Chapter Text
It was the worst night of my life. Well, maybe not the worst, but it was certainly in my top five.
It was my best friend Samantha's bachelorette party, a co-ed event where she invited nearly every person she knew in college, even the people she barely knew, and I was miserable. Despite my gentle nudging that maybe she invites only a few people and pick a smaller meetup spot like a nice restaurant or a damn strip club, she insisted on visiting The Confession; a noisy club bar in downtown LA built inside a former church. And to be fair, it did have women dancing in suspended cages so it was sort of like a strip joint. Unfortunately for me, the club was a common hangout for goths and punks and wasn't even in the same postal code as my usual scene. To be blunt, I was a boring, sheltered guy; a tired accountant working for a large firm whose idea of a party was something with more cake and balloons and maybe a little bit of alcohol if I was feeling adventurous. I wore sweater vests, owned several spare pairs of the same plain black wire-frame glasses, and the most interesting thing about me was that I'd secretly had my ears pierced in high school as a small bit of rebellion against my parents.
It was Samantha's get-together so she got to choose the spot, but it didn't really change the fact that I was miserable. I wasn't a goth, and I was the furthest thing from a punk. I was a fish out of water and the unfamiliar environment was fucking with my head. As her best friend and the man of honor I was trying my best to be sociable, to engage with the rest of the party guests and put on a smile, but it was quickly starting to wear me down. The lights were too bright, the dance floor too crowded, and the music was far, far too loud and repetitive. I knew Samantha could tell I was losing my cool, but was too hammered to really know what to do with me. After a few failed attempts at getting me to dance, she and the rest of the group drunkenly abandoned me to disappear into the sea of bodies that was convulsing to the music. They promised they'd be back, but honestly I doubted it.
So there I was, alone at the bar looking completely out of my depth. I was nursing a drink, a coconut flavored fruity concoction with a stupid name like "devil's cumshot". It was good, but not enough to numb my overstimulated mind. I sat with my head in my hands and the straw between my lips as I tried to will the reality shattering headache that was coming on back into the depths of my skull. Then he appeared, as if from nowhere. He was tall, well-built, with blonde hair that was just long enough that it needed to be brushed back to stay out of his face. He looked like an actor I'd seen in an action movie; strong jaw and just the right amount of stubble, with piercing blue eyes that felt like they saw right through me. His striking good looked totally out of place; sun-tanned skin and blondey hair in a sea of pasty pale goths. I couldn't help but notice he was also wearing a jacket indoors in the middle of summer, but at least his clothes were black.
I was in awe when he sat next to me with a perfect smile and offered to keep me company. I almost forgot how to talk. I was flattered he'd even noticed me, but a little suspicious of his intentions when he ordered me another drink and didn't get one for himself. Still, it seemed rude to turn down the cocktail he ordered, another fruity concoction but lacking the crass naming convention. He chatted me up and loosened my guard, asking me little things like if my drink was good or if I was having a good time before he sunk his teeth into the real problems, like my sad expression or why I was alone in the first place. He had a nice voice, smooth with a hint of gravel that was easy on the ears even when he had to raise it to be heard over the music.
His name was Richter. He was a few years older than I'd thought, in his thirties, and a mechanic for a popular body shop near Hollywood. The more we talked, the more I loosened up and the more I learned. He listened to me complain about my job, my friends, and the bar, and in turn he told me about his difficult clients and his recent breakup. We talked for what must've been only a few hours, but it felt like I'd known him my whole life. It really seemed like he cared about what I had to say, and he encouraged me to vent my frustrations while he listened. He didn't judge me for any of it, we were at the Confession after all, even when I admitted that I really didn't like Samantha's fiancé and didn't even want her to get married in the first place.
"He's such a dirtbag." I groaned, digging my fingers into my scalp in a frustrated attempt to ground myself. I didn't like how he treated her; how he put her down with "jokes", controlled who she talked to, and acted like he was better than everyone else. He was from a wealthy family, but clearly money couldn't buy class or manners or a soul. He didn't deserve her. "Samantha doesn't see it, or maybe she just pretends not to. But he's so awful to her. Sometimes I just wanna-" I stopped myself, taking note of how intently my companion was staring at me.
