Chapter Text
1
On a rainy afternoon, in an alleyway in Berlint, a toddler—so covered in grime you could hardly tell she had pastel-pink hair—vomited in a puddle.
In all of her four years of living, she'd never felt quite as awful as she did right then.
She'd been through a lot in just four years. She had no home, because she'd escaped from a lab. In that lab, she was experimented on for as long as she could remember. The scientists had done horrible things to her.
She’d been told it was for the greater good. Everything done to her was for the sake of preventing death.
Truth be told, she didn't really know what “death” was. All she knew is that it was supposed to happen when she was "az-fix-ee-ate-ed".
Whatever it was, she couldn't do it, and that made the scientists very happy. They said the experiments had turned her into a "van-pie-er".
She didn't know what it meant to be a "van-pie-er".
All she knew was that the sun hurt her, she had two more teeth than she used to, and food didn't feel good to eat anymore. Unless it was fresh meat.
Instead, she had to drink blood.
The lab had lots of blood. They let her have as much as she wanted.
But she wasn't in the lab anymore. She ran away. She hadn't had anything to eat in a week.
Her entire body hurt. She felt weak, so very weak. She couldn't hear anything besides the grumbling of her stomach. All she wanted to do was sleep, but she knew deep inside that if she fell asleep, she would never wake up.
She was hungry, and she didn't know if it was better or worse than being strapped to a table in the burning sunlight for "obzer-vay-shun", where her skin felt like it was cooking on her bones.
Yesterday, she found a rat. She killed it. When she bit into it, it was full of blood. So much blood.
It made her feel better.
And now, just a day later, crouching on the concrete, expelling her insides, she felt worse than ever. The streets were spinning. Her skin was burning, even though the sun wasn't out. Her body was cramping in on itself.
She knew, even without having ever heard the phrase "food poisoning", that she shouldn't have eaten that rat.
But she didn't know what would have happened if she hadn't. She was so, so hungry.
A man walked up to her. He had a head full of scruffy black hair. "Hey, kid?" He knelt down to her level, and put a loaf of bread in her hands. "Eat up. It'll make you feel better."
She stared at the bread in her hands. It stared back, mockingly.
It wasn't blood. Eating it would do nothing for her. But she sank her teeth into the bread anyway, imagining it was the man's flesh, if only to feel something in her empty stomach.
She hated being a "van-pie-er".
The only good thing about it was the superpower it gave her.
She could read minds, like the mind of the scruffy-headed man—walking away from her, now that she'd started eating.
"Poor thing. I'll leave an anonymous tip with the police, hope they can take her to an orphanage."
She didn't know what an "orphanage" was, but maybe there would be blood there.
2
"Anya… please eat your vegetables. You can't just eat meat."
Anya continued to mindlessly push the broccoli around on her plate with a fork. She'd long since devoured the hamburg steak that used to be there, hoping it would alleviate the constant ache in her stomach.
It didn't. The blood in the meat was long gone.
"I'm not hungry, Papa."
Anya's new father sighed to himself.
"She's lying. She practically inhaled the hamburg steak, and her stomach is still growling! Are six year olds supposed to have this much appetite? Think, Twilight!"
Anya jabbed a head of broccoli with her fork and brought it close to her nose.
She sniffed it.
"Papa?"
"Yes?"
"Did you cook this with garlic?"
"Yes?" Twilight raised an eyebrow.
"Is that the issue? Does she not like garlic?"
Anya set her fork down, head of broccoli included.
"I'm allergic to garlics."
Twilight froze. "What? But– no, wait, I didn't use garlic in the hamburg steak. I haven't actually used any garlic in my cooking at all since I adopted her—until now!" He shook himself out of his thoughts and closed the distance to his daughter, putting her face in his hands as he looked in her mouth to check for swelling.
"Was the steak contaminated? Are you going to throw up? Can you breathe?"
"I'm– I'm fine, Papa." Anya was never more glad that she could retract her fangs. "I just wanna go to bed."
"I…" "The trace amounts could make her feel ill, but I suppose if she's not experiencing anaphylaxis, a night's rest may improve things." "Alright. I'll– I'll do the dishes, you get ready for bed." "I need to remove all forms of garlic from my home. I should be glad we got this out of the way before we found a mother—that would have been difficult to explain…"
Her father's thoughts faded away as Anya trudged into her bedroom. She closed the door with slightly more force than she'd meant to before collapsing on the bed in the dark.
