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The night was filled with the heart-wrenching clanging of steel on steel, the sickening rapidfire thuds of silenced bullets, the grunts and yells and spine-yanking screams that punctuated the sound of Tommy's back crashing against the ground.
"You goddamn bastard!" His mentor raged from somewhere close by but not quite close enough to be hunter-standard, swiftly following her shriek with a rapid staccato of gunfire too wild, too fast, too angry, to be anything but misses. Tommy didn't look forward to filling out the patrol reports tonight. Violating hunter standards always came with a long lecture and an even longer essay. This one would be his second this week. It was only Tuesday.
The monster chuckled, a horrifyingly human sound. A wave of cold and a near-silent woosh of giant wings beating the air was the only warning it gave as it no-doubt dove to meet his mentor's strikes.
It was as Tommy began to struggle his way back up to his feet that he finally realised he'd been hit.
It hurt.
Oh, fuck, it really hurt.
Tommy bit his tongue to stop himself from crying out as his arms gave way, smacking his back against the cobbles once more. It hurt. It hurt so much, he could hardly breathe.
When did he get hit? How? He was well out of the way the second his mentor realised what they were up against. He was calling base for back-up, or– or something. But he didn't have his phone anymore. He wasn't holding his phone. Where did it go? Was– did– what?
It hurt. It really, really hurt.
He was– did they win? Was it over? Did he call them– anyone at all?
Silence. Tommy forced himself to look up, to scan the alleyway entrance just as he'd been taught, his only gateway to the fight beyond. The quiet fight. Because they were– they were probably wrestling right now. Punching each other. His mentor was giving that fucking bat the ol' one-two, like in the training ring. She was alive. She was okay. And at any moment Clara was going to stagger into sight like it was a Monday morning and grimace and lean against the grimey brick wall and check over his wounds and tell him he's okay with that small furrow in her brow, the only evidence of her concern, and they were going to go back to base and do reports and– and live– and–!
Click.
Click.
Click.
That wasn't his mentor. That wasn't Clara. That was–
Tommy squeezed his eyes shut as a long, dark shadow fell over him, and the distinctive click of too-expensive shoes came to a stop.
Not two hours ago, they – just Clara, really – had been called out to check up on a vampire feeding. A citizen report. Tommy hadn't been apprenticed for long, but you didn't have to be some seasoned veteran to take one look at Logstedshite – sorry, Logstedshire – to know it was a classic countryside shitthole. A poorly populated one, to boot. There were no skate parks here, no parks at all unless you counted the overgrown field behind the old church, no crime, and certainly no vampires. The odd rogue came through from time-to-time, getting a quick bite before moving on to greener pastures: pastures without a needlessly vigilant hunter's barracks.
It should have been safe. She thought it was safe. That was why–
It was too quiet. Against his better judgement, Tommy opened his eyes and looked up and– fuck.
There it was: the monster. Black-taloned arms folded neatly behind its back like a drill sergeant out of uniform, enormous wings tucked away like a magician's magic cards, out of sight and out of mind – as if Tommy's admittedly poor object permanence would make him forget what, exactly, he was looking at.
He didn't.
Because despite the folded arms, despite the missing wings, despite the soft yellow lamplight haloing its body like an angel, despite the perfectly human guise – the comfortable, long black turtleneck, the fuzzy red wristband, the shiny reinforced leather boots with buckles that sparkled silver in the dark, the fucking hat – Tommy knew. He knew. And he was terrified.
The vampire cocked its head, drawing attention to its glowing red eyes. Tommy gasped. With those things shining brightly in the darkness like two bloody headlamps, it was impossible not to know.
At the sound of the boy's shock, the vampire's stony expression warmed in a way that was more akin to boiling water than melting snow. Tommy whimpered, curling up on himself; the monster fucking cooed. Like Tommy was the most adorable, pathetic little thing it had ever seen. Maybe he was. Just a dumb kid barely past the starting line of his apprenticeship; a street rat with dreams bigger than he could possibly achieve; a washout cast to the filthy ground where he belonged.