"Go on." Richter's words were a gentle nudge in my mind that pushed me over the edge of the cliff I didn't even realize I'd been standing on.
"I wanna bash his head in with a rock." I blurted the answer without a second thought, slapping a hand over my mouth in shock at my sudden brutality. Why did I say that? It was like he put his hands in my mouth and forced my tongue to move, and say what I really wanted. But once the box was opened there was no closing it, and it sent my temper careening into a pit I didn't know was bottomless. I floundered in my confusion for a few seconds before the rage I'd buried for years clawed its way to the surface. I felt my cheeks burning and my mouth curling into a scowl, my brow furrowing as angry tears pricked at the corners of my eyes. I meant what I had said, and that wasn't all I wanted to say.
"I can't fucking stand the guy. He's a judgmental, controlling, manipulative, selfish, vapid, egotistical asshole and I hope someday Samantha wakes up and finally leaves, and he loses everything and dies in a horrible explosion that kills him and literally no one else. The world would be better off without someone like him, and so would she."
I let out a huff that marked the end of my tirade as I felt the tears spilling from my eyes. A wave of guilt and frustration overtook me. It was one thing to have horrible thoughts but keep them contained, and another thing entirely to give them a voice. It felt like puking; ultimately unpleasant, but there was that hint of relief in the disgust I felt with myself. Richter put a hand on my back, rubbing in slow circles and comforting me until I managed to collect the pieces of myself enough to thank him. I couldn't be sure, but he seemed almost impressed, though clearly sorry that his pressing had brought me to tears. I was mostly embarrassed, people were beginning to look in our direction and the attention only made me feel worse. Richter offered to get me out of there, and I jumped at the chance. Despite my gut screaming about what a bad idea it was, I couldn't say no. I wanted more time with him, away from all the noise and the lights.
The escape in question was a taxi ride to a sketchy hotel room with a roach problem and discolored carpeting with stains that made the imagination run rampant. But when he put his lips against mine and pulled me into his lap I found I couldn't even begin to care about all the health code violations and potential diseases I was surrounded by. He was magnetic I wanted to drown in his arms, disappear against him and sink into his strangely cold skin. I somehow hadn't even considered that he was actually interested in me until we were starting to get hot and heavy. Why else would he be so willing to watch me, cry?
"I have something to show you." He whispered into my ear as he began to unhook my belt. "Hold still."
I didn't even realize I was screaming. All I could focus on was the pain that seemed like it lasted an eternity before it evaporated into the greatest pleasure I'd ever known in my short life. It burned in all the right ways, spreading through me like lightning and igniting every inch of my body. In the brief moments of clarity I had, I wondered if this was what stars felt like before they extinguished. I burned even when I went cold and the last bits of my life drained away. He left me as nothing but a hollow husk, a collapsing sun, a vessel for his blood to reignite the spark of life and bring me back as something unholy.
I laid there on the filthy mattress where I'd taken my last breaths, every memory that had come before my death flashing behind my eyes, before realizing I could move again. I shot upright, staring around in a half-blind panic as the world around me came into unsteady focus. Richter was there sitting quietly in a chair across from me, watching me intently with his beautiful blue eyes. He was perfectly still even as everything around me continued to spin. I knew he'd done something to me, knew he was the reason I couldn't feel my heart beating or the heavy mold-filled air in my lungs anymore, but a part of still wanted to run into his arms and beg for the explanation instead of punching his head off like I knew he deserved.
Before I could enact either plan, the door burst open. The two men that entered were a blur of movement, one throwing a stake at Richter with dart-like precision, while the other moved to slam another chunk of wood deep into my chest. For a moment I thought I was truly dead, the sudden slack that overtook my muscles and joints felt like my strings had been cut. Then I realized I simply couldn't move. I was paralyzed but fully conscious, my body slumping into my assailants grip as my mind screamed in confusion and clawed for answers. I couldn't move at all, not even my eyes, and I was thrown over someone's shoulder and then tossed unceremoniously into the trunk of a car. The only comfort I had was Richter's presence, his cold knees digging into my stomach as I stared into his similarly paralyzed eyes. There was panic behind them, but not surprise. It was something I struggled with in my own mind until the car stopped and we were dragged inside an unfamiliar building.