I'm so hungry. I just want to eat something. But I can't. If Papa finds out what kind of monster I am, I'll have to– he'll get rid of me. Just like the last family. They caught me eating a pigeon and forced me to eat a garlic to prove I wasn't a vampire. All my skin went red and itchy, so they sent me back to the orphanage.
I don't want to go back to the orphanage. I can't stand being surrounded by kids so full of blood–
The scientists said I can't die.
That means I can't starve to death, right?
If I never drink blood again, then no one can ever find out what I am.
The growl of Anya's stomach—a symptom of her lack of appetite for 'normal' food, rather than her actual starvation—stopped her train of thought in its place.
But I'm just so hungry.
She sat up on her bed. Her right arm was shaking. Anya pulled up the long sleeves she always wore for sun protection, and found she couldn't tear her eyes off her exposed skin. In the darkness of her room (although she could see in it just fine) the pink of her arm stood out like a beacon.
It was warm.
And full of blood.
Baring her fangs, Anya brought her forearm to her lips and bit down.
3
"Mama's home!" Anya shouted as she ran to greet her mother with a hug. "Welcome home, Mama!"
"I hope the overtime wasn't too bad," Loid commented.
"Oh, it was nothing special," Yor greeted Anya with a hug. Her thoughts, however, betrayed the reality of her 'overtime'.
It really wasn't bad at all! I mean, I guess the target did have all those hordes of henchmen, but they didn't really have any skill at all. The only trouble is that killing lots of people means spilling lots of blood, and so now my work dress is absolutely soaked! I'd be worried that Anya could smell it right now, if it weren't for Shopkeeper's scent-proof bags."
Unfortunately for Yor, Anya did not have anything resembling a normal sense of smell, could very clearly smell the immense aura of blood emanating from her mother, and was very much savoring the hug.
Mama smells good.
"Uhm, Anya? Can you let your mother through?"
"Oh." Anya took a few steps back into the apartment. "Sorry, Mama."
Anya's stomach rumbled, her appetite (for blood, not food) sufficiently whetted by the smell of her mother's work.
"I agree with your tummy, Anya." Loid chuckled. "I'll start making dinner."
"Oh, okay!" Yor started walking towards her bedroom. "I'm going to put my things away, but then I'll come help you!"
Loid sighed, already imagining the disaster fun that awaited him when it came to cooking with his wife. His thoughts, however, were not nearly as lighthearted. Anya's stomach was rumbling. It's always rumbling. You can barely see it because of her clothes, but she's horrifically thin. I can count every damn rib. I had assumed her previous guardians starved her, but now I've had her for over a month now. I've been feeding her, so much, to try and get her weight to something reasonable. But no. It's like the food I give her just… disappears. Is she forcing herself to vomit it all up? I think my daughter has an eating disorder… How can I fix this?
Anya, however, was not paying attention to those thoughts. She had already retreated into her room, intent on curling into the fetal position on the floor.
I haven't had people blood since… I was in the lab, I think. My own doesn’t count; it didn’t do anything for me. I'm so so so so so so so hungry. My whole body hurts. I just want to feed on–
She sobbed.
No. No, no, no. I can't use that word. That makes it sound like I'm some… animal.
I just want to live. I don't want to starve anymore.
The scent of blood wafted into Anya's nose.
It's coming from Mama's room. I want it so bad.
Yor's nearly-silent footsteps walked past Anya's bedroom door, and she began a conversation with Loid on the matter of their daughter's weight: "Don't worry about it, Loid. Yuri was about this skinny when he was six. She'll fatten up when she gets older."
Anya whimpered from the pain in her stomach. Mama's waiting until after Papa goes to bed to clean the blood away. While they're distracted with dinner…
She stood up and stalked over to her window, pulling away the curtains to look out at the twilight sky.
Evil Mister Sun's gone to sleep enough. I think I can manage.
As quietly as she could, she opened the window and stepped out onto the balcony.
With some careful maneuvering and quiet opening of another window and absolutely no looking down, although starving is far scarier than falling, she was inside her mother's bedroom.
