#vampire!soap

Your taste was the sweetest he’d ever come across, like warm honey down his throat. The metallic sweetness burst along his tastebuds and had his body begging for more. He never went too far, but he knew you’d let him if he asked.

Instead of draining you like he very easily could, he let his other senses take over. Humping your leg like a bitch in heat with his mouth still latched to your neck, your delectable blood heightening how truly sensitive he was.

He was a desperate, whining mess, a complete shift of the man you knew. Where on normal days, he was a charming, cocky shit, your blood had him falling into putty in your hands, submissive and under your spell.

You’d never refuse him, of course. You felt pity for him every time you felt the stiffness of his cock poking you through his pants, begging to be released, to be worshipped.

You always gave him what he wanted. You were happy to help, to give yourself up for him so he could feel relief. You couldn’t imagine the turmoil lack of blood had on a poor vampire like Johnny, and it hurt your heart to see him become a pathetic mess.

Johnny adored you when you’d use one hand to pull his cock out while the other remained on the back of his head, fingers curling into his mop of hair to keep him against your neck. Encouraging, begging him to take all that you can give, to lose himself in his feast.

He wouldn’t last long. The moment your hand wrapped around his cock and stroked it to a soft rhythm with praises leaving your lips, it was over. He’d let out a loud whine into your neck, burying himself in you while his hips jerked into your closed fist to match your pace, ropes of cum painting the fabric of your pants.

Johnny was a greedy vampire with an unhealthy addiction to you, but he wasn’t a mean one like most.

He always made sure you got your fix as well with his tongue devouring the lovely flesh between your legs, the tips of his fangs grazing just slightly to have you a crying mess, your thighs framing his head and holding him hostage until you came down from your high.

you couldn't recall the first time you heard his voice.

it had been a few years ago, when you were younger, more naive, and so very lonely. you'd called out for company, for someone, something to break the coldness, to warm your heart.

the voice you'd heard was decidedly celtic. deep, and raspy, and chilled you to your bones, elicited goosebumps over your supple skin. when he came to you, it would be in passing dreams, ones that felt so real, of coiled, cold tendrils kissing your skin, his voice lingering, as if his lips were pressed to the shell of your ear, i've come for you, doll, just as you asked.

he came when you needed him; he left when you promised you were his.

it was a game, of sorts. one you looked forward to every time you drifted off to sleep. would you hear his voice again tonight? would he visit you?

come to me, my shadow, i'm yours

words could not describe the elation you felt after dreaming of him. he was never a physical form, he came to you in absence, a silhouette of darkness cloaking you in his shadow. but you felt him all the same, knew it was he.

you embraced him in your heart, wrapped your ribs around him and kept him there, promised only him.

only yours, he would reply.

some nights, though, his presence would scare you. a shadowed fist curled too tight on your arm, or your neck, and for brief moments would you catch flashes of teeth, of death, of blood stains an age older than you could fathom. those nights you woke in a cold sweat, your nightdress ruffled and your sheets strewn haphazardly over your body.

sometimes, bruises would bloom over your skin where he'd held you, where his claws dug into your fragile skin, where his teeth would graze you, and you would promise yourself to never call for him again.

for nights after you would lay awake, inhaling salts wrapped in cloth to keep you from slipping into your subconsciousness. but even then, even laid there with your eyes wide, covers tucked at your waist, a nervous cold sweat at your brow, you would feel him. trickles of shadows on your legs, a voice speaking in tongues, barely audible, tempting you to rest, to not be so ridiculous as to keep yourself from him.

some nights he would stay away entirely. you would yearn, you would bash your pillow and curse yourself for sending him away, for stealing your own reprieve, begging him to come to you, that you were sorry, that you didn't care if he hurt you or bruised you just please don't leave me, don't leave me, my shadow, i'm yours, i swear it!

you promise, little dove? he would coo, his presence stifling, choking you with smoke, until you were clawing at your throat, at the shadowed hand resting there, a maddened, dizzy smile on your face as you gargled on your words.

"Teenage girl, seventeen years old. She was found dead in her room by her family. Nobody saw anyone, nor heard anything. At first they didn't think it was a vampire, the scene was so gory that it was hard to believe a vampire would waste so much blood like that." Blonde woman paused to take a sip from her tea. You watched her slender fingers fiddle with the edge of her mug, waiting for her words to settle. You took a deep breath, Laswell's office always smelled so nice, oak tree and tea with a hint of cigeratte smoke.

"What do you think?" she shifted back in her chair.

"Well, so much to unpack here. Those are not usual vampire behaviours. Vampires only care about blood, not where it comes from."

They don't follow a girl to her house and wait for the right time to break into her house, you think.

When a vampire fails to suppress their feeding urge, they usually go after easy preys. People they can easily snatch away from an empty alleyway, bar bathrooms, places where very few people can see them. They don't become mindless creatures the moment they haven't sunken their fangs into something squishy in days.

"The girl is different. Why else would one of them fuck her first and kill her in the worst way possible? She clearly had something going on with them."

Laswell is nonchalant, cold-blooded all the time which makes her perfect for her job. She's a fast thinker, always good at bringing the pieces together. You've barely seen her take on a case and not know what to do, sit empty handed with a puzzled expression.

This time was an exception.

Fourth murder of the year, and you still haven't even gotten a fucking name.

Laswell's patience was wearing thin. And at this rate, you didn’t have it in you to blame her.

"They all did. That's why we're looking for the suspects that had connections with the victims, not some random vampires that happened to be passing by."

You wanted to defend yourself saying you had already checked their contacts, went through their electronic devices countless of times, searched for the smallest piece of evidence in the crime scene-

"What about the crime scene, anything new?"

Oh, the crime scene.

Blood scent was thick in the air. That was your first impression. The room was filled with sickening smell of rotten flesh and something else that got you bringing your arm collar to your nose.

There was blood, too much of it. That was the second. It adorned the room, not leaving a corner uncovered. It splattered across the walls, some of it onto the band posters on the walls to make deformed patches on the squeky paper. A big amount of it dripped down the bedframe so much that it managed to make a puddle thick enough to make vibrant red stand out on the dark parquet floor.

It was everywhere except for where it belonged, the cold body that rested on the soft bed sheets.

You approached the body with slow steps. The closer you got the worse it got. Once blurry sight turned into a gory mess of broken bones and ripped flesh. Brittle bones jutted out of a carved open chest. If you looked closer you could see the organ that once pumped the essence of life through her body for years, only to be drained off of all it's purpose along with it's owner.

You wanted to graze your fingers on where flesh was torn the most, the rugged edges that had been too weak to withstand the cruel swipes of fangs and claws. Maybe that way you would be able to feel all that glorious force yourself, see what exactly a determined vampire could do, see what you're getting yourself into. You cling dearly to bring together what little remains of the vampire's presence, desperate for the tiniest sign that could help you piece the puzzle together.

