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At some point, David had known that Star and Michael wouldn't be taking the last step.
He hadn’t stopped trying to convince them, though. The thought of losing either of them was too hard for him to just accept.
Star was beautiful, and lively—full of fire, and a testament to her name in every way.
Michael was equally beautiful—he was brilliant, and fascinated David in a way no one had in decades.
And now they were both going to die.
David couldn’t force them, not in this part of the process. He could kickstart the change with the first drink, but the final choice had to be theirs; and neither of them was going to make it.
There was one other way, though.
One way that they could live without taking the last step—that they could become human again.
He’d never so much as dared to even think about it, let alone suggest it to anyone else.
He certainly never imagined himself agreeing to help with it.
They could kill the head vampire.
They could kill Max.
Michael had brought his little brother, along with the two Rambo-wannabe kids from the comic store, to the hotel to talk.
David didn’t like the idea of the anti-vampire fanatics knowing where he and his brothers slept, but it was a risk they would have to be willing to take, because none of the Lost Boys could go where the sun might touch them.
After confirming the tween trio’s initial guess that Max was the vampire at the top—which David would admit to being impressed that they’d guessed it first try—and explaining why Lucy Emerson’s last dinner date had been such a fiasco, they’d worked out a plan.
Max was taking Lucy to dinner tonight, with pickup planned for sundown. All Sam and his friends had to do was stall them until it was dark enough that the Lost Boys could get from the hotel to the Emerson house. Michael would likely be sleeping until then, too, just in his room rather than at the hotel.
From there, it’d take all of them to kill Max.
Even just discussing it had made David nauseous. He could tell his brothers were feeling the same way.
There was always a sense of unease when it came to disobeying Max. They all knew what he could do to them—what he would do to them—if he even suspected they were capable of something like this.
This was disobedience on a whole other level. It was mutiny; it was treason.
When sleep was finally pulling too hard at the Lost Boys’ bodies for them to resist, the Emerson brothers and co. got ready to head back out to the car they’d borrowed from their mom.
Before Michael could get into the elevator, David quickly grabbed his arm, stopping him.
“Wait,” he said softly.
Michael looked at him, confused. “What is it?”
David looked over his shoulder to where Marko, Paul, and Dwayne were climbing up to their sleeping spots before looking back at Michael, sighing.
“Look, Michael,” he kept his voice low, even though he knew the other boys could easily hear him if they tried. “The thing about Max–“ He looked away. “He’s powerful. Really powerful. He can do things that we can’t. All of us—me, Marko, Dwayne, Paul—we’re tied to him. In a way that you and Star aren’t, because you haven’t completed the change yet. Us being there, it’s a risk. We’re more powerful than you, than Sam, and definitely more than his weirdo friends–“ Michael laughed softly at that.
“You have a better chance at stopping Max with us there. But,” David continued, “Max can make us do things if he wants. We can fight him, but it might not be enough. ”
Michael’s expression grew more concerned as David talked, and David rushed to try and reassure him.
“I don't want to hurt you, Michael. Or your brother. None of us do,” he gestured between himself and the other vampires deeper in the hotel. “We meant it when we said you were one of us now—that we wouldn’t let you come to any harm.”
“Then why are you telling me all this, David?” Michael asked.
“Because I want you to know what you’re getting into by trying to take down Max—everything you’re getting into,” David said, sincerity surprising even him.
“I just wanted to do it after the stake-happy toddlers were out of my home, lest they decide it’s not worth the risk and try to kill us here and now,” he added with a smirk.
Michael raised an eyebrow. “Did you really just say ‘lest?’ How old are you?” He laughed.
David rolled his eyes fondly before reaching up to brush his fingers against Michael’s jaw, then pushing him lightly toward the elevator. “Go on, Michael.”
David was pretty sure everything went to shit the moment they put a group of fourteen-year-olds in charge of the distraction.
