My heart pounded in my chest as the footsteps echo slowly dawned on my groggy mind. It felt like I was drifting through an endless void, untethered and afloat in the vast expanse of unconsciousness. With a tremendous effort, I began to register the sensation of a steady, rhythmic rocking motion, the gait of a person walking at a brisk pace.
I tried desperately to blink my eyes open, but my eyelids felt as heavy as lead, refusing to cooperate. It was as if an invisible force had glued them shut, trapping me in the inky darkness of my own mind. A wave of frustration washed over me as I strained against the sluggish, unresponsive limbs that felt miles away from my body.
Each minuscule movement required an immense amount of concentration and willpower as if I were fighting against a thick, viscous fog that threatened to submerge me once again into the depths of oblivion. I could feel the strong, firm grip of muscular arms wrapped around my back and underneath my knees, carrying me with unwavering ease. The warmth emanating from his body seeped into my skin, chasing away the cold that had settled in my bones.
As much as I fought against it, the call of unconsciousness grew louder, more insistent. It whispered promises of peace and respite from the confusion and turmoil swirling in my mind. Overwhelmed and exhausted, I finally surrendered to the enticing allure of the abyss, my eyelids fluttering shut.
The last thing I registered before the darkness claimed me once more was the faint, masculine scent of the person holding me, a smell that somehow seemed vaguely familiar. And with that realization, I drifted off into a deep, dreamless sleep.
⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅
The next time I woke up, it was fully and I found myself lying in a bed I've never been before, it took me a full moment to realized I wasn't in the hospital anymore but in a bedroom I couldn't recognize.
I blinked away the remnants of sleep, my vision gradually sharpening as I took in the unfamiliar surroundings. The room was dimly lit, a soft grey light filtering through the closed curtains, hinting at the early morning hour. I lay there for a few moments, my mind still foggy, trying to make sense of my new surroundings.
The bedsheets beneath me were soft and smooth, not the coarse, itchy hospital linens I had grown accustomed to. The room had a minimalistic and modern aesthetic but was bare of any personal feelings, making me assume it was most probably a guest room. My whole body was achy but I didn't pay much mind to it since I was used to it, for now something else was much more pressing.
What the fuck am I doing here ?
The last thing I remembered was being carried by a man after passing out so obviously my suicide attempt didn't work. I sighed heavily, nothing ever seemed to go my way even when I was trying to end it all.
It's not my time to get a second chance, not after everything…
I wanted to scream out of frustration but ain't no use dwelling on it now. I was awake, and I was alive. So I'd deal with the consequences, like I always fucking did. But damn it, I wasn't ready to wake up like this, to a world that didn't want me in it. I wasn't ready at all.
As I swallowed hard, a sharp, agonizing pain lanced through my raw, parched throat. I choked and sputtered, one small hand flying to my neck in a futile attempt to ease the burning ache. My mouth felt like the Sahara desert - sandpaper dry and grotesquely thirsty. My eyes stung like a bitch, I've never felt this before. I pushed through my body weakness to leave the bed, desperate for anything to relieve my thirst, I looked around, only finding one door, most likely leading outside.
Crazy enough, I was missing my hospital room already, my bathroom was always close by and I felt out of place without my plushies around.
I've always been a creature of habit.
I stumbled towards the door, exhaling a sigh of relief as it swung open without resistance. Looks like my mysterious abductor hadn't intended to keep me imprisoned, not that I had a clue why he brought me here in the first place.
I stepped out into a dimly lit hallway, noticing the two other closed doors looming before me on either side. The modern minimalistic theme continued even here, white pristine while walls and polished hardwood flooring. My heart pounded as I crept forward before pausing before the open doorway leading into a living room, peeking in cautiously.
The whole place was dark, despite the sun being already up, heavy curtains hanging from the floor-to-ceiling glass windows banishing the sunlight as if it wasn't welcome here. Strangely, it felt comforting despite the whole unfamiliarity of the situation making me feel way out of depth, well I never liked brightly lit places anyway.
I stepped further into the room, my footsteps muffled by the plush rug that anchored the seating area. The sparse furnishings, all sleek lines and dark leather, seemed to float in the low light, and were completed by the largest and thinnest TV screen I've ever seen. The first sign of life I was finally spotting in this freakishly organized place was the burning fireplace which was the only source of light and bathed the room in warm amber glow. The simplicity of the room was broken only by the stark, angular lines of a few well-placed filled bookshelves and framed paintings hanging on the walls.
My attention barely lingered on them though, because my gaze settled on the open-space kitchen, reminding me of my parched throat. I felt my feet carry me forward, propelled by a desperate urgency.
Reaching the kitchen sink, I wrenched open the tap with trembling hands. I held my cupped palms under the stream, watching as the cool, clear water cascaded over my skin. I gulped the liquid down greedily, heedless of the rivulets running down my chin and splattering onto the immaculate counter.
I let out a muffled "Ugh..." as my belly sloshed uncomfortably with nothing but water, threatening to churn and revolt. I gulped greedily, throat burning for relief, but the icy liquid did little more than splash around in my hollow gut. I slumped on the heated floor, feeling more parched and miserable than before I'd guzzled all that water.