Finger-shaped blood stains made a trail leading to her navel. Scrapes and bruises littered her soft thighs. Deep nasty groves making a stark contrast on silky skin. Between her legs was an even bigger mess. Dried blood and semen clung to the curls between her legs.

Blood and grime caked under her fingernails, a futile attempt to harm her attacker. You could form an image, though the barely there certainity held your imagination back it wasn't hard at all to get goosebumps at the slightest thought of the savagery. Being invaded both body and soul and against all your best attempts all your defenses which you trust the most failing you, they're just not enough-

She had fought nail and teeth, literally. She tried to use her blunts nails against them. With no assuration she'd still fought for this was all she could do.

What a horrible fate she must've went through,tou thought. She deserved to be alive, fine with a hopeful mind that was fortunate enough to not experience any of these. You wanted to mourn over her life, her youth, everything that had been taken away she never got to enjoy. Maybe with a want that stemmed from wanting to find a companion to your emotionally state you turn your head up, to where her face sits over a battered neck.

Your eyes rake over her bloody neck, mouth. Dead, sunken eyes with deep purple marks around them. It was sad really, at such a young age-

Something was off.

It was some kind of a thought coming from the basest part of you. Like you just noticed something you hadn't before. When you did, you knew it was uncanny, something wrong.

Her face, as a whole, had a serene expression. You wondered if it was your imagination or an optical illuson from how little you slept. You looked closer, to the subtle curve of her lips, to the keen light that still managed to stay behind there. It was trying to tell you something, someth-

"Her face..." words leave your mouth before you could stop them. "She...looked serene."

Shock and judgement contorts her face. She looks like she can't decide whether to scowl at you or simply seek therapy for you. Before she can say something cutting you step in.

"We can't keep doing this."

Laswell gives you a faltered expression. You continue. "We just wait for a new murder to happen and do the same things we did in the previous cases. We need something different."

"What should we do then? Enlighten me."

You take a deep breath.

"Let me do my job. Send me to that club."

"We don't have enough evidance to have a permission to organize such mission."

"That's right but what about I go there alone, as a civilian? You won't need to sneak in any teams, I will just gather information and-"

"Send you inside alone? No, absolutely not." she interrupts.

"I was trained for this. I will be fine." you try to convince her.

"The moment they find out who you really are they will tear you to shreds."

You close your mouth at that. You both know that there's truth to her words. You pause.

"I can't just wait here doing nothing."

It sounds like pleading. You could feel yourself work up the courage to ask for that permission again. Somewhere inside you where your sense of duty and fear clashes.

"I will think about it"

You don't know if you're content or terrified by the possibility that lays behind that sentence.

You're sitting on your bed, facing the wall.

If a vampire was to come into your room and decide to kill you, could you put up a fight?

You have a gun in your nightstand's drawer, loaded with silver bullets. A knife under your pillow. A silver dagger in your pocket at all times.

If they were to come into your room, would you be able to pull out your knife and stab it into their heart? Watch them bleed and writhe in agony before they can get to you?

Probably not.

You're only human, after all. A bait in best case scenarios. Even when you've spent years training to fight vampires, that only makes you harder to kill for them. Your training only delays the inevitable. Never the hunter, but a stronger prey. It eats your mind.

All your work, your hopes, your ambitions. Do they even matter? You feel like you're a child and everyone around you is trying to keep you occupied with less important things to avert your attention away from the real problems. It's like they know what having your job means, like they are trying to protect you. You find their efforts insulting.

That doesn't mean you don't find some truth about their concerns. You wish you could.

The club is loud. Walls are painted red and black, they turn into navy blue and purple when exposed to blue lights. Your form blends in with the crowd, blue lightning highlights your form, your skin. In your mind It seeps right through you, showing how transparent you're, just like you intended.

You put effort to look this way, to look casual. Opposite of eye-catching. Your hair is resting on your shoulders, your pants hugging your legs nicely but still comfortable enough to let you use your legs freely. Your leather jacket hiding the silver dagger strapped to your side.

You slice through the crowd, smell of stale alcohol and sweat fills your senses. You watch people come and go, each one of them telling a different story. You check them out if they're vampire or not mentally as a result of working for years in your field. Even though differentiating vampires from humans is almost impossible just from the looks, your eyes linger on a few who don't bother with hiding themselves.

Bright, platinium blonde hair of the vampire curtains her ivory fangs flashing behind red, luscious lips. You watch, hypnotized as they arrive at their destination, to the frail neck of some brunette girl. Sharp tips brushed against vulnerable flesh, leaving red trace in their wake. Manicured nails clinging to her hair only encouraged them more.

You feel a shudder shoot up your spine. Junkees, you think.

A familiar face shows up in the crowd. Graves, who is your partner for the night.

You never liked graves. You'd tried to get along with him as your coworker, have a respectable relationship together, you really did, but it never worked out. Not when the guy is acting like a literal creep.

When you were at the funeral of a fallen comrade he dared to make a senseless comment about how glad he was it hadn't been you because it'd be a shame for someone as pretty as you to die so early. Still he's experienced in his field and better than nothing.

You flinch when Graves' hand snakes down to pet your ass softly.

You glare at him in a way only he can see and dance out of his reach with slow steps.

Two steps back, turn around, stare at people, read the room. Answers are hidden in the plain sight. They can be in the aphrodisiac that drips from the vampire's fangs 2 metres away from you or in the eyes that never ceased their stare since the you stepped into the club, always on your back, always watching.

Some man comes into your view, blocking your vision. His eyes fixated on you as you swing to sides. It takes about 2 minutes until his focus shifts, clearly displeased at your lack of interest. When it does you look for Graves wanting to keep on dragging the two of you to the spots in the club that you've yet to see. That's when your stomach sinks, he is nowhere to be found.

You feel cold all of a sudden. All the sweat that gathered on your skin from the humid air turned ice cold, leaving you shivery and faint. You check the crowd, turn your head to your left and right, draw a big circle around the room. But he's just gone.

You round a sharp corner that leads you to a dark corridor, only lightened dimly by a light source coming from somewhere your vision can't quite reach.

Here you are, standing in an eerie corridor in a building surrounded by vampires all by yourself. Your hand itches near your pockets, you tell yourself it's to grab your weapons if necessary, not to reach your phone and call Laswell and beg her for backup.

You don't know where you're going, and certainly not what's waiting for you on the other end of this corridor. But you have a gut feeling that you're about to find out soon.

Your ears perk up at the sound of squeking boots coming behind you. Your hand readily finds the silver handle in a swiftness born from years of experience and training. Though you react a little too late because strong arms come out of nowhere and slam your back against the wall. You let out a stifled groan.