It smiled.
Tommy hurried to back away. It hurt. It hurt so much. Every inching scoot backwards over alley debris and bumpy cobblestone was matched with a stab of pain and another patient step closer. And closer. And closer. It wouldn't fucking stop. Its dangling earring, gleaming green in the fading light of its approach, swung back and forth like a pendulum. Small. Delicate. Unassuming. He'd seen hundreds like it in fancy shopfronts.
Tears streaked down Tommy's cheeks because this was– this was it. He was going to– he was– alone. All alone. In the cold. Littered with scrapes and bruises with no-one but his murderer there to see– to watch him go. An apprentice following his mentor's footsteps to the very end.
It was so unfair.
Eventually – far, far, far too soon – Tommy ran out of space to scoot. His back bumped against an icy wall and he yelped in surprise, then pain, as he jerked away. Forwards. Towards the monster, stopped just a measly metre away.
It crouched– no, it. It tried to crouch down. Its boots' collars were so long that they got in the way as it tried to bend its knees, and if Tommy's soul wasn't about to leap out of his chest, he might have laughed at the twisted expression on its face. As it was, he couldn't stop himself from staring into those fucking eyes – little rubies pitted into its stupid skull, ginting. Flashing. He could get the rumours, now: he hadn't before. But looking at them now, he could believe they were magic. Hypnotising. Tommy didn't want to look away.
So he didn't.
Finally it stopped fiddling, settling into a slav squat with barely a wince and a smothered glare at its shoes. Tommy flattened himself against the wall as it turned its gaze to him, the ache in his side dulling as his veins flooded with adrenaline; as his mind was overcome with the desperate need to hide, to run, to fight.
"Hey, mate."
Tommy whined. The vampire didn't react, except for a small crease in the corners of its eyes as it scanned every inch of him. From his blue eyes to his cropped hair to his ears – its gaze lingered there for too long, far too long – down to the bloodied hole in his too-big jacket. He was meant to fill it out, the regular exercise and even more regular meals promised to him from the moment he signed up to the hunters. The jacket he would never get to fit, now.
Whatever hit him earlier must have gotten caught on the fabric, tearing a hole that was far larger than his smaller wound would suggest. It dangled down like an open mouth, dragging in the dirt. It makes his injury all the easier to see. To inspect. And Tommy could have sworn he saw an unmistakable grin of pride – of delight – flash across its face. It was gone between blinks, replaced by a concerned facade.
Even if it wasn't as bad as his jacket suggested, Tommy knew it still looked bad; that he looked bad. Fuck, it felt awful – even with the adrenaline numbing the pain – maybe it was worse than he thought it was. Maybe the bloodless was going to get him before the vampire did. It would explain the worry, at least. If it was even real.
He nearly laughed at the thought, a hysterical laugh to something that wasn't funny that was halted in its tracks by a horrendous smack of pain. So he talked instead – tried to. Tommy took brief, shallow breaths that only made the world spin faster. "Fuck off," he growled, "I'm gonna fuck–" his breath hitched; his eyes stung– "fucking kill you, you know."
The vampire merely hummed, finally taking its eyes off of him to rummage around in its jumper. As it turned out, what Tommy thought was just a really long turtleneck was actually a turtleneck and another jacket tied around its waist, absolutely covered in pockets. Pockets that could be filled with anything.
Tommy gulped.
"Didn't you hear me?" he snarled as the vampire failed to respond, "I'm gonna fucking–"
"Yeah, I heard. Just wait a sec."
What the fuck?
This– this asshole. This fucking asshole.
Tommy lunged before he could stop himself, nerves wound up too tight by the uneasy peace, intent on making good on his promise. On getting some breathing room. On escape.
Then his wound flared up, and he dropped to the ground in pain.
Tommy's outstretched hands fell to the stone beneath him, clawed fingers curling up into fists as they met the cobbles, stabilising him as the world spun all around him.
It hurt.