What the fuck is happening ?
Was it a sore throat ? It didn't feel the same though…
"Water is not what you're craving for." A deep voice spoke from behind me, startling and making me turn around.
I scrambled back until my back hit the counter behind me. As my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I could make out the imposing silhouette, tall and broad-shouldered. But as the figure stepped closer, I gasped, my eyes widening in disbelief.
"Dr. Vasiliev ?"
He was the head cardiologist at the hospital who had been working there long before I even arrived. In the few times we'd crossed paths for my routine check-ups, I couldn't help but feel simultaneously intrigued and intimidated by him. It was a sensation I'd never experienced before, not even in the presence of Adams.
There was just something about Dr. Vasiliev that set him apart, an aura of aloofness that made him seem to exist on a plane above everyone else. His piercing gaze could see right through you, making even the most confident individuals feel small and insignificant. I swear, I've seen even the most talkative nurses clam up in his presence, their usual chatter replaced by a heavy, almost reverent silence.
I heard he wasn't present often in the hospital because of his extremely busy schedule— he was highly demanded in others and also teached in big universities— you'd be even lucky to cross him in a hallway, yet here he was, standing right in front of me, wearing nothing but a button shirt and slacks and holding a glass of amber liquid, which was probably whiskey.
He knocked back his drink, exposing the thick swell of his Adam's apple as he swallowed it down before he set the empty tumbler down on a wooden console table with a clear sound. His blue-almost-gray eyes flicked back to me through silver rimmed glasses, slightly tilting his head like I was something interesting to be studied. Looking back, it wasn't the first time he was looking at me like this, he did every time I was brought to be checked on, his gaze cold and clinical, like ice on my skin.
"You woke up much earlier than I thought." His words were casual, as if anything was normal about this whole ridiculous situation.
His words reminded me I wasn't supposed to wake up at all, I was supposed to bleed out in my hospital room so what the fuck am I doing here ?
"Why am I here ?" I asked, realizing that this expensive looking home was definitely his.
"I found you, quite the gruesome scene I may say."
I shuddered, the grim memories still fresh in my mind. I had lost myself, utterly consumed by a savage, primal rage. The room had grown hazy, the metallic tang of blood thick in the air and pooling under the lifeless body between my legs. I hadn't been able to stop, even as I felt the hot sticks of crimson painting my own skin. Each plunge of the blade had sent a twisted surge of power and liberation coursing through my veins.
I can still feel it slowly drying on my hands and under my nails, even now. The way his life had seeped away with each stab, his eyes glazing over in terrified disbelief... it had felt so right. No, I don't regret a single cut, not one damn moment of it. How could I, when it had set something darkness within me free ? That power, that raw, intoxicating control... I craved it still.
I winced as my teeth ached, a flood of saliva suddenly pooling in my mouth. My confused expression deepened as I shook my head, trying to clear the fog of thought. My body has been acting wonky as fuck since I woke up— well, another weird symptoms to add to my ever-growing list. That's Chronic illness for you— so I tried to ignore it to focus on Vasiliev instead.
"Are you going to report me ?"
My heart pounded in my chest as he drew closer, his imposing form moving with the silent, deadly grace of a panther stalking its prey. I could see his hand casually tucked inside his slacks' left pocket as if nothing about this situation fazed him. I couldn't blame him, I couldn't imagine being the slightest threat to him even if I had my blade back with me. Trapped against the counter, I willed my slight frame to merge with the unyielding surface behind me, praying it could absorb me entirely.
The fear that gripped me was primal, instinctive - the same terror a mouse must feel when a snake infiltrates its burrow. Yet, even as my body screamed at me to flee, to bolt for the door and never look back, I found myself paralyzed. Frozen not merely by the man's physical proximity, but by the cruel irony of my situation: had I escaped one predator only to myself in the hold of another ?
My breath hitched in my throat as he loomed over me, head tilted slightly to the side like a curious bird of prey eyeing an injured sparrow. I could feel the heat of his presence, the electric tingle of danger that crackled through the scant distance between us.
"Would you be here if I planned to ?" He finally asked.
"I don't know… I don't know what you're planning."
The corner of his lips slid up as he shook his head slowly.
"That was a rhetorical question, so no, I wasn't planning to report you."
Oh…
It must be just my imagination but I was feeling like he was trying to be indulgent with me, I wasn't great at social cues so it was hard for me to make out people's tone, especially from someone as unexpressive as Dr. Vasiliev.
"Oh… So why…?"
"How about you stand up first ? I can't imagine the floor is very comfortable."
I stayed there gaping at his outstretched hand, my brain struggling to process the bizarre situation I found myself in. After what felt like an eternity, he gave an impatient wiggle of his fingers, snapping me out of my stupor. I hesitantly placed my hand in his, feeling the warmth and strength of his grip as he easily hauled me to my feet.
I swayed slightly once upright, looking up at him with wide, disbelieving eyes. Fuck, that was... intense. And weird. Like, really fucking weird. More words exchanged in one go than... than ever before. I couldn't help but feel a flicker of unease, wondering just what the hell I'd gotten myself into this time.