The man gets closer, his facial features highlightens and it's hard to not notice two longer fangs jutting out behind his lips.

Panic rises in your body, your blood vessels tightens, forcing the liquid in your veins to run faster. Your hands are useless, unmobilized by vampire's hand.

It's over, you think. You're completely at the man's mercy, if he decides that he wants have a little more blood than usual he can suck you dry right here and now.

To your unfortune, by the looks of him, it seems about the right time you start begging for mercy. You have never been bitten before, and with the experience you got over the years from your job, you know what happens once you do. You swallow your pride

His fangs elongate, a strange glow blends into his irises. A characteristhic feature about the nature of vampires that have had the lab workers in the base fussing their head over to figure out what the hell it is. It's known to manifest visions, snake the vampire into vulnerable human brain. You close your eyes and wait for what's to come. His breath ghosts near your ear.

"You should've never came here dumb, little human." his cracked voice murmured into your ear.

There's a grunt, a rush of air hits your face. When you open your eyes you're greeted by the brawl of two men on the ground and a not so stranger face.

Mactavish.

He's a vampire, one of the stronger ones that shows with how quickly he knocked the man to the ground. In a blur of motion he has the man by the scruff of his neck. Before the man can make a move to defend himself, he punches the man's teeth in with such force that you hear bones crunching.

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

You must be more shaken than you thought and it must show to your face because when you don't answer he closes the distance between you and gently holds your shoulders. "Are you okay?"

You're hesitant at answering him. Your eyes feel heated and there's a bump in your throat. Making you feel like you'll start bawling like a child if you were to say a word.

So you just nod shakily, averting your gaze away from him as you try to force your racing pulse to slow down. Your breath events out, the presence of another vampire in the room is hard to dismiss in your shaken state, but you kind of manage. What the fuck were you doing here, really? This place is the last place a lone human should be, instead you-

Graves. You were looking for Graves.

How long time had you lost standing here? With a newfound panic, you look up to him with wide eyes.

"Graves, he was with me in the club but then he just disappeared. I need to find hi-"

A blood curling scream interrupts you. Instictively you both turn your head to the end of the corridor, to the direction the sound came from.

You thoughtlessly start to run. A thousand possibilities fill your mind as you sprint through the corridor.

It ends in a dark alleyway. The kind of alleyway people makes sure to avoid walking.

There are blood drops on the ground and Graves is nowhere to be found.

He took him.

First you hear sirens, then screams coming from inside of the club and shuffling of footsteps. You turn around to check on Mactavish. You find him gone.

Your name echoes in Laswell's office, snapping your attention back to her. You feel so big, vast, hard to miss in the small room. Like a whale put in a small pond, nowhere to run from the piercing glares and stinging words.

You want to shrink into yourself, curl up on the floor and die. But you don't because you're in no position to be embaressed. That'd be too merciful for you. Not what you deserve for your actions.

"What the fuck were you thinking?" Laswell condemns. Her voice is loud by her standarts, if you were a civilian you would've jolted in your seat.

You don't jolt, you don't flinch. Your irresponsibility caused this. You don't open you mouth for even once to correct her or to defend yourself, instead you take her words, suck them up.

It all turns into a blur. Far away you're wandering in different places, present in the room and not at the same time. You understand every word yet you're content with just throwing them away. So rooted in yourself that you're convinced you're already aware of what she has to say to you.

"You're taken from this case."

One sentence is enough for your self-controlled dazed state to shatter into pieces. The pieces burst through your ears making a hoeling sound, they flow through your blood vessels with their icy edges, making your skin go cold.

"I arrested people for less."

Raindrops pitter patter against the windshield of your car. Autumn air is set heavy, trying to get into the warmness of your car yet failing. All it can do is to manifest itself as foggy remains on the car windows.

You've been sitting in your car and drinking. After two beers and some wine that got into your system you're still thirsty, your need for a calm mind is more evident than ever.

You're not drunk yet, maybe a tad tipsy. You waryly eye the bag of groceries in the backseat. The vodka bottle peeks out from the bag, looking very inviting at the moment.

A man walks past the parking lot. Even when drunk, your senses are alert. Corner of your vision catches his imposing figure, wide shoulders.

His eyes give him away.

Even after figuring him out his eyes spare you from actually observing him. They just grasp your attention like a thread and make themselves known even from such distance. They're so captivating that you feel exposed even though you're the watcher here. The safety of your car doesn't stop your imagination from creating phantom sensations of someone watching you.

You don't think much about it. You're out of the car following him in an instant.

You put a considerable distance between. When he enters some pub you wait for fifteen minutes before stepping inside.

The pub is mundane, a place nice to be around. People's chitter-chattering fills the room, laughter flows freely. You take a seat near a bar counter and casually order a beer.

You rake over the tables while sipping your beer. When your eyes land on your target you smile.

He's sitting there, chatting with someone you can't see past your blocked view.

You can't help but once again be charmed by him. His energy is enchanting, It's radiating off him. You nearly gasp when he flashes his perfect smile to whoever lucky person is sitting across him. His presence almost offends you, almost.

You go back to sulking in your chair. "Just get on with it." you think. You turn around to give him an inviting smile, a flirty one, maybe. You have a short-lived panic when you can't find him where you left.

"Are you following me?" a deep voice says from the chair next to you. You nearly crawl out of your skin. You missed he's as skilled as you. Still you force yourself to reciprociate. Snap back with the same fever.

"That's my line."you protest.

He gives you a blank stare, weighing your words. His eyes lit up when he finally gets it. His previous cockines slowly vanishes into understanding. He's taken back, you see the oppurtunity and attack.

"What were you doing in that club?"

You can feel it, his uneasiness. His grimace is a defence shield, a useless attempt at appearing cool but failing. Or so you hope.

"Sometimes I think you forget that I'm an officer too, lass." he mocks. You want to punch him in the face.

"Graves died and you were there."

"Laswell was worried you were up to something stupid."he explains calmly while ordering a new drink. This sentence is enough to shut you up. Laswell trusted another person to complete the holes in your case.

You shift back into your seat in defeat, though you're not about to reveal this to him soon.

To your dismay, he seems to pick on your mood. "Laswell was thinking about involving me in this case for a long while."

You open your mouth to protest but you look up to see that smirk.

"Don't be so judgeful yet, you haven't even tried me."

...

You've been well acquainted to the rumors, gossips about Mactavish.

At first everyone had taken him with caution, with the disbelief that he was even allowed to exist here. Your superiors had convinced you that having a vampire by their side had been the best decision ever.

He's like a machine, more durable than any vampire hunter they've had.

After all, only a vampire can withstand the force of one of their kind.

Their words had been stinging, but they had some truth to them. As much as having him was the same as having a fox in a coop full of chickens, he'd proved himself with killing tens of his kind. After this point whatever critism one had for him would beg the questions to their performance as a hunter.