We were thrown unceremoniously into a room and the door was slammed shut behind us. My head hit concrete, and I couldn't even scream. I wanted to cry, but I couldn't do that either. I desperately begged my uncooperative body to at least look at Richter, but the only thing my unblinking eyes could stare at was the ceiling and the flickering hanging light above us. We were trapped there gathering dust for what felt like hours, before footsteps and voices approached from behind the door. Once again it opened, and once again I was thrown over a strangers shoulder like I weighed nothing.
When the stake was finally removed I was on my knees on a stage, my arms being held behind my back by a rough-faced man. I squinted through the stage lights, looking out into the seats to see a small crowd of scowling strangers glaring back at me, some looking at me with pity, others with disgust. A blonde pale man in a suit approached the front of the stage, addressing the crowd as he began to speak. He paced back and forth from one end of the stage to the other, droning on and on in a haughty British accent about a society of kindred and the laws that must be upheld and how they'd been broken. Truthfully I couldn't follow a word I was in such a bad way, I felt like I'd stepped into another dimension.
The shadows of the theater seemed too long and the stares of the strangers were just too intense, I couldn't focus. All I knew was that whatever had been done to me, a law had been broken by doing so. I didn't need to breathe, but my chest felt tight. I glanced at Richter, hoping he would look at me or talk to me or give me some kind of clue about what was happening, but he just kept looking down at the ground. He didn't even glance at me, clearly too afraid. I didn't blame him; a giant hulking beast of a man with stone gray skin and blood-red eyes stood next to him, and a smaller but still intimidating man had a vice grip on his neck. I just kept my head down and prayed to whatever god that might be listening that we would make it out alive. My heart sank as I finally tuned in to what the suit had been saying.
"The penalty for this transgression is death." The man said calmly, stepping closer to Richter with his palms clasped together.
I couldn't hear anything else, the ringing in my ears growing too loud as the rising tide of panic stripped away every last one of my senses. My eyes darted to Richter, watching his eyes widen with fear as the man in the suit whispered something to him, before his jaw clenched and his expression relaxed into one of acceptance. The brutish man raised his sword and the one holding him pushed him into place. I felt myself wanting to scream, to beg them to stop and spare me. I barely knew him, but I knew I would do anything for him. My mouth opened to object, and only then did Richter look at me. His eyes were cold, looking right through me, but they told me to shut up.
So I did. I set my jaw and I watched.
I watched as the sword came down and separated his head unceremoniously from his shoulders. Some in the audience winced, some shook their heads, others looked away. Instead of the spray of blood I expected, there was nothing. He merely collapsed, slumping to the floor before his body began to quickly deteriorate into ash and embers, leaving only his clothing behind. I felt something bubbling in my chest; a cloud of unfamiliar rage, more intense than anything I'd ever felt, and mourning. A connection I barely knew but cherished so deeply was severed without a second thought, and I had to force myself to keep my emotions under control. It was painful, almost excruciating, but I kept my mouth shut and kept my eyes ahead despite the tears that were streaming down my face and the panic wreaking havoc through my mind. My time would come soon. If I was going to die I convinced myself it would be worth it to die with at least some dignity. These cruel strangers would not see me crumble and grovel for my life. I wouldn't give them that.
The blonde man went on to continue his speech with the same calm, measured tone as when he sentenced Richter to death. I bit my lip, listening for my fate in the garbled string of honeyed words that spilled out his mouth. He was trying so hard to make my death sound fair, setting me up as a necessary sacrifice to maintain order. I knew the score, even though I didn't know what it really meant. It wasn't about me, it was about the rule that had been broken. It was about his power being brought into question. I just wished he'd stop all the pomp and circumstance and just get it over with.