He led me towards the couch, gesturing me to sit before settling himself on the armchair across from me. I was grateful for the distance between us because right now I was too overwhelmed to handle more contact than necessary.
"You killed Adams." He said, his tone more a statement than a question, yet filled so much indifference it was hard to believe he was talking about someone's death.
Seeing no point in denying it, the way he must have found me was incriminating enough anyway, I nodded as I lowered my gaze as if it would shield me from the judgement I expected from him.
"I imagine you want to know why—"
"I already know why."
I snapped my head up, my eyebrows raising in surprise. How ? Did he see everything happen ? Is that why he managed to save me before it was too late ? My confusion must be obvious on my face because he chuckled lowly as he swung a leg over the other and rested his elbow on the armrest, then his stubbled jaw on his closed fist.
"Which brings us back to why you are here. You must feel really thirsty right ? There is a hunger inside you that has nothing to do with food, or as you have seen earlier, water." He said as he regarded me with a knowing, penetrating gaze.
I was stunned for a moment since it was the first time I was seeing him smile, let alone laugh before I slowly nodded as I eyed him warily, it was odd that he knew exactly how I was feeling. He was a doctor, so maybe it made sense that he was so knowledgeable about whatever was going on.
"I turned you, Freya."
Awkward silence hung heavy between us, stretching on interminably until the realization dawned on me that he had no intention of volunteering any further details.
Was it always this challenging to extract information from this man ? His taciturn nature grated on my nerves.
"What do you mean 'turned' ?" I blurted out, unable to mask the confusion etched across my face. I caught a subtle flicker of Dr. Vasiliev's eyebrow, a micro-expression that spoke volumes of his growing exasperation with my apparent obtuseness.
"God, I forgot how staggeringly clueless humans could be…" he muttered under his breath, his tone dripping with barely concealed contempt. He heaved a heavy sigh, as if the weight of explaining the most rudimentary concepts to an intellectually challenged individual rested heavily upon his broad shoulders.
"Seriously ? You're telling me you didn't clock the glaringly obvious hints I've been dropping like breadcrumbs ?" he scoffed, his voice rising in volume as he flung his hands up in a dramatic flourish worthy of an overwrought thespian. "A vampire," he enunciated each syllable as if speaking to a particularly dimwitted child. "As in, a creature of the night that subsists solely on the lifeblood of mortal beings. Really, are you utterly devoid of imagination ?" His eyes narrowed as he fixed me with a piercing stare, as if attempting to discern whether confusion was the result of genuine Low IQ or simply a lack of exposure to the supernatural realm.
Perhaps it was the fact that my brain was too overloaded with information that all survival instinct left me, I bursted out laughing before slapping my hand on my mouth to stop myself way too late.
"Oh, excuse me— It's just— I didn't know you were capable of joking, Doctor." I said, unable to stifle my giggles between words.
He stared at me, completely unimpressed by my reaction before rubbing a hand down on his face with another heavy sigh. Wow, two in the span of 5 minutes, it was the most expressive I had ever seen him be, the nurses back at the hospital would never believe me.
And vampires, seriously ? That had to be a joke right ? Despite the way he had said so seriously, and the fact he really didn't look like the type to crack one. They were nothing more than mythical creatures that existed in horror movies and crappy romance books.
Yet there he was, Dr. Vasiliev, peering at me with a look of patient expectancy, his steely gaze piercing through my skepticism as if to say, "Go ahead, laugh it off. I'll wait." Oh crap, he was dead serious, wasn't he? I could feel my bravado evaporating like a mist in sunlight, and I definitely didn't want to test the limits of this bizarre situation any further.
"Um... So you said you... turned me into a vampire ?" I tentatively echoed, trying to steer the train wreck of a conversation back on its dismal tracks.
"Yes, that's what I just said." He drawled like he was growing increasingly bored with our conversation. "I found you on the brink of death, so I made you drink my blood."
My jaw dropped as I registered the conversation, he saved me. He found me dying and fucking saved me ?
"Why ?" I asked aggravatedly, suddenly it only came upon me now to check my wrist where I had sliced my vein yet when I glanced down, I was barely believing it was already healed, only leaving a scar despite it having happened mere hours ago.
Okay, this is getting scary…
If this were a dream, it would have to be the strangest dream I've ever experienced. To confirm my reality, I pinched my cheek hard, wincing at the sharp pain, but it was a futile gesture; nothing changed.
"Why did you do that ? I— this was my own decision, I did it to myself." I should have been gone by now, on a peaceful eternal rest or whatever, not having this weird existential crisis about vampires potentially existing with a man I had never hoped to hold a conversation with up until now.
"Did you now ? Well, it seemed like a shame, you're so young, ending your life over a worthless existence like Elliot would be such a waste." He shrugged as he stood, walking over to me again.
He was talking as if things were so simple, as if everything I went through was nothing to him. Well, how could he know ? But that didn't stop irritation from bubbling inside me, my eyebrows furrowed as I snapped.
"Who the hell are you to stand there and judge my life ?"