His position as a vampire hunter is a contrast to everything you had to learn.

Vampires cannot be trusted. They could be anyone, anything and you wouldn't even notice until it's too late.

After all, humans have very valid reasons not to trust vampires. Vampires literally evolved to hunt humans.

They adapted to being a parasite species, they used evolution to their advantage, letting it shape them into being what they're in the present day.

They come from the deepest pits of hell. Their power is serpentine, it unravels through their eye sockets, wriggles it's way through feeble human mind. Carves a nest in the brain, seeping into every little crevice and curve, rotting the brain from inside to the point of no return. When they finallyTheir eyes lurk

In most scenarios the victim becomes dependent on them. Obsessed, being left with no chance but having their mind high on their venom. The victim obliviously becomes addicted to them, letting them feed on their blood, body, mind for the smallest amount of venom. The life is slowly being sucked dry off them, yet they still beg for more.

A dangerous obsession that in most scenarios ends in death.

It's a cloudy tuesday. The exhaustion from the past month slowly wears off like autumn leaves falling off the trees in your yard.

You have some phone calls from Graves' family, rightfully worried about his case and how will you handle it. At first you got rude comments and blamings for not being enough. The time seemed to soothe their hate a bit.

You arrive at your home and step through the doorstep. You're prepared to slip out of your shoes when you notice something odd about your house. It smells like... roses? Rose scent is not your pick for the room sprays. It doesn't take you long to notice a bouquet of roses sitting on the floor a few steps away.

There'd been someone in your home.

There's a trail of rose petals. You pull out your gun follow the rose petals like it's a path of blood trail. You walk past your kitchen, climb the stairs. All the while you check out the other rooms.

Rose petals end in your bedroom. They lead to a big box laying on your bed. The packaging looks expensive, decorated with a tasteful manner.

You go to the bathroom to grab some plastic gloves. You slip your fingers through the powdery rubber. You wield the box, keep it near your ear, shake it and try to figure out what's inside. Whatever is inside it sounds soft, like ruffling of fabric.

You decide it's not a bomb or something dangerous and start to work on the packaging. The thick ribbon unfurls like water under your hands. After other materials of packaging are gone you peek at the things that greet you from the box.

At the top is another package from a luxirous clothing brand. You twist your face in disgust when you unfold the fabric and see it's a red pair of lingerie. You try to ignore it. Under it is a small fancy jewellery box with a golden necklace in it. You test it's weight in your palm and gawk at the size of the stone at the end of it. You're not sure if it's real or not, but the workmanship alone must've costed hundreds.

There are smaller items stashed in the box: A red lipstick, a bottle of wine and a smaller box.

The small box is different from the others, it doesn't have a brand name written on it. In fact, it looks more like the handiwork of a middle school kid. The packaging is neatly done, but minor flaws succeed to show themselves. You imagine slightly shaking hands from excitement wrapping it.

Surprised to find such personal touch after all the expensive brands in the box, you open it with the caution, unsure what to expect.

You touch over the velvet fabric draped on the thing. It has sturdy, hard ridges that give away when pressed on them. Covered in some squishy, fleshy material.

Your blood goes cold when you understand what it is. To test your assumption you smooth your hand over the fabric, feeling the perfect shape of a human hand underneath.

Your hands shake as you lift the fabric and peek to the hand that was cut from the wrist. You almost throw the box to the across the room while you hyperventilate and once again be face to face with the reality of your job.

You notice a note at the bottom of the box. Crooked letters littered around the thick paper that says:

-I want to see you in those.

They took the hand, gave the rest of the box back to you after investigation. Probably didn't know what to do with the lingerie, you thought.

Crime scene investigators had stormed in when you explained what you had found. They inspected every corner of your house that they probably know more about your house than you at this point.

You leaned back in your office chair as you fiddled with your pen. You hear a knock on your door.

"It's me, Johnny, can I come in?" Johnny asks. You tell him to come in. He brings a file with him.

"I found something. Some residants reported a man wearing a skull mask. It's worth to take a look into." he says as he makes himself home with dragging a chair in front of your desk.

A skull mask. You remember the night Graves was taken. You nod slowly. "He might be our guy." you approve.

Johnny hands you over the files. He eyes you as you rake over the files. He looks like he has something to say and he would burst if he couldn't say it.

"What?" you try to urge him on.

He looks somewhat confused. "Did you find some kind of note in the box? Or a letter? He obviously wanted your attention, at that point why not leave an explanation?" he asks innocently.

You feel like you've been caught red-handed. How could he know? You didn’t tell anyone about the note.

"No, there was nothing."

Johnny nods understandingly.

"So, are you going to stay in your house? It must be uncomfortable knowing a killer just got into your house. If you need a place I can help." he offers.

"Thank you but I'm staying over at my friend's. You're right It would be very uncomfortable." you half lie. You told your friend you'd stay for a week, but you know after three days you'd find a hotel to stay, reluctant to overstay your welcome.

"The box, I heard our killer has a good taste in presents. The girls are still talking about the lipstick." Johnny makes an attempt to soften the conversation.

"Oh yeah, I was shocked when I first saw it. I don't understand why would he go through this. Not to mention the pric-"

"Well, after spending all that money he better has chosen some pieces that suit your taste." he interrupts. Then he frowns like he tries to remember something.

"Uh, like the lingerie."

Your eyes widen.

"What?"

He looks at you like he doesn't understand why you're surprised at such casual question.

"The lingerie, as example. Did you like it?"

The drive to the motel is silent.

You have to admit, it's better than you expected. The dust makes itself known as soon as you pull the curtains to sides to let some light in, but still that's better than staying back home.

You change into your sleep clothes, do your skincare, comb your hair. You do anything to make it feel like home, to feel the blissful ignorance.

You pull the sheets over your head and you realize that you forgot something.

Your pillow feels too soft, as if lacking something hard, something with a weight under it. Your hand itches to grab the cold metal, desperate to feel the security that comes from it's sharp edges, the glint of silver that dance over it.

You end up putting a silver knife under your pillow, another on the nightstand.

At least now you don't feel as vulnerable.

There are hands roaming your body. Large palms pawing at your hips, a warm breath ghosting over your neck. A deep voice whispers words into your ear you can't quite decipher.

Your mattress shifts under the weight of a second person. You feel the cold all over your body now. Whoever, whatever it is, the thing is huge. It blankets your body with it's massive frame. Your body twitches, desperately tries to jolt you awake so you can face the danger, or run away from it.

You hear footsteps that are not of the person above you. There's a third person in the room with you. You open your eyes.

You try to push the bulk off your body, try to squirm free but fail. You turn your head to the side to see who's the second man, but your head is roughly yanked to the side. Your eyes meet with cold, soulless eyes, dark like the pits of hell. You slip back into your sleepy haze, but still fully awake.