"This is bullshit!" A voice erupted from the crowd. Another pale face in a sea of bloodless strangers but this one jumped to his feet. He had blue eyes just like Richter's, full of rage with his fists clenched like he wanted to do something about it. Two others stood up to hold him back, a woman with bright red hair in a green beret and a dark skinned man with piercing amber eyes. Suddenly the room erupted with murmurs, and others stood to join them. I realized then that most of the crowd's scowls hadn't actually been directed at me, or even at Richter. Their contempt was purely for the blonde suited man and his entourage. The suit paused, his head lowering as if he were carefully choosing his next words.
"If Mr. Rodriguez would let me finish..." He began, his saccharine tone dripping with annoyance. "I have decided to let this Kindred live."
The man holding me released my arms, muttering his disappointment under his breath. I felt a wave of relief wash over me that was quickly stifled by the grief that still lingered in my system. I crawled on my hands and knees to Richter's clothes, cradling them in my arms like a security blanket. I couldn't even hear the further ramblings of the judge or his crowd of detractors, but his verdict seemed to satisfy them. The meeting was dismissed. The crowd dispersed, being guided to the exit by the suit's lackeys, and I caught one last glimpse of Rodrigues looking back at me before he turned and left with the others. The goon who had been holding me down kindly helped me to my feet before he disappeared with the rest of them, and left me alone with their boss. The suited man was staring at me expectantly, hoping I'd speak. When I clearly didn't intend to he took the lead.
"Sebastian LaCroix." He said with a slight bow. Obviously it was an introduction, but I didn't offer my name in return. Something told me he didn't care anyway, and oh wow he kept talking. "Your sire... My apologies." He handed me a handkerchief that I numbly accepted.
The white fabric came away from my face stained in blood, and I felt the urge to scream, but LaCroix lack of real concern told me it wasn't as unusual as I thought it was. He declined the handkerchief with a wave of his hand, and turned to lead me to the back of the stage. I didn't really have a choice, so I simply followed on autopilot, consumed by my own thoughts but trying to listen. He went on about my situation as we entered the hallway that led to dressing rooms, the same sort of spiel he'd given to the crowd. Vague lip service. There were laws that bound them, but without Richter to guide me in their ways I was officially his responsibility. Though his attitude told me he had things he considered much more important to worry about.
I hated this man with every fiber of my being. Every nerve I had was alight with a rage that I struggled to contain, but I had to. I knew I couldn't win. I didn't know what he was capable of. I didn't even know what had happened to me, or what I was. Something was different about me and I desperately wanted answers, but I was certain I wouldn't get anything substantial from the pompous douche in front of me. I let my imagination carry me the rest of the way like I was zoning out during a lecture. It was strange, I'd never been a violent person, but I imagined ripping his head clean off his shoulders and dismantling him piece by piece. I killed LaCroix at least a dozen times while we walked and he talked. It wasn't until we were stopping in front of the back exit doors that I realized I should probably pay attention.
"You will be brought to Santa Monica. There you will meet an agent by the name of Mercurio. He will provide you with the necessary details of your assignment." LaCroix folded his hands together, his eyes narrowing as the honey from his mouth turned to venom in an instant. "Your sire's unfinished work is now yours to continue. I have shown you great clemency, fledgling. Prove it was more than a wasted gesture fledgling, and don't come back until you do."
And then he was gone. Out the back door without letting me get a word in edgewise, not that I'd know what to say while I was still reeling from the night's events.
I stood paralyzed in the hall, still clutching Richter's clothes and a bloody handkerchief and staring at the exit door before my brain willed my body to move again. Stumbling into the back alley behind the theater, I was overwhelmed by the sudden sounds and smells of the city when I'd previously been bathed in near deafening silence. Shaken from my overstimulation by a bout of laughter to my left, I nearly jumped out of my skin. Whipping around, I turned and came face to face with a man dressed head to toe in denim, with long dark greasy hair and an equally greasy beard, grinning ear to ear at me with a lit cigar still between his fingers.