My slender hands clenched into trembling fists on my lap. Tears of rage and anguish welled up in my eyes, but I blinked them back furiously.
"I don't give a damn about your altruistic bullshit. You didn't live a day in my shoes, so don't presume to tell me how to end this misery !" My chest heaved with emotion, but my gaze remained locked onto the taller man, refusing to yield or back down.
This was my existence, my story, and I had chosen the way to write the final chapter, not some ignorant stranger.
"I won't let you take that choice from me. So don't you dare tell me I'm throwing my life away. I'm the only one who can say when I've had enough. Not you. Not anyone."
I exhaled deeply, feeling the tension melt from my shoulders like ice under the sun. It was as if a dam had burst inside me, unleashing a flood of pent-up emotions I hadn't even known I harbored. My throat still felt parched as when I woke up, and exhaustion clung to me like a second skin, but there was a strange sense of relief too.
I glanced up at Dr. Vasiliev, my heart pounding in my chest as I braced myself for his reaction. The man was an imposing figure, his tall stature and stern demeanor enough to make even the most outspoken person think twice before raising their voice. I saw the corners of his lips tilt into a satisfied smirk, and I couldn't help but inhale sharply.
"Seems like I chose well, after all." he remarked, his deep voice resonating through the room as he strode towards me with purposeful steps.
My heart raced, torn between the primal urge to bolt the inexplicable pull deep within me that insisted I didn't have to fear Vasiliev. I watched intently, my eyes wide with conflicting emotions, as he crouched before me, positioning himself at eye level, a gesture that felt both disarming and intimate.
"You're right, I don't have the right to tell you what to do with your life." He admitted easily. "But understand this: what has happened cannot be undone—"
"You don't get to simply act as you please and expect me to accept it—" I began to retort, my voice laced with frustration, but he raised a hand to silence me.
"Let me finish." He paused, his gaze locking onto mine, until we had a silent agreement that he had my attention before he continued. "You have a new chance at life, you will be free to go wherever you want, do whatever you want and no more sickness. You can take it or you can walk right outside and let the sun finish you off into dust." He said the last part while waving towards the heavy-curtained windows shielding us from the daylight.
"You seem to be able to walk around just fine during the day." I asked, raising a skeptical brow despite it being completely besides the point of the very important conversation we were having.
"The older you get, the more immunity you gain towards the sun. For now, you are akin to a newborn baby, trust me you will not survive a second out there."
"How old are—"
"Freya, focus." He said with an exasperated tone. "Do you take the chance or not ?"
"Prove me you're not bullshitting me right now."
"My, my, such a crude mouth."
Vasiliev gave me a wide grin that looked more like he was baring his teeth at me, his pale blond locks falling away from his face as he slightly tipped back his head. I took a sharp intake of breath as I saw the pair or sharp gleaming canines— or more accurately, fangs.
"I think you and I know very well I don't need such formalities, yes ?"
Oh god, I think I need to lay down for a minute.
Vampires were real.
Vampires. Were. Real.
Vampires existed, Dr. Vasiliev was one of them and he just said he turned me into one.
I only realized I was on the verge of hyperventilating when I felt Vasiliev's massive, calloused hand gently cupping my cheek. The warmth of his palm seeped into my chilled skin, slowly pulling me back from the brink of oblivion.
"Hey, kukla, focus on me." Vasiliev's deep voice softened to a tender rumble. Somehow, despite my crippling aversion to eye contact, I found myself drawn into his intense gaze. There was a gentleness there, a quiet strength that both terrified and comforted me.
What was it about this man that made me want to cast aside my hard-earned independence, to surrender myself into his keeping when I'd vowed never to trust again ?
Against my better judgment, I felt my head turning of its own accord, my cheek pressing into the rough, weathered skin of his palm. I craved his touch like a man lost at sea craves land, drowning in the depths of a longing I couldn't begin to understand.
I couldn't fathom the inexplicable pull that kept me tethered to him, the invisible string that wound around my heart and tugged me closer with every passing second. I should have been running, putting as much distance between us as possible. Instead, I found myself leaning in, desperate to hold onto the fragile spark of life he'd reignited within me.
"I'm thirsty…" I croaked, hastily pulling myself away to hide whatever the fuck just happened. "Am I supposed to drink blood ? Like I have to hunt humans now ?"
That prospect didn't sound very appealing, just thinking about it made my stomach churn, considering I was still struggling to come to terms with the fact that I wasn't the human I used to be 12 hours ago.
"That's far too early for you, fledglings— or baby vampires, if you will— must only feed on their Sire until they've fully matured," Vasiliev explained, his voice steady yet tinged with a hint of exasperation.
"Sire? Why ?" I asked, curiosity piqued.
Vasiliev raised a pointed brow, probably thinking I was asking too many questions. He sighed, though the answer came nonetheless. "When a vampire transforms a human, they 'sire' them, creating a bond that signifies the mentor-mentee relationship. In short, I am your Sire."
"So like a Vampire Daddy." I couldn't help but say teasingly.
