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Mina Ha was ravenous.
To put it shortly, she hadn't fed in a couple of days. Her newest collection needed to be perfect, especially if she wanted to debut her pieces on the New York runway. She needed to show everyone exactly what Mina Ha could do.
It's no surprise to anyone why she's working this hard. Her status meant nothing to the complicated entanglement that was the vampire hierarchy. To them, she was snotty new money—a pebble in comparison to the foundational thrones that were built of aged elders who had roamed the Earth when it was but a bare, barren field.
Gritting her teeth, Mina felt the exhaustion catching up to her. The roar of the subway rumbled below her heels, the night encroaching over the city. The sun had already dipped beyond the ground, a blanket of mulberry dusk above her. She had been working day and night to finish the final touches, wrapped neatly in ribbons. It happens sometimes—she gets so fixated on her work, her mind becomes a roaring train on a one-way track, and her stomach tunes out the hunger. Even during her Blackmore Academy days, final exams would have her pulling her hair out, surviving on snack platters her butler would bring in.
Unfortunately, her parents couldn't just find a tasty neck for her to feast on; something, something, human trafficking rates are abysmal due to inflation. Whatever. She'd think the last decency her parents could afford her after botching her turning would be to serve fresh blood on a platter. No, she shook her head. She wasn't going to use her status. She needed to show that she could do it all by herself.
Her fangs itched. Mina's gaze flicked across the faces in the crowd. Too tall. Too short. Too weird. Too normal. Ew, what is that girl wearing? No way she was drinking from any of them.
She wouldn't dare deign herself to resort to hiding in the dirty, nasty New York alleys just for a quick hit. She was better than that. She had a refined, exquisite palate—she was raised on caviar, foie gras and whatever fancy French term there was. Her parents never taught her to settle for less—so why should she? Mina didn't want some random stranger on the street, cheap findings, unlike a certain Cajun vampire. Besides, it'll deal a low blow to her already-stained vampiric reputation—she's already caught wind of those rumours about her faking it. The nerve! Seeing her hunched over in an alleyway (God forbid, much less the New York subway!), blood splattered all over her Burberry coat? She'll never hear the end of it.
Mina chewed on her nails idly, a warm heat rushing through her body. Hunger was nothing—the humiliation she couldn't stomach.
It wasn't as if she asked for this anyway—it was supposed to be perfect. She had the perfect wedding, perfect dress, perfect venue. A church in Monte Carlo, white peonies and a veil that stretched to her feet. And that stupid, stupid Arin had to mess it up. Why did they go and get themselves killed? If only they had waited after the wedding to take a bullet through the heart, she would be weeping in the Fairfax mansion, cameras and light flashing as she descended the mahogany stairs in black. Oh, she could practically see the headlines, bold letters, black ink print.
MINA FAIRFAX LEFT WIDOWED.
Unfortunately, life had other plans for her. Whatever those were, she couldn't think about them right now. Not when her canines elongated, with pangs of hunger thundering through her ribcage. Even as a vampire, her body came to collect the debt. Mina wobbled across the street, the yellow buzz of the lamplight suddenly too irritating, too overwhelming for her. She ducked into a restaurant's corner, taking a breather from the grumbling, busy streets.
She wasn't going to starve. Not like this. She winced, racking her brain, trying to outpace her base vampiric instincts. A sudden embarrassment burned through her cheeks. Remembering what one of the elders said at a ball—that she was all bark, no bite. She shoves through the crowd, mentally giving a middle finger to the watching eyes. Fuck. Fuck what they all think.
As her vision blurs, she swears she saw an outline of horrible, rumpled hair.
When Mina comes to her senses, an unpleasant odour hits her like a jackhammer. Secondly, there were more important things at hand.
For some reason, the first thing she sees is Arin fucking Fairfax, who has the nerve to look concerned for her well-being.
Her eyes shot open, and Mina reached out to grab them. She wasn't sure if she wanted to claw them, slap them or bite them. However, her limbs failed her miserably—Mina's weight collapsed onto their arms. How dare they make an "oh" sound as they supported her stumbling body, back onto the surprisingly comfortable, but funky-smelling couch. Her chest heaved heavily, each breath taking more out of her.
"Arin, you—I thought you were dead—like, urgh, do you know how—!" Her words slurred incomprehensibly as she slouched onto the cushions. And why was it so soft?!
"Mina, calm down. You can barely form a sentence. You look pale—really pale, have you eaten yet?"
"No… Not like that's any of your concern!" Mina spat, anger in her eyes.
"Well, it is my concern." Arin frowned, crossing their arms. "You were passed out on the streets. You're lucky that I found you."