"Oh man! All that and they just plop ya out here like a naked baby in the woods!" He cackled, voice rough like sandpaper with eyes like a shark. "How 'bout that?" He snorted before taking another drag of his cigar.
"Who are you?" I couldn't help but sound irritated. First I'd gone through hell and now this homeless biker was laughing at me. I clutched Richter's clothes even tighter. "What do you want?"
The man didn't flinch, and thankfully didn't take my annoyance personally. "I'm Jack." He answered as he approached. Instead of a handshake he offered me a gentle punch to the shoulder as he snuffed his cigar under his boot. "Look, kiddo. This is probably a lot for you to take in, why don't you let me show you the ropes? Whaddya say?"
I blinked in surprise. I hadn't been expecting any sort of help after the introduction I'd just recieved, but I couldn't turn it down. "Yes! Please!" I blurted out, maybe a bit too eagerly. "Please just tell me what the fuck is going on."
Jack's grin only got wider. He was more than happy to help, and luckily for me, he found the entertainment in my confused reactions to be all the payment he needed for his services. He laid out the score for me as simply as he could; I was a vampire, an honest to God immortal blood sucking monster of the night like Dracula or Carmilla. The reason I didn't know about vampires when I woke up that morning was because of something called the Masquerade, a vow of secrecy that most vampires abided by that kept them hidden and safe. Then it got a bit more complicated. I was the puppet of some shadow organization called the Camarilla and LaCroix, the man who had ordered the death of my sire, was the "prince" of the Camarilla. The hulking brute that had carried out the execution was his sheriff, and he answered only to LaCroix. Jack had more than a few choice words about the prince and my situation, but kept it brief. Essentially, the Camarilla was bullshit and LaCroix was a waste of space, but that was just Jack's point of view. I was advised that I should focus on survival, and do what I needed to do to ensure I live another night. It was clear I was much better off keeping out of the politics. That's the stuff that'd kill me.
When we were done with the political crash course, Jack's eager smile finally faded. He pointed to my arms full of fabric, his tone softening into a tired growl. "You won't be needing all that, kid. The weight's only gonna slow you down where we're going."
I tossed the bloody handkerchief aside without a second thought, but hesitated to get rid of Richter's clothes. "I can't. Richter was..." I started to say, but the words caught in my throat. He was what? My murderer? My creator? He definitely wasn't my lover, or even my friend. I felt so strongly about a man who killed me and that I only knew for a single night. I settled on an easy answer instead. "Richter was important to me." I sighed, shaking my head.
"I get it, kid. The bond between sire and childe is something powerful." Jack mused, scratching his chin in thought. His face suddenly lit up, his amused grin coming back in full force. "Well, now. That jacket looks pretty nice, kiddo. If you don't want it, I'd be glad to take it off your hands."
I protectively clutched the bundle of clothes closer to my chest, before I realized what Jack was implying. Richter's jacket was nice. It was leather, with a fur around the collar that was incredibly soft. It was obviously well cared for, a prized possession. His pants would be too big for me, and I could forget about the boots, but his jacket... I put it on without a second thought. It felt heavy, but good, almost like a hug. It was far too big for someone of my stature, my hands nearly disappearing into the sleeves, but I didn't care.
Jack gave a low whistle as I adjusted the coat's weight on my shoulders. "You look damn good, kid. Don't worry about the size, I'm sure you'll grow into it. Well, maybe not literally grow, but-" He gave another cackle "I can tell you'll make your sire proud."
It wasn't much, but his words made me feel just a little bit better about my entire world being shattered in the span of an evening.
From then on it was less about politics and more about survival. Vampires were separated into clans, every clan had their own strengths and weaknesses that would be passed down when they turned or "embraced" someone. My sire Richter was a Brujah, as far as Jack knew, and therefore so was I. I was strong, and fast, and I could be charming and terrifying in equal measure if I wanted to be. But of course it came with a catch. A supernatural rage ran in my veins that was a bit more potent than other vampires, and I'd have to work hard to control my emotions, or they would control me. Simple enough. Jack was part of the same clan, so he had a pretty good handle on how to teach me the ropes.
