Chapter Text
“They didn’t say anything about why they attacked you?”
“I already said, one of them told me I’d ‘been here too long’, whatever that means.”
“Huh. Weird.” Shelby pushed her glasses up her nose and tilted their head, gaze unfocused, thinking.
“I was under the impression we were the only coven in NYC,” They pondered.
Scott sighed. “I thought so too. We haven’t had competition from any others for centuries.”
He glanced down at the sheet music in his hand. He’d crumpled it slightly without realizing, sharp nails piercing small holes in the paper. He smoothed it out with his thumb, eyes skimming over the lyrics and notes without really reading them.
“What if this happens again? To any of us?” Drift said, uneasy. “Are we even safe here?”
“Of course,” Scott reassured them. “We’re surely older than any others of our kind in this city, We just need to remember how to fight back.”
But Shelby was shaking her head. “No, we can’t. We have to keep our public image clean.”
Fuck.
“Okay,” Scott drew the word out, thinking, “so we can't fight. And we can't leave.”
Drift sat up taller, pulling out her earbuds and uncrossing her legs. “Hey, wait- we’re celebrities.”
“So?”
“Celebrities have privileges.”
“Well yeah, that’s part of why we-”
“Just shut up and listen.”
“Fine.” Scott slumped back in his seat, lacing his fingers together and focusing his attention on Drift, who continued after a small huff of frustration.
“As I was saying, we have privileges. Including one that we clearly haven’t considered enough before now. Don’t you two see? Famous people have bodyguards.”
She spread her hands and looked at Scott and Shelby. Shelby widened her eyes.
“You’re so right! Why didn’t we think of that before?!”
“Because it's not something we’re used to,” Scott said.
The girls had been turned around two hundred years ago, and Scott himself had lost count of the centuries he’d been alive. Though they lived on, their bodies — and to some extent their minds — remained unchanged. And as the saying goes, ‘you can’t teach an old dog new tricks’. They’d never fully grasp the ways of the modern world.
“We can tell our staff that you were assaulted by a fan or something, and get them to hire bodyguards. It wouldn’t be suspicious at all!”
Shelby exclaimed with excitement. Drift was nodding encouragingly.
Scott ran a hand down his face. “Look, I’m not saying it's a bad idea, but we’re overlooking the other side of this. Bodyguards mean humans following us everywhere. It’s going to be incredibly tricky to feed, or let our true… nature show without causing any suspicion.”
“Well that's just a side effect we’re going to have to deal with, because the current options are a minor inconvenience or likely death.”
“It wouldn’t be death. I may have been caught off guard yesterday but I can still fight,” Scott argued.
“But Scott, if you win, and the public finds out, we’re also dead. Rising stars outed as bloodthirsty monsters? The whole world would be out for us,” Shelby pointed out.
Scott hated that they were right. He hated that he’d be giving up his privacy to cower behind humans for protection.
“They’ll need the right weapons. Silver bullets in their guns.”
“Right.” Drift turned over her paper and scribbled on the back. “Bullets. Those padded vest things. Stakes?”
Scott shook his head. “Too suspicious. Most don’t believe in our kind and we should keep it that way.”
Drift made a noise of agreement.
“Me and Shelb can get that organized tonight while you get some blood?” She offered, giving Scott a pointed look.
The bruise on his face wouldn’t heal without fresh blood filling his system.
“Sounds like a plan.”
~~~
The city of New York was never quiet. There were always the sounds of cars, of people, of construction and music and a thousand other noises that all blended together into a sound that was distinctly NYC, for better or for worse.
Another fun fact of New York is to never go out later than 9pm. Not unless you want to meet some of the less… tasteful folk of the area. This rule, of course, does not apply to Scott Goldsmith. Most don’t.
So here he is, roaming through the back streets of Brooklyn, wearing a plain black raincoat with the hood turned up, carefully avoiding broken glass. There’s the sound of a scuffle up ahead — gruff voices and stumbling footsteps, and he quickly turns and heads down a different path. No use getting into another fight when there were always easier victims.