"You mean unlucky." Mina didn't even realise she had the energy in her to fight. It was as if she were staring down a reflection of her failures. And she loathed the shame it made her feel. Her pride welled up in her chest like a starting engine.
"I don't have the energy to fight you right now." They shrugged, unbothered by her remarks. They turned and walked away, and for a moment, Mina felt a pang in her chest which could be considered guilt—not like she'd never admit it. Her eyes followed them hesitantly, and even with their back turned, they could feel her gaze burning into them.
Mina tilted her head curiously, watching them rummage through boxes in the corner. While they were occupied, she quietly glanced around the room. A small steel ventilation rumbled through the room, hot air blasting. The walls that enclosed them were decrepit, with off-coloured mould growing in the corners out of reach with a broom. Various empty boxes littered the floors, branded with the logo—FAIRFAX INDUSTRIES. Yet another reminder of her failure. A wooden desk was beside the couch she sat on, messy documents strewn on its surface. The wall had monochrome photographs and maps, locations circled in red marker. Despite the strange scent, the room looked… surprisingly well-taken care of, as if somebody had been living here for a while. Her eyes sluggishly drifted to Arin again. This time, they met her gaze.
"Here." They nudged something in front of her. A deli sandwich.
Mina huffed. "I don't eat this kind of food."
"Sorry, it's not a Michelin star meal, princess," they groaned. "You haven't changed at all."
"I didn't mean it like that. I'm—" she looks away, almost embarrassed. "I don't eat like, human food." Seeing that perplexed expression on their face pisses her off. "I'm a vampire, okay?!"
One of their brows raised. "When did that happen?" They asked.
"After you got yourself killed! But I guess you're alive and kicking just fine now—for some reason." Mina felt a heat flash in the pits of her stomach, gripping her fist so tightly her knuckles went white. "How could you? Everything was perfect, and you—you just had to ruin it for me!"
Arin's lips curved into a frown. "I didn't ask to be killed. You don't have to act so spoiled, especially when I just saved you."
Embarrassment and anger flooded her cheeks. Maybe Arin was right. Hell if she'd ever admit that. They did save her from blanking out on the street. She could feel everything rushing in, the turning, the aftermath, the words she had to endure—being treated like subhuman trash because she wasn't stuck up and old like the rest of them! Clouds rolled into her vision, and she could feel the fatigue weighing in her again. Her head dropped, and she couldn't think. Staring down at the grimy floors, her undead heart running in irregular spasms.
Whatever hardened expression Arin had, it softened into worry. Sighing, they unravelled their scarf, wrapping it around Mina. They crouched in front of her slumping body, loosening their tie. Mina looked up, and their shirt collar was turned down. The sight of a healthy, beating artery in their neck—she practically lunged at it, her nails biting into their skin. It took every ounce of her self-restraint to pull back, forcing her to turn her head.
"You're starving, right? You can have my neck… for now." They shook their tie to the side.
"I don't want to drink from you." She forced her nose to turn, but she couldn't deny her sharp fangs watering with saliva. The smell of warm, running blood. Ambrosia to her.
"Are you serious? You're on the brink of starvation and you still want to keep your pride?" Arin huffed.
"Why—why do you even care, Arin? Just let me starve. It's better for you, isn't it? You'd be better off dead than with me?" Mina mustered, with her remaining strength, her pride still lodged in her throat.
A flash of hurt in their eyes. They shook their head. "What do you know? Is it really impossible for you to think I actually care for you? That I brought you here because I was worried for you, risking being caught because I'm supposed to be dead, even though everyone is watching? Did you even know it was my father who ordered the hit on me?" They muttered with a bite in their tone. "And it's Pocket. Not Arin. Arin's dead."
Mina quieted down. They were right. She couldn't be picky, not when she felt her life drain away from her with every word. What was the point of immortal life if she starved herself anyway? What for, pride? It never did her any favours. Besides, Arin—Pocket wasn't… so bad. Deep down, she knew logically it wasn't their fault they were shot. It was just easier for her to take out her frustration on them. Her grief warped into anger. Grief for the death of her beautifully planned future, grief for (she'd hate to admit it) them. She wasn't some heartless freak. Of course she wept. They had been used to being her punching bag of emotions. And she wasn't sure why they let it go on for that long. Guilt. Remorse. It's her own twisted way of saying to stand up and fight back. But they didn't. Not against her.
Pocket, still, didn't budge. Their eyes welled with hurt. They look like a kicked puppy. Mina gulped. Was it her pride that she finally swallowed? She glanced away. Then, she leaned closer, as her teeth encroached on their skin. They could feel her warm breath—and at this distance, they could hear her heart thrumming. Perhaps this was the closest they had ever gotten to truly knowing her. She could feel their heart beat too. It was pulsating. Fast. And it made them all the more tempting.