Why did it hurt so much? What did he do to deserve this? He–
A large, so-cold-it-feels-wet hand settled on one of his, and Tommy startled out of his thoughts. He flinched back, gasping in pain, head shooting up – when had he broken eye-contact? – and the vampire– it was looking at him again, holding something in its other hand. In the one not touching him. Because the other hand was holding Tommy's and–
Tommy tried to fight against it, but it was too strong; he was too weak. He was completely helpless to do anything against it as the vampire rolled back into a criss-cross and hauled him into its lap. No matter how much he strained against it, it was too fast, too sure of its movements, too practised, wrapping an arm around his torso to seatbelt him in place. Tommy stared blankly at the wall he'd been leaning against just a handful of seconds ago, disbelieving.
A cool breath whooshed past Tommy's ear, catching a few stray curls and flicking them into his face. His blood turned to ice. It was behind him. Oh, fuck, it was right behind him.
"You ever get stitches before?" it asked conversationally.
What.
Tommy's mind blanked. If he was still fighting for his life, still struggling to get away and not entirely resigned to his fate, he might have paused – no, he definitely would have paused. Because what?
The vampire didn't seem to mind his sudden silence, messing with Tommy's jacket and doing something with whatever it had pulled out of its pockets.
"I haven't needed any in a… while. I think I was in Egypt the last time, a few thousand years ago. Vampire healing is something else, I'll tell you what."
What.
If possible, Tommy paled even further. He thought back again on his mentor, on the intel, on the confident reassurances that nothing truly dangerous would come of this encounter – that he was going to be safe, just as long as he stuck by her; as safe as anyone could be in their profession – and if there remained even the slightest idea that this vampire, this ancient, was a rogue, it died then and there.
They never stood a chance, did they?
"Hey, you're a hunter, right?"
Tommy didn't answer. The vampire rectified his reticence with a decisive prod to the tender skin lining the boy's wound, and he recoiled from the touch; back into the monster's chest. Closer to its face, to its fangs.
"Right?"
Tommy's breath caught in his throat and he nodded slowly, shakily, having absolutely no clue what was going on. He wasn't paying attention. He wasn't– that was hunter basics 101. Why hadn't he paid attention? Now he didn't know what was going on or what he'd agreed to and– and, fuck.
When the vampire gently tugged at Tommy's clothes, the boy forced himself to give a verbal affirmation, voice barely above a whisper. Once again, an approving hum sounded. This time it buzzed through Tommy's bones, spreading from the body pushed up against his back.
"So, any stitches?" it repeated itself. Tommy shook his head slightly, stopping suddenly as his ear brushed against cold skin.
"No," he said, instead. The vampire tutted. Tommy froze.
"Damn, lucky. It hurts like a bitch."
For what felt like the hundredth time, Tommy was thrown for a loop – why was the vampire complaining about something as mortal as stitches?
Unfortunately, he wasn't confused for long, as quicker than he could blink his torso was squeezed tight, and there was a loud rip as his jacket and the shirt underneath were torn in two. He cried out as the fabric clinging to the edges of his wound were yanked away – blood had begun glueing it to his skin, and as it was pulled apart his body burned with pain.
He'd had worse. He'd had worse before. He'd survived worse before. But something about the past few months – the routine, the safety, the warm meals and training and those stupid fucking "confidence building exercises" the hunters liked so much – had made him soft. Or maybe it was the betrayal. The hope he'd had just a few hours ago, that his life could be more than what it was. That he was becoming more than what he was. And the ugly truth breathing down his neck.
It hurt. It hurt so fucking much. And then it was over. Just another brief flare that left him panting in the aftermath, with a bloodsucker's chin hooked over his shoulder, whispering nonsense.
"See, that wasn't so bad, was it?"
What was it Clara had called it, again?
Right.
Goddamn bastard.
Tommy must have spoken that last part aloud, because the vampire chuckled. "Yeah, okay, my bad. I should have warned you."
It shouldn't have done anything at all.