Up ahead he spotted a lone figure, holding a rubbish sack and carrying it towards a pile of rotting trash. Their back was turned.
His footsteps were silent, gliding smoothly across the cracked concrete. As he drew closer he saw that the figure had headphones covering their ears, muffled pop music reached him from a few feet away. He could’ve stomped over and they likely still wouldn’t hear.
At that moment, however, the figure turned. Maybe it was that sixth sense humans seemed to have when they were being watched.
Her eyes locked onto Scott’s and widened with a flash of recognition, and she dropped the trash bag.
“You…” She whispered slowly, pulling her headphones down. Scott had stopped dead, trying to parse out this unexpected reaction.
“You’re Scott Smajor! From the Fledglings!”
Scott blinked, regaining his composure within an instant, brain whirring trying to find a way to spin this narrative.
“That’s right,” He purred, taking a step closer. He smiled, a small, coy grin that left his fangs hidden. For now.
“You’re a fan, I take it?” He asks slyly, cocking his head at her.
She beamed, though confusion lingered in her eyes. “Uh- yeah! Yeah I’ve been a fan since your first single, actually. I do analyses on the melody for a college course of mine. I love the subtle things you add in, like the scales. Sorry, I’m rambling.” She fell silent, blushing awkwardly. The rise of blood to her cheeks made Scott’s gut twist with hunger, and he could feel his fangs lengthen.
“No, no, it’s always nice meeting another with a passion for the finer details,” He said truthfully. It was almost a shame that it had to be her that he met. If only she was like him.
He took another step closer.
She stepped back.
Scott frowned.
“I’m sorry, Scott, I need to- ah, I left my oven, I need to- need to go. It was nice meeting you. But, yeah-” She backed away a little further.
Scott’s eyebrows creased, and he pouted a little. “What, aren’t you enjoying a conversation with your idol?” He shifted, resting one hand at his hip.
“I am- just…” She trailed off, glancing back at the door she must’ve exited from.
Scott sighed. His little game was over.
“You know, they do say you should never meet your heroes. It’s a real shame you did.”
She gasped, jumping back, and tripped over the bag. Her hands hit the concrete, thrown out to break her fall. The scent of blood reached his nose.
Scott was above her in an instant, fangs closing over her neck, a hand clamped over her mouth. Her eyes were wide with horror and betrayal, but he closed his own, savouring the taste of blood as it filled his mouth and coated his throat.
It felt like waking up after a refreshing nap, like the relief after a stressful moment, like the release of tension when you slip into a warm bath. It felt like all the feelings that Scott hadn’t felt since he was human, like a hush slipping over the world and quieting the emptiness in his heart.
The woman had stopped struggling, and when he opened his eyes, hers were blank, frozen forever.
“Hey!”
A sharp voice rang out behind him, followed by the bang of a gun. Searing pain tore into his shoulder, and he ripped his fangs out of the body with a sharp hiss of pain, panicking and instinctively shrinking and morphing his body into a small furry shape. He took flight wildly, one wing drooping with pain.
He spiralled upwards, landing sharply on the roof of the dead woman’s apartment, and peered over the edge.
It was the man from two nights ago, the one with the split hair and the long black coat.
He made eye contact with Scott, and raised the gun. The same gun that’d been used to protect him not that long ago. Scott quickly ducked back, crouching on his short legs and breathing hard.
The bullet wound in his wing didn’t seem too deep thankfully — it’d just torn a small edge, hence why he could still fly. He needed to get away from this place, get back to the apartment. That’d been too close of a call. But if he took flight again, the man — Abolish — would surely shoot at him again.
As he was contemplating his choices, the sound of ringing reached his ears. Then he heard Abolish’s voice drift up.
“... Yeah, yeah, that’s me.”
A moment of silence.
“Mm.. well, I have a bit of a busy schedule- Yes. I can do it, no, no it's alright, I have the time. It’d be my honour. I’ll head over now. What’s the address? Mhm, sounds good. Be there soon.”
He stopped talking, and Scott held his breath, not daring to look over the edge again. Was he gone?