By the time the Lost Boys—minus Star, who had grown too weak to leave the hotel—arrived at the Emerson house, the door was wide open, and David could already see a lamp lying on the ground and water dripping on the walls.
When they got to the threshold, Sam was helping one of his friends up and out from under a pile of books that had fallen from the shelf above him—probably from being knocked into the bookcase, if the boy’s groaning told them anything. A few feet away, Max stood with his hand around Michael’s throat, having seemingly already been forced to give up his good-guy-store-owner front. Lucy had backed herself into the wall separating the living room from the kitchen, hands covering her mouth in shock, fear, and confusion.
Michael must’ve been able to see the doorway from where he was struggling against Max’s grip, because he locked eyes with David, a quick understanding crossing his face when he saw the group stopped just outside.
“Come…in.” He choked, and the Lost Boys felt the house open up to them as they ran inside.
Max threw Michael into the coffee table, and it splintered under the force. He turned to face the vampires, and David caught the briefest flash of surprise in his expression before Dwayne, Marko, and Paul lunged at him.
David hurried to where Michael lay, shaking him gently until his eyes blinked back open. There was a bloody scratch across his cheek, and a small trail of blood trickling from his nose, but his eyes were clear and focused. After a second, he accepted David’s hand and pulled himself back to his feet.
The two of them turned just in time to see Max throw all three Lost Boys across the room. David couldn’t help but flinch as a decorative wicker basket folded under Paul’s weight, a painting fell from the wall after Marko’s shoulder dislodged it, and Dwaye collided painfully with the large speakers set up beneath a large stereo.
Max looked at them for a moment before straightening the cuffs of his sleeves and smoothing down the front of his jacket as he turned to face David and Michael.
“Now, I think we’ve had enough dramatics for the night, boys.”
Max looked at David for only a passing moment before turning to Michael, but the flash of eye contact was enough to send a knowing shiver down David’s spine.
They might’ve outnumbered him, but Max was still in control.
Max’s power was like a collar around David’s neck, their bond like a chain tethering him to the fence of Max’s every whim. An illusion of freedom that could be broken if David ever tried to leave.
Now, as he stood beside Michael, David could feel that collar tightening, the chain wrapping itself around Max’s hand as he prepared to reel him back in.
“David,” Max didn’t take his eyes off Michael, his voice and expression a perfect facade of calm, “Come here, please.”
David felt the words tugging at his body, trying to pull his feet forward. He swayed once, but gritted his teeth as he fought to stay still. Max frowned.
“David,” there was a biting edge to his voice now, the kind reserved for a parent attempting to deal with a petulant child in public. “Here. Now.”
The renewed force of the command yanked David off balance, and he stumbled forward, creating momentum he couldn’t stop. He moved stiffly to Max’s side, gaze angled toward the floor.
David could feel Michael’s eyes on him, but he couldn’t bring himself to look, ashamed by how easily he’d folded. He let himself glance at the other Lost Boys, though, who were looking at him as they shakily stood back up, allowing himself the smallest amount of comfort that came from those who knew the effect Max could have—those who’d felt his leash firsthand and seen the ramifications of tugging too hard against it.
He returned to staring at the ground. He could sense Max looking at him expectantly, could sense the satisfaction no doubt on his face, but he refused to look back. Rather than compel him again, though, Max simply grabbed David roughly by the jaw, fingernails digging grooves into his skin, and tugged his face toward him. David kept his eyes on the floor.
David felt Max’s grip tighten painfully at his defiance, and his lips twitched with the smallest flicker of a smirk.
“Look at me,” Max demanded, and David’s eyes moved on their own accord. There was a flicker of satisfaction in Max’s eyes when he looked into them.
“That’s better,” Max sighed, letting go of David’s face. “I’ve been too lenient with you boys.” He shook his head in disappointment. “You forget yourselves.”
David opened his mouth to argue, but Max forced it closed with a wave of his hand, not even looking at him.
“You forget who made you,” he continued, looking at the other three Lost Boys, who stood together nervously. “You forget that you,” he turned back to David and pointed at him, jabbing his finger against his chest, “belong to me.”