Vasiliev's expression shifted, as if he had just bitten into a particularly sour piece of fruit
"Let us stick to Sire— No, actually, just call me Mikhail." He said as he pinched the bridge of his nose.
Mikhail, I mouthed, tasting the name on my tongue.
It struck me with startling clarity that, despite having been aware of Mikhail's presence throughout my entire time in the hospital, I was only now learning his first name. Mikhail had a magnetic charm; he was immensely popular, yet those who admired him seemed to know precious little about the man himself beyond his impressive accomplishments. The accolades surrounding him cast a formidable shadow, obscuring the deeper facets of his character that lay hidden beneath the surface.
"As to why, fledgling are unable to control their instincts, you might feel bloodlust all the time, if not monitored and you end up drinking human blood so early, you could become addicted and go feral like a beast that have lost all shreds left of humanity. Feral fledglings kill mindlessly any human they meet and are never satiated no matter how much they drink."
Oh wow… yeah I totally don't want to become that.
"We absolutely cannot let this happen or else the precarious balance between humans and us would shatter, I'm sure I don't need to tell you how catastrophic it would be if the public found out Vampires exist ?"
I shook my head resolutely. For sure, I could imagine the panic it would create knowing there were blood-drinking creatures living among humans.
But that meant…
"So… I have to drink from you now ?"
Gathering from the common knowledge I had about vampires, the vision of myself plunging my fangs Mikhail's neck made a shudder hit me like a freight train and my cheeks burn, my eyes finding themselves straying on the pale skin peeking out under his shirt collar. My heartbeat quickened, a staccato rhythm I felt like I could hear pounding in my ears.
I swallowed hard, my teeth were aching again but this time I knew why.
I want to bite him.
It was terrifying how quickly this newfound hunger was consuming me, an all-encompassing desire to sink my teeth into his tender flesh and drink my fill
"Oh ?" Mikhail's rich, amused laugh snapped me out of my blood-hungry haze, his deep baritone voice sending a shiver down my spine. His eyes, sparkling with mirth and a hint of something darker, seemed to pierce right through me. I realized with mortification that he had most definitely caught me ogling him like he was a full-course meal laid out before a starving man.
"You want to bite me."
I looked away despite being too late to hide it, pursing my lips sulkily.
Passing my tongue on my upper row of teeth, I felt them being as blunt as ever. I don't know what I actually expected, perhaps my canines grow longer and sharper or worse falling out, but I don't know how I was supposed to feed like this.
"Your fangs won't grow overnight." Mikhail informed me, seriously making me I was that easy to read or he could hear my thoughts.
"So how am I supposed to…?
"I can practically hear the gears turning in that clever mind of yours." Mikhail chuckled softly, the sound rumbling in his broad chest. He raised one perfectly sculpted eyebrow, drawing my hesitant gaze to his long, elegant fingers as he extended one pale index finger.
Were his nails always this long and pointy ?
My breath caught in my throat as I watched, transfixed, while Mikhail slowly dragged the razor-sharp tip of his nail across the creamy skin of his opposite wrist. A thin, red line welled up instantly, blood welling and dripping down his alabaster forearm with languid motion.
I flinched involuntarily at the sight, my stomach churning with a sudden surge of nerves and something else... hunger? Mikhail's eyes met mine, the hunger and dark promise in his gaze sending a shiver down my spine. I couldn't look away from the mesmerizing sight of his blood. My mouth watered traitorously and I had to swallow hard against the sudden urge to lick it up.
Get ahold of yourself ! I mentally snapped, forcing my gaze back to Mikhail's face.
He smiled then, a knowing smirk that told me he could see every reaction playing out across my face. "Like this," Mikhail replied to my previous question, holding his bleeding wrist out to me in offering.
"Drink." He commanded gently.
Oh, god I wanted to.
The hunger surged through me, a primal force I couldn't begin to control. The idea of sinking my teeth into warm, pulsing flesh... it was both sickening and irresistible. I felt my mind splitting in two, one side reviled the thought, the other ached for it with every fiber of my being.
How ironic, all of my life, courtesy of my cancer, blood running through my very own veins was the cause of my suffering, like it was actively trying to kill me. And now I had to rely on drinking it to live ?
"I don't think—"
"You do not have a choice, Freya. You think you're feeling awful right now ? Trust me, it doesn't compare to real bloodlust."
I worrying gnawed at my bottom lip, watching each crimson droplet splatter haphazardly onto the threadbare carpet. A waste, a sacrilege, a pang of hunger I could no longer suppress. My frame trembled, hands balling into fists at my sides.
I was tired of denying and repressing myself, I felt like that's all I ever did my whole life : acting strong so I wouldn't worry my parents (even if that ended up not being enough), letting Adams have his way with me, being the complacent little patient when all I ever wanted was to leave that hospital and live a normal life.
I wanted to follow my desires for once, nothing mattered anymore.
"Is this really okay…?" I asked nonetheless.
Since Mikhail was a vampire, I must assume the blood he wanted to give me wasn't totally his.
"Hm," He hummed in assent. "I just fed, there is plenty enough for you."