“You’re lucky, vampire. I’ve got somewhere else to be tonight. But mark my words, I’ll put a bullet through your unbeating heart. Enjoy your freedom, for now.”
Seems like hunting in this city is going to get trickier from now on.
Scott wasn’t worried, exactly. Having a target on his back was far from a new experience, but the prickle of apprehension the human’s words had sent down his spine wasn’t comforting. He’d gotten so used to feeling like he owned the city that he’d forgotten how it felt to be challenged.
He needed to get back to his coven.
~~~
“Scott! Just in time! We were getting worried that- you’re hurt! Again!”
Shelby jumped back to give him space as he transformed back into his usual form, feeling exhaustion wash over his body. He stumbled, and Drift caught his forearm, steadying him.
“I’m starting to make a habit out of this, huh?” He tried for a lighthearted quip, but it came out more weary. He limped his way to their large couch and collapsed onto it, shoulder burning. He couldn’t bring himself to look at the injury.
“Hell below, Scott, what are you getting yourself into?” Drift groaned, wincing as her eyes met the injury.
“Nothing I intended to,” He replied honestly.
“Do you need to stop hunting for a while?” Shelby asked him, worry furrowing their brow.
Scott shook his head. “I’ll be fine, I just need to be more careful.”
Neither of them looked convinced, but Drift shook her head. “We’ll talk more about this later. Scott, the bodyguards are going to be arriving any minute. We need to get you cleaned up. We’ve already… humanified… the apartment.”
Scott straightened, then hissed in pain. “Fuck, okay.” He turned his head to check out his bullet wound. The hole itself was small, but the stolen blood in his veins had poured from it and dried, leaving his raincoat stiff and dark.
He pulled himself up from the couch with a groan, and made his way over to the bathroom. When he splashed his face with water, it came away red. Having to pull away from his meal that quickly had made a mess. He unzips his jacket and pulls off his shirt, clenching his teeth at the pain as it peeled away from the wound. The bullet itself wasn’t there — it had only skimmed his skin when Abolish shot him, kudos to his quick reflexes — so thankfully he wouldn’t have to dig iron out of his flesh.
He soaked a cloth and pressed it to the injury, biting back a moan of pain as he forced himself to clean away all the blood, leaving a clean gash.
I’ll have to stitch it.
The thought wasn’t a pleasant one, but as he was steeling himself to take the needle and thread from the first aid kit and complete the grueling task, he heard the sound of the doorbell ringing.
Their bodyguards had arrived.
There was a sound of shuffling outside the bathroom, and Shelby opened the door, her eyes wide with nerves. They were holding a pile of clothes, which they dumped on the floor. Scott caught a glance of Drift approaching the front door before Shelby quickly closed the bathroom one. Scott hurriedly pulled on the fresh outfit: Simple sweatpants and a black shirt and hoodie, internally thanking his fledgling for picking clothes that were dark. If he began to bleed again, hopefully it wouldn’t be noticed.
He buried the bloodied cloth at the bottom of the laundry basket with his old clothes, washed away the droplets of blood in the bowl of the sink, and took a last glance around. He couldn’t see any sign of distress, and he ran a hand through his hair to fluff it before stepping out into the lounge.
He just had to act like your typical celebrity in front of their new bodyguards until he had enough privacy to stitch his wound. Easy enough.
The first pair of people he saw talking to Shelby and Drift were tall and well-built. One of them was young, maybe 20 or so, but had a wisdom beyond his years in his blue eyes. He had short, blond hair, and a look on his face that was a mix of anxiety and careful consideration, an interesting combination.
The second man was older, with long graying hair tied back in a ponytail, and a rather impressive mustache. Clearly defined muscles rippled along his arms, and more were clearly visible under his tank top. He looked like a man who could crush a brick like it was nothing. His emotions were harder to get a grip on, all that was visible on his face was a polite smile and crinkled eyes as he spoke to Shelby.
Scott raised his hand to greet them, but then his eyes locked onto a third person. There was another man, lingering in the entranceway. He brushed his two-coloured hair out of his eyes and tilted his head to study Scott.
“We meet again.”
It was Abolish.