At the very least, the pain seemed to have shocked Tommy out of his stupor. He started to squirm again, worming his arms beneath the vampire's firm grip in an attempt to get himself free.
"No, no. None of that, now."
The vampire twisted in on itself, folding around Tommy and tightening its grip, and as it moved Tommy finally caught sight of what it held in its other hand.
A needle.
There was– there was a needle. A needle and a long, long, long line of thread snaking down to a small fabric purse beside the heels of its boots, where the spool no doubt hid, safe from the filth coating the cobbles beneath it.
“Fucking– let go of me!” Tommy cried, redoubling his efforts in an instant. He felt the clotting seams of his wound tear and spill fresh blood down his stomach as he struggled; he ignored it, frantic, fervent, foolish. All it took was a chiding tut and a sigh fanning over his neck for him to stop.
The two tiny pinpricks he could feel brushing dangerously against his skin didn’t help.
“That’s enough,” the vampire asserted, chillingly quiet. Chiding. As though Tommy’s terror was nothing more than a mild inconvenience.
Tommy whimpered, a single tear sliding down his cheek. He didn’t understand– his mentor was dead, Tommy should have been dead, and instead he was sitting on a vampire’s lap about to be drained dry or sewed up like an old shirt and he just didn’t understand.
“I’m only gonna ask once, okay?”
The boy didn’t wait for the vampire to get impatient before nodding, eyes squeezing shut as its fangs seemed to grow sharper for a second.
“Good. Now, do you want me to bite you–” Tommy keened, starting to strain again, but a quick squeeze around his chest stopped him before he could do more than tense– “or not?”
He didn’t even have to think about it. Immediately, Tommy shook his head no, because if he was being given the option to live for even a few seconds longer he was going to fucking take it.
“You sure?” the vampire asked, voice low and playful, as if it knew something he didn’t. “Stitches hurt. My venom will help take the edge off.”
Tommy shook his head harder.
The vampire sighed. “Okay, okay, I get it. Stop.”
Tommy stopped.
The alley’s newfound stillness was allowed to settle for a moment. It was unnaturally quiet. The usual bustle of the village was conspicuously absent in the late hours, a strict curfew ensuring most people were tucked up at home – an unfortunate consequence of the escalating tensions between the hunters and the hunted – but even so, there was usually a stray cat or some buzzing insects to break up the silence. There wasn’t, now. It was like the whole world was holding its breath, waiting.
Tommy flinched as the vampire spoke up again.
“If I don’t bite you,” it began, slow and contemplative, “you need to promise you’ll stay still– quiet. Getting stabbed by a needle isn’t fun, and it’s going to be even less fun if a good Samaritan comes to take a peek. Do you understand?”
Tommy nodded. Then spoke, when the vampire didn’t respond, rambling as his nerves got the better of him. “I– I promise. I’ll be quiet. I’ll be the quietest ever – Big Man Quiet Innit, that’s what they call me! I–”
The vampire hummed, readjusting its grip slightly, and Tommy’s mouth snapped shut. For a moment, he felt something like hope – he wasn’t going to get bitten. He wasn’t going to die. He wasn’t–
“I don’t think I believe you.”
And with that, the vampire’s fangs sunk into Tommy’s neck.
Tommy’s voice got caught in his throat as he screamed a silent scream, two burning rods piercing into his throat and spreading out. Out. Out. Out–
…out?
It was everywhere. Buzzing, softly. Warmly. Lingering just beneath his skin.
Tommy closed his mouth. His teeth clicked together with the unexpected force of it and he felt a familiar jolt briefly going through his lips, but then it stopped, fuzzed over by that strange buzzing. It was like pins and needles, if pins and needles were tiny little hugs.
Distantly, he registered the sound of swallowing next to his ear; he registered the relaxing grip, the gentle hands and the gentler thumbs working small, soothing circles into his arms through the remaining fabric of his jacket. He murmured something unintelligible and vaguely confused – he could feel the vampire smiling. He could feel it unlatching; hear it unlatching with a gross slurping noise and– and– what?