Resisting the urge to ask from who he fed, staring at the glistening crimson beads slowly rolling down his wrist. My tongue darted out, wetting my pink lips in anticipation. Mikhail watched me intently, his blue eyes gleaming with a mix of patience and curiosity.
Hesitating for a final, fleeting moment, I closed my lips around the bleeding gash. The first taste of his blood exploded across my tongue, and I had to stifle a soft moan. The flavor was rich, warm, and intoxicating - unlike anything I had ever experienced. It was ambrosia, nectar, and pure, unadulterated power all rolled into one.
My body stiffened as a bolt of primal sensation electrified my spine, every nerve ending flaring to life. The world sharpened into vivid focus - Mikhail's steady, rhythmic breaths echoing in my ears; the metallic tang of blood overwhelming my senses; the languid thrum of his heartbeat, maddeningly slow yet hypnotically alluring. Even the distant crackle of the fireplace snapped into audibility. My usual aversion to intimacy evaporated, melted away by the insistently clamoring hunger as I grasped Mikhail's muscular forearm, tugging it inexorably closer. Each greedy pull sent more of that vital liquid surging into my mouth, painting my lips and chin with telltale streaks. My eyes fluttered shut as I lost myself in the euphoria of quenching my long-dry thirst.
Mikhail's voice drifted to my ears distantly. "There now, wasn't that easier than you thought, little one ?" His words dripped with a patronizing sweetness, like honey laced with venom.
I tried to form a witty retort, but my tongue felt leaden, clumsy. All I could manage was a soft, throaty groan of contentment.
The more I drank, the more my mind began to haze over. Colors blurred at the edges, sounds muted and dampened. It was like being submerged beneath the surface of a tranquil lake, the world above indistinct and distorted, as I stopped to suck and licked at the wound, sated but unwilling to part with the taste. I could feel it starting to close, the flesh knitting back together beneath my greedy lips.
I couldn't comprehend my earlier hesitation. This feeling, this biting, toe-curling, spine-tingling rapture - it was as if I'd finally found a piece of myself I never knew was missing.
I felt...settled. Grounded. A deep, abiding sense of belonging that I'd never experienced before.
"Alright, easy now." Mikhail's, now cold, hand grasped my jaw as he gently steered me away from his arm.
I tried to resist but my drunken sluggishness inhibited my movement, making me as malleable as putty under his touch.
"Easy now, kukla." Mikhail chuckled as he leaned my head back, his large hand cradling my cheek. "Tsk, how messy." Mikhail clicked his tongue disapprovingly, his large thumb brushing over my blood-stained lower lip, smearing the crimson essence.
I giggled at the annoyance on his face, because I was just feeling so wonderful and giddy. I've never felt so relaxed and floaty in my whole life, I felt like I could run for miles and take on the world. If this is what being a vampire was like, maybe this wasn't so bad after all.
"I guess it does feel like that, at first." Mikhail replied, making me realize I had talked out loud.
I watched him absently as he used the white sleeve of his shirt to wipe me clean and I must be really out of it, because I could see… fondness in Mikhail's gaze.
"Now, you should go back to resting, the changes in your body will require a lot of strength." Mikhail stood up before leaning down to slide one arm under my knees and the other across my back.
I yelped, clutching at his shirt as he effortlessly lifted me into his strong embrace. The change of position was disorienting as an amusement ride, making me burst into another fit of giggles once I was being safely carried in his arms.
"I'm so dizzy…" I mumbled muffledly from where I buried my face in his chest. The scent of his cologne and something uniquely him filled my nostrils, a comforting aroma that helped settle the spinning in my head.
"It will pass soon." He replied as his steady steps rocked me, making me peer up at him with hazy eyes.
It never crossed my mind before but I could see it this time : he was a vision of ethereal beauty with slicked back platinum blonde hair and those piercing oceanic eyes that seemed to hold the secrets of the vast deep. He could have stepped straight out of a renaissance painting of an angel. However, deep inside me I knew he was anything but, those skilled, surgeon's hands that could save lives... had also taken so many. Not just the occasional surgical mishap, but countless souls sucked away in cold blood. I wondered how many people he had killed to be this unfazed by the death of his own colleague.
Despite the lingering dread of my new reality, I felt my eyelids grow impossibly heavy. The world around me began to blur and fade, replaced by the soothing embrace of unconsciousness.
My breathing slowed, and the constant racing thoughts that had plagued me since my rebirth began to quiet. The gentle rise and fall of my new sire's chest, and the soft, steady sound of his heartbeat lulled me into a false sense of security.
In the safety and warmth of that moment, I let go of the fear, the anger, and the confusion. I surrendered myself to the pull of sleep, secure in the knowledge that for now, at least, I was protected.
⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅
The living room was cloaked in a weird stillness, broken only by the scattered laughs and chirpy dialogues from the sitcom playing on the TV. The screen's flickering glow was the only light in the room, barely illuminating the corners that seemed to fold into themselves. I hadn't even bothered to light the fireplace; the once warm embers were now just cold reminders of a fire that had long faded. Instead, I was sprawled on the couch, ensconced in a massive blanket that felt like it had become my second skin. Honestly, it felt like I hadn't moved from this spot in ages—maybe it was days, or maybe weeks; time had become a blurry concept.