Fangs glint like knifes in the dark, you try to scream loud enough to rattle the motel, but instead only pathetic whimpers get out. Someone hushes you, pets your hair when tears stream down your cheeks.

A wet tongue laves over your pulse, your breath is shortened to hiccups now. A maw attaches itself onto your neck, and finally it bites into your neck, drawing your blood from your veins.

Your mouth opens on a silent scream, the mouth that's not biting you closes on yours.

You wake drenched in sweat and dread still clinging to your bones. There's coldness in your chest, as if your heart is pumping ice and not blood.

Pain ghosts over your neck. You shoot you hand up to feel it, your hand comes back clean.

You wriggle out of your sheets, trying to let your sleep sweat dry off first to warm yourself. Your hands are numb as you check the time from your phone.

It's seven in the morning. There's a notification you need to squint your eyes to read. Your heartbeat almost stops when you see it's from Laswell.

-See me when you're here.

You stare blankly for one minute, trying to understand if you're in trouble or not. You weigh the possibilities and let your dream slowly dissolve into thin air. When you try to remember what it was about darkness and carnage are the only things that paint your mind.

"They caught someone, a vampire. His DNA matches with the samples we've gotten from all three murders. However, we suspect that he doesn't work alone, you might want to interrogate him." She ends with an exasperated sigh.

With a nod you make a move to get out.

"Wait." Laswell says. When she has your attention back she continues.

"He wanted to talk to you. He said your name. " She says slowly, tentatively. As if she can't even trust her own words. It's your turn to be surprised.

"What?"

"We tried interrogating him while you gave your statement for the night. He said he won't talk unless it's you who's interrogating him."

There are a lot of things you want to say. Instead you just give her a shaky nod and close the door behind you.

The room they keep vampires is not like your usual interrogation room. It is sound-proof. There are two doors next to each other to deal with the lackness of human eye that can't catch up with super vampire speed. Handcuffs are thicker, made of a stronger element than iron, so is the mirrored glass in front of you.

You approach the mirrored glass. The vampire is tied to a metal chair. Even with his hunching posture he looks imposing, threatening. The fact that he's restrained by heavy chains doesn't silence the small part of you that shys away. There's blood all over his hands and up to his arms, corners of his mouth. The chains look a little too tight around his bulging muscles. He's muscular everywhere, his arms, his thighs, his neck-

"Are you going to just stare or do something here?" The man says without turning his gaze at you. His voice was dark, just like what you had expected from this monster of a man. It was unexpected, he wasn't supposed to see you. It makes you jolt in where you stand. Maybe he felt the vibrations of your footsteps, you think. You decide not to move until he thinks you're gone.

"I can smell you, you're still there." he chuckles darkly. It's merely a chuckle, too dry and raspy to be considered one. Actually there are hints of mocking in his tone.

You sigh and decide there's no meaning in hiding. You open the first door with scanning your card, and then the second one. When you're inside the door clicks shut behind you.

The man stirs, he tilts his head to your direction, though you know it's more of a show.

You loudly drag the metal chair and situation yourself in front of him with putting a considerable distance between you and him.

"How do you know my name?"You ask.

He doesn't answer, just like you thought.

"Unbind me."he demands.

His useless attempt almost makes you laugh.

"Why would I do that

"If you cooperate we might consider making you some favors." you try again.

He tilts his head.

"What do you want?" his voice is gruff, low in pitch, yet it still manages to seep into your brain.

"A location. Tell me where is Phillips Graves."

He huffs amusedly at your demand.

"I don't want to spoil the surprise, love. Figured you'd want to find whatever is left of him all by yourself."

His words make you sick to your stomach. The implication hidden behind them is enough to make you worry about your position in the eyes of your coworkers. You try to regain your authority over him.

"You're sentenced for-"

"Did you like your present?" he interrupts.

"I picked out the contents very mindfully. I even asked your friend for help, it was kind of him to lend a helping hand in." he ends his sentence with a dry chuckle. You don't find his joke funny.

"Where is he?" you say sternly.

"What am I getting out of this?"

Nothing, you want to say.

"The court will grant your cooperation positively, I can say." you explain.

He shakes his head.

"Will you wear the lingerie I bought you? Spread your legs, and bare your neck for me?"

His lewd comments makes your cheeks warm. You're glad he can't see the shocked expression on your face.

"That won't happen."

"Or should I do it myself? One of those nights I can just come through your window and prove you wrong."

After witnessing how easily he broke into your house you know very well that he can. That's why his words send chills up your spine.

But now is different. He's chained, restrained, you're safe.

It's your turn to chuckle.

"You're chained to a chair in a high security room, you will rot for the rest of your life in a prison cell. You're not going anywhere."

The man in front of you shifts in his seat. You hear the creaking metal, clinking of chains. It's okay, you think. That seat was made to withstand hundreds of pounds of force.

The metal bends, something in the air snaps.

He's on you in an instant.

Broken chains dangle from his limbs as he lounges at you. You shout at him to get away. You don't make it to the door when he lays all his body weight on you, caging you between the ground and his bulk.

He huffs like a beast above you. His breath hits the back of your head. When you try to shout for help he grabs you by the scruff of your neck and shakes. You whimper when he buries his face in your neck, right above your pulse point. He inhales deeply.

"You smell different, not like you do when you're sleeping." you thrash harder at his words. You can feel his smile against your neck, his fangs scratching the skin there.

"My big, scary hunter, are you afraid?" he says mockingly.

It doesn't take long after that and armed guards storm in the room, haul him off your body. They half-drag you shocked form out the room.

In your stumble you manage to get a glimpse of him behind you, calm as ever, showing no signs of struggle as guards restrict him once again. Like he got what he wanted.

There's a content smile on his lips. A wry, awful thing. Like he just accomplished his plan.

You park your car near the warehouse.

Birds chirp in the background, the sun gleams bright over the rusty planes of the warehouse. The warehouse is sturdy, still thriving in a way but looks like It hasn't had a touch up for years.

You idle around the building for a while. You check its surroundings, the houses around that looks like nobody lived in them in the past five years.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket. A message pops up in your screen. It's from Johnny.

-Sorry, just had a change in plans.

You roll your eyes at the message. You're about to march back to your car when you suddenly have a strong urge to go on. Something deep in your senses tells you to move on, keep going until you find your target.

You're not the one to ignore your sixth sense, not when it hasn't failed you yet.

The door creaks when you push it open. The room is not very dark, just light enough to make out your surroundings.

The first room is mostly empty. There are supplies scattered on the floor, they have a thick layer of dust gathered on them from years of disuse.

You pass through the corridor and center a new room. It's smaller and smells like chemicals. The room has no windows, It's very dark. You turn on your flashlight.