The rest was a bunch of fun facts and advice:
1. I'd sleep during the day whether I wanted to or not. Coffin or bed, it didn't matter.
2. I needed blood to survive, and it was the only thing that would really satisfy me. It was my new rack of lamb.
3. Stakes wouldn't kill me, they'd just paralyze me. I'd learned that one pretty quickly.
4. I wasn't suddenly repulsed by garlic, and crosses were useless except for as suppositories for anybody stupid enough to try using one on me.
5. Knives were a joke and most pistols were just pea shooters to me. Shotguns and high caliber rounds were trouble.
6. Fire and sunlight were the real danger, and damage from either one would take ages to heal if it didn't kill me outright.
7. Learning to shoot or at least how to handle myself would probably be a good idea.
8. I shouldn't kill innocents if I wanted to stay sane, but I was more than welcome to shred anyone that came at me with the intent to harm. Hunters would be the most likely candidate, because of course if vampires were real there would definitely be humans trying to kill them.
9. I was a big bad scary vampire, but I should keep it to myself.
The thought of killing or hurting anyone sounded repulsive, but Jack was sure I'd be changing my tune when I'd had my first taste of blood. I had to admit I had been trying to ignore how hungry I was amidst my confusion and grief, but I'd have to learn how to hunt eventually. Jack was kind enough to point me in the right direction.
A man's car had broken down in an alleyway nearby. He didn't hear me approach, his back to me as he dug around under the hood. He was on the phone with a tow truck, trying to negotiate some sort of assistance. I didn't really listen to any of it, the only thing I could hear was his pulse in my ears. Next thing I knew I was clinging to his back like a spider, digging my fingers into his chest and my fangs into his neck and draining him as each frightened pump of his heart pushed more blood onto my tongue.
He cried out at first, just like I had when Richter had bitten me, before going limp and slumping into his car. Next thing I knew I was lost in the rhythm; the slowing of his heartbeat, his shuddering breaths, the slither of his pulse as it came to a halt. His blood was the sweetest thing I'd ever tasted. Tangy and refreshing and filling in all the right ways. I could taste his fear, and a little bit of the wine he'd had earlier in the evening. By the time my feet hit the ground again he was dead, not a drop left in his veins. I could still taste him on my tongue when I retreated to Jack.
"Oh yeah." Jack growled before I could even begin to explain myself. "You're feelin' it. I can see it in your eyes, kid. The change. You're a killer now."
"I-I didn't mean to!" I protested, feeling guilt twist in my guts. "I bit him, and he tasted so good I just couldn't stop. I don't know what happened. I don't know why I couldn't let go."
Jack just laughed at me, like I'd told him the funniest joke in the world.
"That's the predator side of you, kid!" He snorted, patting me on the back. "You've got the Beast inside you now. Gotta keep it fed, or you'll lose control. If you can do that you'll be just fine." He let out a sigh, scratching his beard for a moment before he continued with a softer tone. "But seriously. I know it was an accident, but... Don't get used to doing that sort of thing, kiddo. You don't wanna give the beast any more control over you than it already has. Don't kill if you don't have to."
I was struggling to understand just what he meant, but as the night wore on it began to click. I felt something inside of me writhe, found myself subconsciously licking my teeth when I noticed someone was alone. Every passerby, every homeless vagrant or late-shift office worker was a potential meal. I was taking stock of weaknesses, potential vulnerabilities, every possible angle for attack, all without actually thinking about it. I felt disgusted with myself, felt like a horrible person for even considering such things. Not only that, I knew I wasn't a person anymore, but the reality wasn't exactly easy to come to terms with. Jack helped me take it in stride, but I was still stumbling forward like it was all a dream. Only a few hours ago I'd been partying and falling in love, it would take time before I understood. If I ever could, that is.
Jack was a great teacher, patiently showing me how to break into buildings and tricks for sneaking around. He taught me how to use my vampire strength and speed to get to places I could never have reached with my human limitations. For a while it was enough to get my mind off the night's events.