“You don’t own them, Max,” Michael finally spoke up, still standing where David had left him.
Max looked over at Michael, a self-assured smile on his face. “Don’t I?”
He cocked his head to the side, and Marko, Paul, and Dwayne all slammed back into the wall as if pushed. The three vampires slid to the ground as plaster dust fluttered around them.
David’s head whipped toward them, stomach plummeting, and Max’s hold seemed to snap for just a moment. But before he could check that his brothers were okay, David felt the leash tighten once more, stopping him in his tracks.
“Not so fast, my boy.” Max turned his attention back to David from Michael.
David glared at him silently.
Max scoffed, rolling his eyes. “I think it’s time that we stop with this little rebellion.” He gestured toward where Michael stood with a nod. “Grab Michael for me, would you?”
If David’s heart had still been beating, it might've stopped then and there at the pull of Max’s words and the understanding of every intention behind them.
Claws. Fangs. A final ultimatum. The threat of blood hanging over coercion dressed up as a choice; death disguised as living forever.
He clenched his fists, sharp nails digging into his palms, trying to breathe through the compulsion.
“No,” he said, hoping it didn’t sound as strained as it felt.
Max’s face darkened. “I said–”
“Max, don’t make me do this. Please.” David wondered if the embarrassment of resorting to begging, of the way his voice shook, could be enough to satisfy Max. If he could take David’s pride instead of taking his will.
Max’s eyebrows rose at the sound of David pleading with him—as if he’d expected some resistance, just not in this way.
For a moment, it looked like he might’ve been considering it.
But then he shook his head, a decision clearly reached.
“I’ve let you get away with too many things over the years, David. You need a reminder of who’s in charge.”
He waved his hand, and a sudden jolt of pain caught David off guard, breaking his focus and creating the moment of weakness Max needed to repeat his instructions.
David was behind Michael before anyone had the chance to react, one arm wrapped around his chest, pulling him close, while the other found its way to his hair, forcing his head to the side and exposing his throat.
He could feel Michael’s heartbeat racing underneath his arm. Could hear his fear in a way he hadn't heard his own in almost a hundred years.
“Michael!”
At the edge of his peripheral vision, David could see Sam and the comic store twerps leaning out from where they’d been crouched behind the couch. The mini camo-wearing weirdos were holding tightly to Sam’s arms, keeping him from relinquishing their hiding spot for Michael’s sake.
So maybe they weren’t entirely useless.
Michael struggled against him, and David’s grip tightened on its own, his nails on one hand poking through the sleeves of Michael’s sweater, while his nails on the other pressed into his scalp. He could feel the points of his fangs against the inside of his lips.
“You see what I mean, Lucy?” Max asked, turning to where Lucy stood, her back to the wall, eyes wide as she watched everything unfolding in front of her. “This is what happens when you let teenagers do as they please with no rules or consequences,” he gestured around the ruined space, to the three prone vampires by the far wall, the decorations broken and strewn about the room, the children pretending to be brave while cowering behind the furniture, and the ageless boy holding her eldest son hostage.
“It could be perfect, Lucy,” Max continued. “Your boys clearly need a father figure in their lives, and mine need a motherly touch. We’d be such a happy family, I knew it from the moment I met you.”
“Yeah, real great, you psycho! We’d be the undead Brady Bunch,” Sam yelled again from behind the couch.
David had to admire the kid’s spirit.
Lucy didn’t respond, and when David risked a quick look in her direction, he found her looking back at him, something indecipherable on her face. He wondered if she’d forgive him if Max made him kill Michael; if he had no choice, and his claws swiped on their own, or his fangs dragged his mouth downward. He hoped not. He’d never forgive himself.
He looked away first.
Max held his hand out to Lucy, open and inviting. “Join me, Lucy. Don’t fight this; I promise it’s better if you don’t fight.”