It's shocking to see so many pictures on the table, on to the walls and everywhere. You squint your eyes to get a better look. When you realize the face in the pictures is actually yours your blood turns ice cold.

Pictures taken of you at work, out in a Cafe, in your house. Pictures of you talking, laughing, crying. Your breath hitches when you notice they're not only photographs but also classified informations none outside of work should know. Personal information of the victims, your coworkers, you.

You almost jump out of your skin when your phone rings. It's Laswell. You answer it with shaky hands.

"I-"

"Now listen carefully. There's been a situation." Her voice is anxious.

"What situation?"

"He broke out. We're still searching how he did it but wherever you are, you're not safe. Find-"

A thump sounded from outside. Your hand holding the phone freezes, you stay quiet as Laswell keeps speaking on the other end. You end the call, turn off your flashlight.

You grasp your knife so tight your knuckles turn white.

Someone is forcing open the door, you can't just wait there in the open. You can't outrun a vampire, but you can hide until the help arrives. So you dive into pitch darkness.

From what little you remember you try to navigate through the room. If only you could get to the back door-

You come to a halt in your steps. The sudden coldness envelopes you. Your eyes are too weak to see in the dark, but your senses paint an enough picture of what could be towering over you right now. The coldness radiates off him and settles deep in your bones. His gaze could drill a hole right through your forehead. You tilt your head up to where you think his face is.

You can't see him, but he can see you.

"Here you are, darling. Did you miss me?" his voice sends chills down your spine.

You make a move to gut him, that only earns you a harsh push into a room near you. You stumble and try to find your footing. You blindly slash your knife through the air, a useless attempt to keep him away. You scream at him to stay away.

For a blissful second, you could almost believe that worked. You're getting cornered deeper into the room, but from what little you could tell he's not around you anymore.

You try to subdue your breathing to normal, taking small steps back.

You scream when you bump into someone, your hand catching on some clothing, a lean chest. After this point, you act on instinct.

You knife lodges into where a heart should lay, in front of his chest, slightly on the left side of his sternum. A painful whimper finds your ears. That's not enough for you.

There's still resistance in his muscles, you take out the knife and stab him again, again and again until his body no longer convulses, until he's nothing but a lifeless body on the ground.

You fall onto your knees next to him. When the adrenaline fades away you break down, a small hiccup escapes your mouth before you can stop it, tears of joy and relief stream down your cheeks.

It's over, it's finally over, you think.

"Very good, good girl." a deep voice says from the entrance of the room.

The lights turn on and you are finally able to see. Your eyes find the blond man by the doorfence first, then they find the man laying motionless on the floor. His face is barely distinguishable from all the blood covering it, but that doesn't stop you from recognizing your coworker you had shared years working with.

Graves, you just killed Graves.

Your eyes flit between the man and Graves as if you can't believe what's happening now is real. You shake your head side to side, put your hands on your head.

"No, no, no." your voice is a hoarse whisper, your voice sound got knotted in your throat.

"I-I didn't, I-"

He doesn't wait for you to explain yourself. He advances on you, pushing you against the wall. When your back meets the wall, he gently grabs your cheek. Your cries are shortened to little hiccups. You weakly push at his chest, try to punch him in the face. He's unfazed at your attempts to hurt him.

"Shh now. Be good for me." he soothes.

He tilts your head up, exposing the delicate skin of your neck. When you understand what he's about to do you struggle with a renewed strength, all to no avail.

He drinks in your smell, his breath tickling the fine hairs on your neck. His fangs graze at your pulse point. You let out a blood curdling scream when they sink into you.

For a moment you think you're being devoured alive.

Your vision is blurry, your legs gave out beneath you, your head cradled by a large hand. You can only whine confusedly when he takes you in his arms and starts walking.

There's one last thing you hear before the world goes black.

"I'm taking you home."

Your neck throbs like a screwdriver is being twisted in it, jolting you awake from your peaceful sleep.

You're cocooned in soft sheets that smell like detergent. The moonlight seeps inside through an open window, just barely illuminating the room.

You sit up in bed and immediately regret it because of the rush of pain from stretching the wound on your neck. You whimper.

Your head feels fuzzy, you can't focus. You don't remember anything. You're chilled, suddenly the room is too cold for you. You look down. You're wearing a black, satin dress. The delicate fabric doing nothing to shield you from the cold. You feel under the straps, there's another clothing underneath. Lacy, dainty-

A lingerie.

You scramble out the bed, scattering the bed sheets to the ground. Standing up so quickly in your weakened state makes your head spin, you stumble forward and someone catches you.

"Easy." Johnny balances you in his arms.

"Simon took too much this time, you'll be fine."he assures. You don't understand.

"What do you mean?" you ask. He doesn't answer.

"Can you walk?"

Like a newborn fawn you try to balance yourself on your shaking legs. He decides you can't and he swoops you up in his arms.

Your head sags as Johnny carries you downstairs. You go into a big room with warmness spreading from a fireplace in the corner. There are two chairs near the fireplace. A man is sitting in one of them, his keen eyes fixated on your form.

You recognize him. It all dawns on you. The memories flood at once into your mind. The terror settling deep in your bones. You trash in Johnny's arms as you approach the vampire. You call him insults, call him a traitor. When he transfers you into Simon's waiting arms you fall silent.

You sit in his lap as he cards his fingers through you hair in a soothing gesture. His breath fans over your head, smelling of blood. Your blood.

"You killed them." your voice waves a little, you tell yourself that's because of your weak state, not because you're scared.

His attention shifts to your words. He only lets out an approving "mhm" sound.

"I got you, you were- how did you even get out?"

His eyes avert to the man behind you.

The hard texture of plastic bumps to the side of your face. Your personal card is being held at the tip of your card holder. It all makes sense.

"I- They will come for me. I'm very important for them." your voice stutters.

"None is coming to save you. If anything, they'd rather have you dead after everything you've done." Johnny calmly explains from behind you. You falter.

"I will just explain everything to them, it was an acciden-"

"It doesn't seem like an accident to me, what do you think Johnny?" Simon asks. What is he talking about?

"No, Simon. It definitely looks like she had been helping us all along."

You understand what they mean very well now. You knew your plan was flawed from the beginning, but you never thought you would fuck up that badly.

You have nowhere to run.

"No, no. I will run away, you will see." you try. It is hard to speak past the knot that has newly formed in your throat.

"You're not going anywhere unless you want to be shot dead. You name is all over the news. Besides," he ducks his head to talk directly into your ear.

"Now that you have my bite, my mark, you can never hide from me. Wherever you're, I will find you."