It was during a crash course in lock picking that things went awry. I'd just gotten the hang of it, learning to listen for the click of the tumblers in the lock and to feel the give as each one slid into place. As soon as I opened the door and stepped out into the alleyway I was met with a spray of gunfire, a few bullets catching me in the leg as I stumbled back in surprise. I cried out in pain, clutching my thigh and gritting my teeth. I might've been dead, but it still hurt like hell.
"Y'alright kid? Y'get winged?" Jack called out to me, running over to see the damage. "Hoo-wee! Look at those potholes. Heal up, and I'll be right back." He didn't give me a chance to answer him before he ran off at lightning speed to go punch a hole in the pricks who had shot at me.
The burning sensation was like a sting from angry bees that buried deep into my bones. The bullets that could have killed me, or at least sent me to the emergency room, slid from my rapidly healing wounds as though they'd never even been there. My flesh repaired itself with ease, the pain faded, and the only effect I felt after was my hunger returning with a vengeance. When Jack returned he was bloodied and grinning from ear to ear. Clearly violence was one of his favorite hobbies.
Jack made sure I was fit to move before we continued, but I was more than a little shaken up. He offered to help me find more food, insisting I should probably eat something, but I declined since I wasn't eager to chance leaving another body in my wake. That was fine with him, we needed to lie low and figure out what was going on. We set up shop in an empty auto-shop, much to my discomfort, peering through cloudy windows to the street below. Someone was shouting in the distance, and gunfire rang out from nearby.
We watched as a group of men armed with pistols rounded the corner, rushing into the street with another group hot on their heels. It wasn't difficult to tell that the pursuers weren't human. Some of them had unnaturally long limbs, claws dangling like meat hooks at the end of their spindly fingers, while others had glowing eyes and elongated ears. All of them were more than happy to bare their fangs and remove all doubt. A few of the humans were brave enough to fire shots in an attempt to defend themselves, but it didn't do much to slow down their attacks. I turned away as the vampires caught up to their pray, shutting my eyes as the screaming filled the night, but Jack's voice caught my attention.
"Aw shit."
I turned back to the window only to see a familiar hulking figure standing amidst the carnage, brandishing his oversized sword with purpose. The Sheriff. I watched as he raised his massive hand, blowing some kind of powder into the wind. Before the other vampires could set upon him they, and the bodies of their victims, were swept up by a tornado of insects. When the swarm cleared nothing remained but bloodstains on the concrete. Not even clothing. I covered my mouth, feeling nauseous and not eager to see if vampires could be sick. The sheriff tilted his head as if he'd heard my distress, directing his glare to my window. I turned away in a panic, praying he hadn't seen me.
I was trying to wrap my head around the idea that all of this had somehow remained hidden for my entire life despite how loud it was, when Jack pulled me out of my panic.
"We gotta go, kiddo." He barked, pulling me by my wrist. "If the Sabbat's in town it ain't gonna be pretty."
The Sabbat, as Jack had called them, were a group of mindless killing machines that didn't respect the Masquerade, or anything else for that matter. They were dangerous, and unable to be reasoned with. Considering it was close to sunrise, and I was still very, very green, Jack decided it was best for us to bring my lesson to an end and get the hell out of there before things got worse. I had no intentions of arguing.
My mentor proved to be surprisingly sneaky, leading me through back alleys and over fences until we were finally in the clear. Not wanting to walk the rest of the way to Santa Monica, I stopped at a payphone and called a cab. Jack waited with me for a while before he got bored, pulled a handgun out of seemingly nowhere, and offered it to me. I accepted it, baffled, because there was no way I was about to say no to him after all he'd done for me.
"You're probably gonna need it until you learn to use your strength. It's hell out there." He chuckled, turning to head off before he paused. "What's your name, by the way? Don't think I ever asked."
"Sage." I answered, surprised he even bothered.
He seemed to chew on my name for a moment before he nodded and flashed me another fanged grin. "Take care of yourself, kiddo."