It wasn't much longer before Anya was crouched on the floor of the wardrobe, ravenously running her tongue along one of the Thorn Princess's prized stilettos, and once it was clean, desperately trying to suck the blood out of a black dress.
Why do I feel like I'll die if I can't… have a couple more drops of blood squeezed out of Mama's clothes?
What kind of creepy monster am I?
4
There was something of a weight off Anya's shoulders, now that someone knew about her… condition. It wasn't much relief—given that the someone was just a dog—but it was something, and something was better than nothing.
"Hey, Bond? You ever feel like a monster?"
The beady black eyes of the fluffy white cloud stared at her unblinkingly.
"Yeah. That's about what I thought, too."
To the untrained eye, Bond may appear to be an ordinary dog. A Great Pyrenees, although not pure-bred. Why would he be pure-bred? That would be a waste of money for the scientists; all they needed were mere lab animals.
Bond was a lot like Anya.
Bond, just like Anya, had been experimented on.
Bond, just like Anya, was psychic—precognitant, to be exact.
Bond, just like Anya, wasn't really what he seemed to be.
Bond was a werewolf.
Kind of.
He wasn't secretly human, but he did transform into a wolf during the night of the full moon.
Given that he was already a dog, it wasn't much of a change, except that he became a lot bigger. A week ago, it happened for the first time since the Forgers adopted him. Anya had read his mind beforehand and snuck him outside before he transformed.
The scary stories about werewolves weren't true. Bond didn't become a mindless monster.
Just a bigger dog.
Then again, the scary stories about vampires weren't true either. Anya didn't have insatiable bloodlust. Probably.
For one night each month, Bond would become a "monster", and for one day each month, Anya would stop being one.
The new moon. From dawn until dusk, once each month, Anya was a human.
She could stand in the sun and feel its warmth on her skin. She could see herself in a mirror. She still couldn't eat garlic. She couldn't read minds (inconvenient with the looming midterms).
It was thanks to the new moon that Anya could survive. That one day each month, when she had an appetite for actual food, and could even reap the nutritional benefits from eating it…
Each month, Anya would eat her fill several times over. She scared Papa with her appetite.
But it was still a week away.
And Anya, hunched over her desk in pain, was beyond weak. She couldn't lift her pencil. She couldn't raise her head. If she fell asleep, she might never wake up.
She collapsed, landing on her hands and knees on her bedroom floor.
Bond got up and padded the distance between them.
"Worf?"
A thought from his mind reached Anya's as he curled up next to her collapsed form.
"Friend Anya hurt. Comfort."
"Sorry, Bond," Anya sighed. "It isn't the kind of hurt you can help."
"Woof…" Bond whined.
Anya couldn't look away from him.
Or is it?
Her eyes were locked on his warm, fluffy, white coat.
The coat itself wasn't what was warm.
The warmth came from below.
Tears formed in the vampire’s eyes as her intrusive thoughts won.
"I'm…" Anya sobbed. "I'm s–so sorry, Bond."
Her hands gently parted the fur on the side of his warm, juicy neck.
"This won't hurt. I– I promise."
5
"Geez, Anya. Do you, like… ever eat?" Becky remarked as she overheard Anya's stomach growling yet again. "Now that I think about it… she just talks with me at lunch! She doesn't get any food of her own."
Anya didn't know how to explain how hard it was to eat when she had no appetite. When it wouldn't do anything to hold her hunger at bay. When food tasted like ash compared to sweet, delicious blood. Even peanuts, her favorite solid food… when she was alone, she'd just chew them for the taste and then spit them back out rather than try to force them down her throat into a stomach that didn't want anything besides blood.
"Sometimes." Anya shrugged. One day a month.
It was late in the day, the two girls were having a sleepover in one of the many spare bedrooms of Becky's mansion, and for the most part, it was going great. Becky was happy to be able to force Anya to watch endless romance shows. Anya was happy to be in a house that was so big she could stay far away from the windows and not look weird about it.
"Sometimes?"
Unfortunately, Becky had caught on to something else, rather than Anya's distaste for sunlight.
"Is she really that poor? I mean, I know she's a commoner… Can she not afford the lunches at Eden? Is she skipping meals at home, too?!"