My eyes were half-closed, staring blankly at the screen, but I wasn't really watching. My mind was a hazy fog, swirling with thoughts that just wouldn't settle. I tried to engage with the laughter pouring out of the TV, but it felt distant, almost like it was happening in someone else's living room. The weight of my throat—the dull ache that was always there—was an unwelcome distraction, reminding me that I wasn't okay. Each swallow felt like swallowing shards of glass.
I had lost track of how many days had passed since Mikhail brought me here, but it felt like I was caught in some sort of endless loop. I'd developed a strange aversion to sunlight, making me avoid it like a gremlin. Each time the curtains would accidentally let the bright rays spill into the room, I could feel my eyelids growing heavy, dragging me into a sleep that felt more like a coma than reprieve. When night fell, and I finally woke again, it was as if no time had passed at all. I still felt that same hollow ache in my chest, that same sense of dread, as if I were stuck between the hospital and this place, unable to escape either one.
"I told you we'd be together forever, Freya." A voice drew next to me.
I glanced to the side, taking in Adams' usual overconfident form sprawled across the couch, the same shirt he wore the day I... the day it happened. Blood-soaked, speckles of red still clinging to the fabric and his pale skin.
The first time I saw his ghostly reflection, I ended up curled up on the freezing bathroom tiles, heart pounding in my ears as a panic attack gripped me. His smirk, even then, had been cruel and mocking as he stared at me through the foggy mirror. I could still feel the icy chill of the porcelain on my skin, the way it stole my breath away.
He never truly left after that, my unwanted shadow. I'd see him in every room, lying in wait like a creeper. Beside me in bed when I found enough strength to drag myself there at sunrise, his icy presence seeping into my bones. And now, here he was again, keeping me company until Mikhail returned from his shift. I shuddered, pulling my knees to my chest, feeling so unbearably small.
"Go away." I mumbled as I stared at the TV, refusing to acknowledge his presence more than I had to.
"Why ? Can't bear to look at what you have done ?"
I sat there, mute, not because Adams' words rang entirely true, but because the feeling that had gripped me while ending his life left me unnerved. That euphoria, that rush of power and exhilaration, it terrified me to my core. Strong emotions have never been my forte, each one a volatile beast threatening to consume what little control I cling to. And feeding... I've denied that primal urge ever since that fateful first taste, since I lost myself to the crimson haze and flooded my senses with the coppery warmth… it came with vulnerability I couldn't afford myself, even here. Mikhail didn't press the issue, perhaps waiting for me to make the first move. But I'm resolute, even as the hunger gnaws at me, I'll resist. I'm not meant to walk among the living, am I ?
Thanks to my senses, which seemed to be sharpening by the day, I startled at the unmistakable sound of the front door clicking shut, his footsteps echoing through the quiet house as he made his way inside. Even though Mikhail had brought me here himself, It made me feel a little like an intruder again. I found myself staring nervously in Adams' direction, as if fearing he might barge in on us and catch us in... whatever this was.
But Adams was already gone, vanished from sight. I was left staring blankly at the flickering TV screen, my eyes unseeing and my mind elsewhere. I felt like the ghost now as Mikhail didn't even spare me a glance as he headed straight for the kitchen and moved around behind me, the clinking of glass and the distinct pop of a bottle being opened drawing my focus to him. I didn't need to see it to know he was pouring himself a generous glass of his favorite whiskey.
It had been a month since I'd arrived here, and while I still didn't claim to understand Mikhail any better than when we'd first met, I had come to learn one crucial thing about him - his unyielding devotion to routine. In my current fragile mental state, desperate for any semblance of stability, I had found myself latching onto his patterned existence. Each night, I ticked off the steps in my mind, a mental checklist of his evening rituals. Tonight was no different; whiskey at 8:07 PM, followed by the news at 8:10 on the dot.
I sat there, shoulders hunched inside the blanket, as Mikhail settled onto the couch, as far away from me as physically possible. The TV flickered as he changed the channel with no regard as to whether I had been watching or not, casting dancing shadows across his chiseled face, a face that remained stubbornly unreadable. I kept my gaze trained forward, feeling the weight of his silence, the unspoken tension stretching between us. This dance of avoidance had become all too familiar, a game I didn't know how to stop. I bit my lip, hard enough to hurt but I couldn't bleed, not anymore, and tried to focus on the droning voice of the news anchor.
When it proved itself unsuccessful, my mind happily shifted back to Mikhail. I couldn't help but watch him as he brought his glass to his lips, taking a slow sip of his drink. In the dim light of the room, I found myself captivated by his sharp cheekbones and his chiseled jawline. There was something undeniably intriguing about him that set him apart from anyone I had ever encountered. Sure, I didn't have a huge pool of people to compare him to, but it wasn't just the fact that he was a vampire that made him so different. There was a depth in his blue gaze and a certain confidence in his demeanor that drew me in, making it hard to look away. He had features that made it obvious he wasn't American, like that strong Roman nose and that pale hair that almost appeared white. He had a mature face, but not a wrinkle in sight, making me guess he must've died around his late thirties.