It was nearly sunrise by the time I stumbled into my apartment complex. The sky was beginning to turn a soft shade of blue and the stars were slowly disappearing from view. I could feel sleep calling to me. Not just exhaustion, but an unnatural pull trying to drag me down. Richter's coat felt heavier on my shoulders, my legs felt like they were walking through wet concrete. I pushed on, knowing it would probably be better to sleep somewhere I wouldn't be found by potentially nosey neighbors. My front door key was not-so subtly hidden in a plant near the door. I was just glad I had a place to hide, and it had a lock.
It was a shabby one-room, with a bathroom that was falling apart and a kitchen that I was more than certain someone had been murdered in judging by the red and black crud that had caked itself into the grout. Roaches were crawling out of every crack and crevice, brown water was dripping from some faucet or leak in the ceiling, the windows were boarded up, I could hear the buzzing of flies through the wall, and there was a gaping hole in the floor so big that I could jump to the basement below. Whoever took care of things decided the best solution would just be to put a couple planks of wood over the basement portal and call it a day. How the place wasn't condemned I couldn't guess, but something told me that vampires had everything to do with it. I guess if you're dead the only thing that matters is that there's a roof over your head.
Considering the place was the low price of totally free, and was also furnished with a couch, a desk, a tv, and a bed, I was fine with the state it was in. I decided I'd take a quick look around before I settled down for the day. The first order of business was the desk.
In the center drawer I found a laptop, along with a printed note with login information for a business email that I knew I didn't have time to check. The other drawers contained and envelope full of cash to get me started, a fresh change of clothes, and an old and stained bottle of Viagra. Next was the kitchen, but the search was short. Just a couple bags of nearly expired blood in the fridge to last me the next few days. It all didn't add up to much, but it was a start considering I'd lost everything. My wallet, my ID, my credit cards, all taken when I'd been kidnapped. It's not like I could use them anyway, not if I didn't want my someone I knew using them to track me down and make things more complicated.
I hadn't just lost everything, I'd lost everyone I'd ever known. At first, I wanted to be upset, but I had to be honest with myself it wasn't too much of a loss, my parents had disowned me when I came out after college graduation, and I rarely spoke to my siblings or any of my cousins except for on holidays. But my death meant the chance for reconciliation was gone, and I couldn't help but mourn the loss. I still had friends that I knew cared for my well being, a thought that only hurt me more. For a brief moment I considered calling Samantha, just to let her know I was okay and that I wouldn't be coming home, but I pushed down the idea. If she knew I was out there she would only look harder, and that would put her in danger. She probably hadn't even realized I was missing yet. She'd wake up after her bachelorette party, hungover, and wonder where I'd went. Everyone would give up in a few weeks, maybe a few days. If I was lucky they wouldn't look at all, but I knew how much Sam cared.
Just before sleep I dared to look at myself in the cracked bathroom mirror. My dark hair was disheveled, hanging in my face like a curtain that I brushed away with my fingers. My skin that had once been described as warm caramel had taken on a cool, sickly pallor. My glasses hadn't broken in all the chaos, though I suspected I didn't need them anymore. The turtleneck I'd been wearing was stained with dirt and blood. Despite all the superficial differences, I was still the same as when I'd left the house that morning. My hair hadn't grown any longer than the short fluffy cut it originally had, my nose was still small and button shaped, my lips were still capable of curling into a smile despite my fangs and misery. I was still short, still unhealthily thin, and still very much me. Most disappointingly my eyes were the same boring brown they'd always been. I'd half hoped Richter's piercing blues would be staring back at me. Had I inherited anything from him other than fangs? I remembered Rodriguez, the man who'd objected to what would have been my death sentence, and how his eyes had been the same as my sire. I hoped I'd see him again.
Despite receiving so many answers, I crawled onto the crummy mattress with only more questions. I didn't really have time left to think about it. I could feel the day looming over me, slowing my movements and making my body feel heavy like I was returning to a state of rigor mortis. I didn't even remember falling asleep.