spiral steps towards the large oak doors of the throne room. Did he actually walk? Did he shadow-walk? The blonde always loses himself in his thoughts about the priest.
āFather Eijirouā he only dares to call the Holy man by his first name in his thoughts. 'You will be mine. Iāll make you mine, your mind, heart, body, soul. Iāll take it. Itās mine, all mine. Youāre mine!ā His fangs grew longer as he was slowly sinking into the beginnings of bloodlust. The thought of finally sinking his teeth into the soft, warm flesh of Kirishimaās neck had his entire body shivering with want. Bakugou could only imagine the taste of the pulsating life source when it finally runs down his throat; would it be sweet? Savory? Would he taste like the richest wine? Would he get drunk from the blood? Would he get high off of the flavor?
This is bad. If he sinks any further into bloodlust he would lose himself.
The edges of his vision is already beginning to turn red, and his supernatural senses are heightened further. Fuck. He needs to drink. He feels so hungryā¦
Stop it. Stop it. Stop it stop it stop it donāt fall deeper-
The still sane part of his brain made Bakugou bite himself in the arm, jolting him out of the trance. How many months has it been since he last had a fulfilling meal? Animal blood could only sustain him for long.
Bakugouās entire body was still twitching, shaking like an addict in withdrawal. He stood there in the hallway, steadying himself. If the king finds out he hasnāt been feeding, heās in trouble.
A pale knuckle rapped on the door.
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