"Anya! This is completely unacceptable! We're getting some food in you, pronto! You're never starving again!"
"No, Becky!" Don't make promises you can't keep. "I'm fine. I'm not hungry."
The Blackbell heiress narrowed her eyes, entirely unconvinced. Before Anya could stop her, Becky had grabbed onto her sleeve—the overly long sleeves she wore on every outfit to keep her arms from burning in the sunlight—and tugged it up to her forearm.
"I knew it!" Becky accused. "I always thought you were hiding something, the way you never show skin! I mean, just look at your arm! You're practically skin and bones! You don't need to hide–"
Her face softened in an instant.
"You know, Anya, you can tell me if something's wrong. Do you not like eating? Are you scared of gaining weight? Are your parents starving you? Are you guys too poor for food? Wait, on the bus–"
"Becky, stop!"
Anya's shout stopped Becky's onslaught of questions in an instant, leaving her to stare in bewilderment. I'm sorry, Becky, but I can't tell you if something's wrong. Not this. You won't want anything to do with me after that.
"I just… have a lot of allergies. There aren't a lot of things I can eat. So it's better for me to just skip meals at school and have them at home. I'm fine."
"But you're so skinny–"
"I…" Because I'm starving. I need blood. "Papa says I have a con-dish-un. I can't really get the new-tree-ents out of the food that I need." That's what he thinks. Anya sighed and looked at the floor in defeat. "So I'm skinny. And I'm short. And nothing will change that." Nothing except an endless supply of blood. "So stop bugging me about it." Anya fell backwards onto her bed with a sigh.
Papa was willing to let my skinniness slide, because I've been gaining weight. Ever since we got Bond.
I know he doesn't have nearly enough blood for me, and I can't risk Mama finding bite marks or blood in his fur. But when he transforms at the full moon… he suddenly has a lot more blood to give, and the bite marks disappear when he transforms back. It's halfway between new moons.
I hate biting him. I hate it so much. But he stopped me from starving…
Stopped. Past tense. Not anymore.
Twilight’s handler had informed him that Aaron—the dog she adopted from Project Apple—turned into a giant (albeit harmless) wolf each full moon.
Twilight highly doubted Bond was the same.
How could he be? A master spy surely would have noticed a giant wolf in his apartment.
Regardless, he waited with Bond during the next full moon.
Twilight realized that either his daughter or his wife had known and hidden this from the rest of the family, which led him to confront them and lay the truth on the table. The family dog was, somehow, a werewolf. In that moment, he realized that Anya was the one who’d been hiding it.
He told his daughter that although he was proud of her—keeping a big secret like that is hard—she should have told them. He made her promise never to keep them in the dark again.
I lied. Anya repressed a sob as she lay on a bed in Becky's mansion. I'm never telling Mama or Papa what I am.
They'd throw me out. And I can't blame them.
I know that they're okay with Bond being… what he is.
But only with safeguards.
They never let him out of their sight on a full moon to make sure he doesn't kill anyone.
Bond would never kill anyone. I might.
Anya hadn't tasted blood in six months.
I can't feed from Bond when he's all big anymore. Not without them seeing.
Despite the warmth of the mountain of blankets and pillows Becky had constructed, Anya felt cold.
So cold.
But she couldn't shiver. Her body didn't have the energy to.
However, she could at least turn her head to look at the other bed in the room.
Becky was fast asleep, her back facing Anya.
She should have slept too, but she couldn't. There was an infuriatingly loud noise echoing through the room.
Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump.
Anya's eyes were locked on Becky's neck.
It looked warm in the dark.
No.
Blood was pulsing through her arteries.
I'm not going to.
It would be so easy to stand up, walk four steps over, and sink her teeth into her best friend's neck.
I'd rather starve.
She really, really wanted to.
The stories about vampires say that anyone they bite will turn into a vampire too. I can't–
Anya's legs stood her up against her own accord.
No. No. NO. NO. NO! NO, ANYA! DON'T DO IT.
…
…
…
Warm blood flowed over her tongue and down her throat as she greedily licked at the pair of puncture wounds that now adorned the neck of a sleeping Becky Blackbell.
For the first time in a very, very long time, Anya Forger felt alive.