It licked him; was licking him. But– no. Was it really licking him right now? What the hell?
His skin itched something fierce where the vampire bit him, like a scabbing wound. It was annoying. And weird. And he didn’t like it. But… Tommy didn’t feel nearly as annoyed or confused or upset as he probably should have.
The vampire made an appreciative noise. “Thanks, mate,” it joked. Then, after another, more deliberate hum, “You're good, though. What are they feeding you nowadays?” it asked, more to itself, and Tommy watched in a daze as the needle glinted menacingly, slowly coming closer, being held by– with both hands. Because Tommy wasn’t… being held down? Anymore?
This. This was his chance, right? It had to be. Except when Tommy tried to take said chance, all he got in return was a scolding tut and a chin hooked over his shoulder again, digging into his collarbone a little. He felt oddly ashamed. Which he shouldn’t. Because he was being held by a vampire right now.
“That’s enough,” the vampire reprimanded gently, as if on cue. Tommy huffed. The vampire huffed louder, tugging on the needle and thread to check their strength. There was only one thing for it – Tommy huffed even louder. Fuck if this prick thought Tommy was gonna lose.
The vampire, that fucking asshole, just seemed amused. It didn’t laugh as such, but Tommy could hear it in its voice when it spoke again. “Little terror, aren’t you?” it mused. Fuck yeah he was.
A beat.
“Alright, I’m gonna start now, okay? Hold your breath.”
Wait. Why would he–?
Tommy jolted as something stabbed into his side. Something small. Something sharp. He made a face as he felt whatever it was pulling at– no, through– his skin. The needle. It had to be.
It didn’t… it didn’t hurt. He’d expected it to hurt. He was told it would hurt. But it didn’t. Which was the worst part, to be honest, because it really felt like it should.
But it didn’t. It just felt really, really fucking weird.
“Ah, no moving. You promised.” Tommy startled at the sudden voice, trying to twist around to see who had spoken before recognising what they’d said. He promised not to move. Did he? It was– it was all getting a little fuzzy, getting fuzzier by the second even with the weird needle shit going on.
He didn’t remember promising anything, but then, he didn’t remember not promising anything either. Fuck.
…well, if nothing else, Tommy was a man of his word. What was left of his struggles finally slowed to a complete halt, and when he was asked to relax, he did. Albeit grudgingly – whatever he was lying on wasn’t exactly what he’d consider comfortable, but he’d had worse, he was pretty sure. He could deal with a little discomfort. Just for a moment.
Tommy slumped back, head lolling slightly and brushing up against another head. Tommy barely even noticed, leaning even more weight on it. If the fucker didn’t want to be used as a pillow, they shouldn’t have been there, whoever they were.
At long last, or maybe a touch too soon, the strange sensation ended with a final tug, a snapped thread, and a sigh. “There we are, all better,” a voice muttered. Better? Why was he better? Did he need to be? Tommy blinked in confusion as he was hoisted up, rising into the air as if he was being carried.
Wait–
No, he was. Being carried. Why was he being carried?
Tommy squirmed a little. If he was better, he didn’t need to be carried, right? Right. That made sense to him– that made perfect sense!
Of course, the voice had other ideas. “Don’t fight, mate,” it whispered, answering his silent question and stopping him dead in his tracks, “I won. Just try to get some sleep, yeah?”
Well fuck. He lost? He– lost. He lost at… at something.
Strangely, as distressing as that was – that being not at all, for some reason – Tommy found himself more hung up on that last part. For as soon his brain clocked onto what those words meant, Tommy found that he was absolutely exhausted and sleep– sleep sounded pretty good, actually. Maybe he could just… yeah. He could close his eyes. Just for a second. A little one. A little second.
Yeah.
…but he lost?
A gentle rocking motion swept Tommy’s concerns aside. Yeah, he “lost” but he could teach them better in the morning. Because Tommy– Tommy never lost. Ever.