His head hurts, though, thoughts running wild, and they aren't his thoughts. In the present, he hears everything. A consistent soft chatter of voices humming in the back of his mind. Sometimes, it's the voice of the little girl that follows Johnny around, her sing-song cadence lamenting about how cool the Scot is. Sometimes, he hears his Captain’s voice, a ping-pong of chastisement and self flagellation on how they all ended up like this. If he concentrated enough, he could hear the insecurities that Price held about not being in command of anything and having to take orders from Aayana or Karma. He's even privy to Kyle, who thinks in disgust about the blood he chokes down at dinner with echoing chants of 'Don't hang yourself. Don't leave your team.' He hears the soft longing of Johnny's thoughts and how he yearns for his real family and how the brats that infest the house remind him of his own host of nieces and nephews.

And that's not counting the other thoughts that drift in and out of his head. The discordant sound of other people drives him crazy. It makes him irritable. It makes him want to kill and make it stop. He's never had the desire to actually want and crave to inflict violence upon others. The voices in his head hold his reasoning and logic hostage. Replacing them with images of bodies cracked open, blood spilling forth and into his mouth. He can imagine the taste as coppery and bitter. Overall, it's unpleasant and devastatingly unsatisfying. He sees fire sometimes when he is resting, eyes glazed over as he idlely listens to Johnny talk about how weird it is to be called Jackie, but it's growing on him. He will lay in his bed, no real motivation to move, and Johnny will curl up next to him, and neither of them mention how there's now no warmth between them. Those are the moments he is able to ignore everything in him and just exist in relative quiet.

Those moments are when he is aware and in the driver's seat of his body. When his right mind is shoved to the back by the unbridled rage and blood lust, he is kept away from everyone for his safety and everyone else's.

These times, like now on this muggy and warm day, he finds himself in the company of William. The grounds keeper of the property and Simon finds it eerie how similar the two of them are. William is just as silent and imposing as Simon is. They share the same build of raw muscle and stature. The only thing is that William doesn't hide his face's disfigurement. He appears to be in his late twenties or early thirties, but Simon knows better. The man is a vampire. His face is littered with scars and keloids that have been with him for all of his life. His left eye is permanently facing another direction, staring off to the side and hidden by a white milky film, his working brown eye in a semi permanent droop. A scar slashes down the left side of his face, and it's jagged and reaches his lips. A small sliver of flesh looks like it was hastily patched up on his lip, stitches maybe, long gone and leaving behind the scarification. Another healed patch of criss-cross keloids peaks just from under William's shirt on the back of his neck, and Simon sees it when the man turns his back to him whenever he is working. It should be noted that William keeps all of himself covered, from neck to the sole of his feet. He doesn't hide his face, but he hides everything else meticulously. Simon respects that and can relate because his skull mask stays on when out in public.

"It's particularly bad for you t'day, isn't it Simon?" William speaks as if he knows what he is going through. "Them noises in ya head." He doesn't turn from his task of feeding the hogs. The pen is kept far from the house, another safety precaution. Humans aren't allowed out here where Aayana has William raise the hogs and slaughter them.

Simon only grunts as he barely acknowledges the question. They are both out in the blistering sun, getting ready to butcher a hog for some gathering that Aayana wants to hold. The idea of the blistering sun is a conundrum because aren't vampires supposed to hate being in the sun? Isn't he supposed to be turning to ash? Even more so, he wants to turn into ashes because he doesn't want to be around a surplus of people for this gathering. He doesn't want to hear extra voices in his head. "Nothin' I can' handle." He talks barely above a whisper.

William pauses his task and observes the hogs that are milling about. Rooting their snouts in the troughs or the ground. Piglets are scampering about picking around the older beasts for scraps. "It ain't all yer blood lust ya know." He says finally after a long moment of silence.

Simon only grunts again. He's got no patience for empty platitudes of comfort. He just wants to enjoy the distance and silence from the house. Working with William, doing hard labor comforts his body and nerves.

"I don't reckon she even knows she's lettin' ya feel her. She hasn' hada new bloodied young'n in decades that could read thoughts an' feel folk's memories..." The good eye slides over to look at him, and there's no pity. Just understanding. "I ain't no good use of help'n ya wit the issue. Yaya, though, she's got it in her best interest to help you."

"What 'm I supposed to about these thoughts?" He asks.

"I 'spect ya need to learn to block 'em out. It can't be good for you." He trudged on to his next task, and Simon followed. They now have to pick out which hog to slaughter.

Simon, while he's been a butcher, has never done the process from start to finish. He's a bit interested in how they go about picking the right one. A new skill for his new lifestyle. "Do you have the same issue...with the rage?" He takes the risk of prying for information. For the knowledge that it isn't just him as the only brute holding onto his fraying humanity and self-control to not split flesh open and suck life out to fill his bottomless existence.

"I never had no blood lust in the hundred f'years I beens alive. All the anger an' any rage done been whipped outta folks like me... broken in for work so I don't push back." He doesn't say much more on himself, and that leaves Simon confused. He sees this man and sees himself. "Yaya is the one who overcomed her own blood lust. She tore herself right on out of it an' right in the middle of it too." He sounds almost in awe as he speaks of Aayana. "Was nothin' but God that saw her through them forty days and forty nights. Nothing but the spirit that stopped her dead in her tracks on the forty-first day."

The hog that William points out is male. More brown than pink, and William says he's big enough to feed everyone at the gathering and to send people home with leftovers. He mentions that Aayana hates wasting food and the scraps will be given to those with dogs. While it's not his cup of tea, William says he will help Aayana prepare the intestines for chittlins. Simon gags at the thought of anyone eating that, but he's had blood pudding, and he liked it, so who is he to judge?

"Aayana seems..." He trails off, not wanting to be rude. Everyone here seems to love the elusive woman dearly. He understands it, she is polite and from what Johnny says, actually funny in a dry kind of way. He's seen her laugh and talk with the people who come and go, and with children, she's as soft as she can be. With Karma, she is stern, especially when the man is arguing his case to let Simon learn how to feed from a person and to use him as practice, (she barely wants Price biting Karma from what she says). The few times Kyle mentions her, it's with annoyance and a begrudgingly sense of respect. John, while he won't say it out right (and he may struggle with it privately), likes how she tells him what to do.

William, though? He looks at Aayana like she hung the sky and all of the stars and planets in it. He is the only one to call Aayana 'Mistress' or 'Yaya' (Simon compares it to the same way he holds Johnny is such high regards). And he knows to be careful with how he speaks of her, so that he doesn't accidentally cause issues (Price has given them all plenty of warnings about respect).

"Yaya is young for a vampire. Born a vampire. It's all she's ever known. And she's had to control her rage and blood lust since the day she cut her fangs in that there house." William looks off towards where the property line is overgrown.