Lucy looked from Max’s outstretched hand to Sam—face painted and dressed up in thrifted combat clothing—then to Michael—with paling skin and dark circles under his eyes—then to the claws digging threateningly into Michael’s skin.
“Mom,” Michael shook his head as much as he could in David’s grip, “Mom don’t do this. You can’t.”
Lucy smiled at him sadly. David wanted to be sick.
“I promised you and your brother that I’d keep you safe. That I’d protect you with my life.”
Michael shook his head again. “This isn’t safety. Just look at them!” He tried to gesture toward where the Lost Boys were finally stirring. “Look at me. Look at what Max is doing right now.”
Lucy’s gaze followed Michael’s voice, first looking at the Lost Boys—who had started to push themselves into sitting positions, reaching for one another, for the physical reassurance that they all were still okay—then moving back to Michael, to the unnaturally still hands keeping him in place, and continuing up until she was no longer looking at her son, but rather at David—who let her make eye contact for a moment before forcing his eyes downward, staring at the ground like a man condemned, unable to do anything except wait for this to be over, in whatever way that meant.
Lucy looked back at Max, at his easy, confident smile, and at the hand seemingly offering her everything she was missing.
“Mom…” Michael tried again.
“I would do anything for you boys,” Lucy said softly, placing her hand in Max’s. David watched Max’s smile grow wider in victory as he pulled Lucy closer. Sam and his friends were shouting now, too, but Lucy was focused only on Max.
“And that includes raising you myself,” she finished, expression morphing into one of angry determination, as she suddenly reared back, something sharp and wooden in her hand, and, with as much force as she could muster, drove it straight into the center of his chest.
Max looked down at what David could now see was a wooden crucifix sticking out of his chest, then back up at Lucy, eyes wide in disbelief as his body started to smoke.
Somewhere, deep in his chest, David felt something starting to crack; in the back of his mind, he felt the presence that had been there since he’d taken his last real breath starting to dissolve.
There was a scream, and a flash. David could feel Michael’s gasp against his chest.
And the crucifix clattered to the ground among the ashes that had just been Max.
Lucy brushed her hair out of her face, breathing heavily. She stared at the pile of ashes for a moment, then kicked it, her heel dragging through it and spreading it across the floor.
“Asshole.” She muttered.
David stared at the mess, then his own hands.
Which were still restraining Michael.
With a stuttering breath, David pulled away as fast as he could, stumbling backward and shoving Michael forward; he wasn’t sure whether he meant to get Michael away from him or himself away from Michael.
Either way, there was nothing stopping him now. Max’s bond was gone. The words that moved his body without his input were finally silent. The collar that always seemed to be choking him, the chain that kept him tethered no matter how far he went—it was all gone.
“Holy crap, Ms. Emerson…” The taller of the comic store brothers broke the silence as the youngest three in the room emerged fully from behind the couch, faces full of awe, “That was wild!”
Lucy laughed, sounding a little breathless, and it felt like the room had taken a breath again. Sam crossed the room in seconds, crashing into his mom and hugging her as tightly as he seemed capable of. Michael approached the two of them tentatively, stopping a few inches away before Lucy opened her arms and Michael rushed into the hug, shoulders hunched as he buried his face into the curve of her shoulder and neck.
David forced his eyes away from the scene, looking back down at his hands. The tips of his nails were tinged with red from where he hadn’t even realized they’d broken the skin underneath Michael’s sleeve.
The metallic smell hit him at the same time as the realization.
He’d almost killed Michael.
In front of his mom and brother.
It would’ve been Max’s wishes. Max’s words.
But his hands would’ve been the ones covered in Michael’s blood.
Hands that were now trembling without the weight of Max’s control holding them steady.
Hands that wouldn’t have to move without his say-so ever again.
There were too many emotions happening at once.
The sick feeling that came every time Max used their bond to force David’s complicity.
The relief, like he’d never known, that came from the absence of Max’s voice in his head—privacy where there used to be surveillance.