Without warning, she sank her lips into their neck. They gasped, the sensation raw; sure, they had a bullet through their chest, but getting their blood drunk by a vampire? That was new. Her developed incisors, courtesy of her newly acquired biology, easily penetrated deep into their arteries. Lo, she finally tasted it—the sweet sanguine that was the lifeline of a vampire. Pocket leaned back, weakened by her attack. Mina only moved closer into them, her body pressing into theirs. Greedy, like she always has been. She always wanted it all.
If she weren't completely engrossed in her meal, she would hear them groan her name like a prayer. Her tongue lapped up Pocket's blood greedily, sugar-sweet on her senses. As they dropped to the floor on their knees limp, she was the one holding them stiff; her arms grasping theirs, body bent, feasting. With every drink, Mina was drunk on her new energy, an electric power surging through her body. It tasted like life. She was death, possessively taking it. Only for her. Only her.
When Mina's pride finally catches up to her breath again, she lets go of Pocket instantly. Their blood dribbled down her red lips, oily patches of lipstick beside two bleeding dots on their neck, as proof of her meal. Her arms supported them to the seat beside her. It was their turn to slump into the comfortable cushions, heavy breathing.
Once the moment was over, an unbearable shame beamed onto her. Mina dropped the deli sandwich into their lap, refusing to meet their gaze. "…Here. You should probably be the one to eat it."
Pocket mustered a weak smile. "You really did a number, wow, I'm—you must've been starving." They bit into the bread, chewing slowly as they recuperated their strength.
"Whatever." She turned on her heels, click-clacking. Her back facing them—was it guilt, embarrassment, or both? "And… I'm sorry. Thank you." That was as much gratitude as anybody got out of her. "I'm… kinda glad you're safe. That means my plan isn't ruined yet."
"Seriously?" Pocket chuckled, leaning against the couch. "Unfortunately, you're going to have to call that off for the time being. I have some things to do first. On top of accounting for the fact that I'm also legally dead."
"Perfect." Mina turned back, a toothy grin curved on her lips. The same lips that had been on their neck just minutes ago. She was back to her usual bratty self. Somehow, it made Pocket feel relieved. "I have to become Viscount of New York first. And then, I'll become a Fairfax. I'll show them."
"Who are you trying to impress, anyway?"
Mina groaned in annoyance. "The elders. They always have something to say. Like how I can't be new. Or how my manners aren't appropriate. Hello, does anybody give a shit? They just can't bear to see youngsters challenging their dusty asses, because if they knew they were to accept, they'll instantly crumble and lose."
"Sounds… complicated. Kinda reminds me of my family, actually."
Mina was grateful she wore gloves. There were some fresh bandages on top of a cabinet, and a bottle of antiseptic. The least she could do for them was to patch up those wounds.
"Guess some things never change." She dabbed a cotton pad with antiseptic, gently wiping off the excessive blood. They winced in pain, absently staring at the ceiling.
"You know… I kinda missed you. I couldn't tell anybody I was alive, otherwise I'd risk getting targeted again. I always wondered how you were doing."
Mina didn't respond. Thank god their eyes were averted. That way, they didn't see the red in her cheeks. She applied the bandage to their neck, the intimacy of this situation burning into her mind. Maybe this was what it would've been if they had gotten married. "Shut up. You need to rest."
A dry, small laugh erupted from their lips.
She drooped to their side, sighing. "Ugh. I still can hardly stand." Even after having a meal, she was still having a killer headache. Next time, she's not going to skip any meals. When was the runway walk? She was making it worse by trying to remember.
Pocket stared at her tentatively. "You could stay here for a while, until you feel better. Only if you want—of course."
Why were they being so nice to her? They were the same way they used to be—polite, mild. Couldn't yell even if they wanted to. It frustrated her. Their father always demeaned them at the dinners together. Afterwards, she would be protesting that they should finally speak up for themselves. Take some agency for once in their life. They always turned her down, hands put up in surrender, telling her bigger stakes were at hand. Maybe now she finally understood.
"Sure." She doesn't have anywhere better to be. Running back to her parents isn't something she could stomach right now; her debut designs were finalised and sent to the producers. There weren't many more places she belonged—except here. Maybe.
Mina's head, heavy with thoughts, drooped to their shoulder. She could feel them stiffen up momentarily, shoulders cascading as they relaxed.
"I hate you." Her tone contained absolutely no malice.
"I know." They smiled.