In that direction is the shack that him and his team found when following Kyle out for a late evening walk (it almost felt like they were scouting the area, as they took up their familiar formation). The shack was old, with vines creeping up the sides. Roof partially caved in, the few steps leading up to the door sagged in the middle. The rush of emotions that Simon got from that shack had been enough to make him angry, hurt, small, and scared. Those feelings he hadn't felt since his father had beaten his mother while she begged for him to leave the kids alone. It was visceral and scathing, and he couldn't get out of the thousand yard stare, not until Johnny had held his hand and pulled him back from the turbulent forces swirling in him.

"Come on." William says, "The quicker we slaughter this here hog, the quicker we can hang it to bleed out. It ain't no quick process."

Simon lays awake when he should be resting. It's late in the evening, and he's been out in the sun all day helping William. The ruthless gnawing of violence calls to him, and under it is pain. Since William had said the feelings and thoughts weren't all his own, he's tried deciphering who is who. He can tell the bubbly emotions and thoughts belong to Johnny. He's happy that Simon made it another day without snapping and that he joined everyone for dinner even though he didn't want to. The feeling of disgust and exhaustion belongs to Kyle, and thoughts of fresh human blood plague his feelings about morality. It has never been clearer that he hates the taste of animal blood, but he can't bring himself to drink human blood. His morality won't allow it. Just beyond that is John and some rather confusing feelings that he knows he is not supposed to know about. Those feelings of insecurity laced with guilt mixes with lust and fear and a deep seated satisfaction of not feeling hunger. He feels Karma next to him, and the lust is mirrored, Simon feels like he just walked in on his parents.

He finally closes his eyes as they are too heavy to stay open. Phantom fire licks at his skin. He's frozen in place. This time, when his eyes pop open, there is smoke.

Thick, black, heavy smoke hangs in the air and blots out the setting sun. Everything is bathed in a haze of red, and the feeling of violence permeates the air. In front of him is Aayana. She's kneeling. Her brown dress is covered in dirt and stained with blood. Simon looks off to the side and sees a pale pink rope of sorts that leads to a small white sheet. The white sheet is spread out, lovingly placed on top of whatever it is hiding. His eyes follow the rope back to Aayana, and he sees that she is holding someone. Her body is still and the person she holds lays limp, decay starting to rot her. It then dawns on him what he is seeing. He is seeing Aayana holding the corpse of a woman, her brown skin covered in her own blood, the swell of her stomach torn open and the the pale pink rope isn't a rope but an umbilical cord, and under that sheet is a baby.

It makes Simon feel rage and feel sick, but it's not his own.

William is there too, a quiet specter, watching as he takes off his shirt. Simon does a double take as he catches a glimpse of the scars and keloids that criss-cross and stretch across his back. They are everywhere on him, connecting and diverging like rivers and streams. Some are raised others are flat, all of them hint at the time he comes from. William places the shirt over the woman's body, he makes no move to budge the catatonic Aayana.

"It's been forty day's Yaya." He says quietly, "We gotta run, leave this place."

Aayana doesn't move from her crouched position. A sob escapes her and she hugs the body close to her. "Billy this wasn't supposed to happen." She barely is able to get the words out. "I told her and Zachary to leave with us. They didn't listen."

"...Yaya, Miss Abilene won't want ya to hold on to her like this. We gots to bury her and Zachary proper." William sounds close to begging. "You've beens here fora whiles now Yaya...please."

"I can't leave Abi like this... these people, these monsters didn't even make it quick." She screams and Simon feels the heat if a thousand suns in that desperate wail of anger. William frowns and sighs at the outburst. He can tell that the man wants to pull her away, but he keeps his distance.

"Do you want me to bury the baby next?" He decides on focusing on that instead. Even at the mention of the baby under the white sheet, his voice shakes.

"Bury them both together." Aayana rocks back and forth, "Put them next to Zachary, theys still a family. They would want to be together."

The next scene that Simon sees is fire, an entire town set ablaze. The flames reach up into the morning skies. People are screaming, buildings falling into themselves. An entire town being destroyed. Men, women, and children lay sprawled out in places. Throats ripped wide open, bleeding out. There are shadows moving about, hunched over bodies that are split open, claws digging into flesh. Simon feels the anger and hatred and blood lust gripping onto him. Up ahead he sees Aayana, standing over a man. His blue eyes wide with fear, blond hair caked with sweat, soot, and blood. He has soiled himself in his fear and he begs.

"Please we didn't know!" He shouts as she descends onto him. First Aayana rips him open, entrails spilling out everywhere. Her normally brown eyes are a light with pleasant black rage and Simon can feel the relief. He feels the relief when she bends his arms and legs to break them. Righteousness courses through him when he sees her aim her fangs and sink them into the man's neck. Right in the spot where the change is initiated. The man is screaming for mercy.

"You didn't give neither of my lovers mercy when you lynched them." Her voice floats through the air. "I will make you watch me eat your wife and boy. Eye for an eye." She stands slowly, ignoring the whimpers of pain and how the man begs for her to leave his family alive.

Simon isn't sure how he missed the two extra bodies that were frozen nearby watching the scene. Mother and son, holding on to each other, shaking in fear. There is a war of anger and remorse that he feels in his own chest. Aayana walks slowly to the two and she stands there watching them. The mother is trying to shield her son and Simon feels fear but it's not the woman's, it's the boy. He can relate to the unimaginable fear and its not him relating, it's Aayana.

"You shouldn't be here Simon."

Simon's eyes shoot open and he's back in his bed. He's panting, his lungs taking in air he doesn't need. Just what type of fucking night terror did he see? Sitting he runs his fingers through his hair and feels the soft cool silk sheets under him, anything to ground his mind. The voices are back, people's thoughts though less of them now seeing as it is late and sleep or rest claims people. There is the squeak of the bedroom door, and it makes Simon instinctively tense up for a threat.

She looks like a ghost standing there, the dim hallway light wrapping her in a halo, bleeding through her linen night dress. It's the first time Simon has been openly approached by Aayana. Her head moves side to side as she surveys the room's inhabitants. Kyle and Johnny are deep into their rest, piled on top of each other, limbs tangled together. She motions for him to follow when she leaves and he does.

She takes him to her sitting room and offers him a seat. If she is angry about what he saw, she doesn't show it. Her face is carefully composed and she watches him. The silence stretches between the two of them, great like an endless chasm. After several long minutes she finally speaks. "Simon...why didn't you tell me you were suffering with your gift?"

He's surprised at how soft and concerned she is about him. She sounds apologetic and her lips turn down into a frown. "I didn't want to bother you."

"A vampire that has that gift can go insane if not taught how to control it. Your resting and awake periods must be awful. Never mind the blood lust that comes with it." She adjusts herself in her seat and looks out the window. "Vampires who have been exposed to intense traumas in their youth tend to manifest this rare gift...first lesson is how to meditate."

He nods his head, "and then?"

"Let's learn to meditate, that will help shut out other people's thoughts, feelings, and the blood lust that comes with the stress." She smiles at him. "After that, we can go from there."