An emptiness he hadn’t anticipated, that came from the loss of his creator, and the frustration that part of him even cared about that loss.
His body felt heavier, suddenly drained, and David’s legs buckled slightly, and his arms reached behind him, searching for something to catch himself on, but there was nothing, and he went crashing to the ground.
The other Lost Boys were at his side immediately, any bruises from their collision with the wall already fading.
Marko and Paul put a hand on each of his shoulders, while Dwaye laid one on his leg, patting it gently. None of them said anything—they simply let David silently inspect each of them, looking for signs of hurt. They’d never needed words to communicate with one another; they all knew what David was feeling—the destabilizing mixture of excitement and unexpected, unwanted grief.
The Emerson family and the tween nerds went quiet as they stood several feet away, looking over to see what had happened.
At the sight of David on the floor, Michael pulled away from his family and took a few steps forward before crouching to be at eye level with him.
David didn’t meet his gaze, though. Instead, he looked toward the sleeve of Michael’s sweater, where he knew his hand had been, and felt his stomach twist at the sight of five small bloodstains.
He must’ve made a face, because Michael looked down, twisting the fabric around so he could see better what David was looking at.
“I’m sorry,” David said, his voice rough. He could feel the other Lost Boys go still at the words; it wasn’t often that he offered an apology—and even when he did, it almost never sounded the way it just had.
Michael let go of his sleeve, looking back at David. When he spoke, his voice was quiet and reassuring. “It’s not your fault.”
“It was, though,” David replied, looking down at the dried blood on his nails—Irrefutably Michael’s.
“It wasn’t, though,” Michael refuted. “It was Max using you. You warned me it was something he could do.”
“Wait,” Sam interrupted from behind him, “you knew that there was a chance that Max might turn all of the vampires against us? And you still let them in?”
David grimaced, and Michael huffed, “Sam–”
Sam didn’t respond, but David could see him behind Michael, furiously discussing something with his friends, the two of whom looked much less phased by the revelation than Sam did.
David brought his focus back to Michael, who was still looking at him, expression serious, but not upset.
“It wasn’t you, David. I know you didn’t have a choice.”
David’s gaze drifted over Michael’s shoulder until it once again found Lucy. He expected anger, or fear—anything that would’ve been reasonable when looking at the creature that had, minutes ago, been one command away from tearing open her son’s throat.
Instead, he found sad eyes and lips pressed together tightly in a sympathetic expression.
That was worse.
“You know what was you though?” Michael continued.
When David shook his head, Michael leaned forward, reaching for one of the hands David had braced against the ground.
David lifted it before he could touch it, pulling it close to his chest, nails tucked toward his palm so they weren’t anywhere near Michael’s skin. It was still shaking, and David saw Michael’s eyebrows furrow at the sight, but he kept reaching, slowly, until David couldn’t pull it back any further. Warm fingers brushed against the skin of his wrist before wrapping fully around—the grip gentle, not tight and controlling like he was used to.
Michael carefully pried David’s fingers out from their curled positions, then guided his hand up to his neck.
David tensed as his cold fingers met Michael’s warm skin, and he could suddenly feel the blood rushing beneath the surface. There was a strong, steady thump against his fingertips.
A pulse.
A heartbeat.
One that was normal—alive.
Michael was human again.
Which meant that back in the hotel, Star was human again too.
David concentrated his hearing and found the heartbeats around the room: Sam, Lucy, comic store kid, comic store kid’s brother, Michael.
Silence from his own heart, and from the other Lost Boys, but in his mind, David could feel their bonds still there, still present and grounding. He reached further back, searching for any concrete trace of Max, but there was nothing left.
Eventually, David’s hands would stop shaking; eventually, he wouldn’t hear the faint echo of Max’s voice; eventually, the sun would begin to approach the horizon, and the Lost Boys’ internal clocks would tell them it was time to leave, to return home before night turned to day.
But right now, the Lost Boys were free, the Emerson family was whole again, and Michael’s heart beat steadily beneath David’s touch.