"You should dress more appropriately. We're going out tonight."
My eyes widen when Mikhail suddenly broke the silence as he stood once the news came to an end. I followed him with my gaze as he went to put away his glass.
"Out ?" I echoed, the word slipping from my lips with a mix of disbelief and confusion.
Honestly, I had completely forgotten that the outside world even existed, back when I was still in the hospital, the prospect of stepping outside had felt like a distant dream, one that slipped further away each day I spent within the sterile walls of the ward. Sure, Mikhail had never actually told me I couldn't go outside but it was obvious why I couldn't go out during the day and at night, it didn't really cross my mind when I had everything I could possibly need inside the house. Mikhail had extensive collection of books I could dive in whenever I wanted, I could finally watch TV and binge every series known to mankind. As I sat in the clothes he lent me— A hoodie and flannel pants I needed to fold several times so I wouldn't drown in them—the thought of stepping out into the great unknown sent a wave of anxiety creeping in. I mean, what do people even do outside ?
"Yeah, you heard me right. Out." he declared as he started removing his cufflinks. "You can't just stay cooped up in here forever. With those instincts of yours getting sharper by the day, it's time to get used to being around actual humans. You should be a real part of society, not just someone who's memorized lines from TV shows or dusted off some old books."
Part of society ? I snorted at his suggestion. Seriously, it sounded just like Ms. Kelly back in therapy, pushing me to be more social as if I weren't stuck in a hospital with the same four walls day in and day out. It felt so absurd—like stepping out and mingling with people was as easy as flipping a switch. Being outside meant being alive and I didn't want to be alive.
The sound made him look at me with a raised brow, unimpressed by my attitude.
His velvety, yet stern voice sent a shiver down my spine. "I'm not asking you to socialize, Freya. Let's be real—I don't have that kind of faith in you. We're just going…" He paused as if choosing his words carefully. "...people watching."
Without waiting for me to say a word, Mikhail vanished down the hallway, making it pretty clear he wasn't open to any debate on the matter. I shot a glare at his retreating figure, feeling a mix of irritation and determination bubbling up inside me. Shoving my blanket aside with a huff, I scrambled off the couch, my knees shaky from being in the same spot for too long. But I wasn't going to let him get too far ahead; I was fueled by a stubborn need to catch up to his ridiculously long legs.
"Mikhail !" I called out, just as he reached the stairs. He sighed audibly as he paused, looking back at me with a raised brow.
I couldn't help but wonder what was up there. I knew he often retreated upstairs during the night, but the whole place was still a mystery. Based on the layout of the first floor, I was betting his bedroom was up there somewhere. It struck me as strange, though—I had no clue when he actually found time to sleep. I knew he had a busy work schedule, meaning he was always gone during the day, unlike me, who practically hibernated every morning. Maybe being a centuries-old creature meant he needed less shuteye than your average person. It was a strange thought, but then again, I was still figuring out the whole vampire thing.
"I can't go out," I said, trying to keep my voice steady, even though my insides felt like a tangled mess. I forced myself to hold his gaze, hoping to project some semblance of confidence.
He tilted his head slightly, and for just a moment, I caught a glimpse of his pale neck but then his longer hair fell back into place, covering it up again. It was a little distracting, honestly. My thoughts swirled as I was reminded of how long it had been since I'd fed. The burn in my throat was becoming more of a tortured reminder, a constant scratch that wouldn't back down.
"Why not ?" he asked, his brow furrowing in genuine curiosity.
"Ugh, I—" I stammered, feeling the weight of my own tangled emotions. I wanted to spill it all out, to explain that going outside meant facing everything I was trying to escape from, that the world hadn't stopped after what I had done. The idea of people seeing me, in my monstrosity, was just too much. Instead I replied. "...I don't think I'll be able to control myself."
Mikhail's gaze softened as he looked at me, the intensity in his eyes easing just a bit.
"I'll keep an eye on you at all times," he said, resting his palm gently on top of my head. The casual gesture was supposed to be comforting, but it somehow felt heavy. "But it would be a whole lot easier if you fed before we left."
I stiffened, pulling away with a sharp inhale, shaking my head defiantly.
"No… I can't—"
Mikhail relinquished his touch, his hand clenching into a tight fist. He shut his eyes for a moment, clearly frustrated, then turned back to me with a serious tone.
"To learn how to control yourself, you need to get used to being around them. I didn't turn you just so you could be a ghost haunting my house."
A bitter thought crossed my mind—I wasn't the only one haunting this house. I bit my tongue, not daring to voice it. I could almost feel Adams lurking in the background, relishing the turmoil I was in.
"I never asked to—"
"You never asked to be born either, yet here we are, Freya !"
His voice rose, a rare burst of anger that made me flinch. I hadn't heard him raise his voice like that before, and my reaction seemed to catch him off guard; he froze, then let out a deep sigh, the tension in his shoulders deflating.
"Go change, please."
I watched him, my heart racing, as he ascended the staircase, each step echoing in my mind like a taunt. Biting the inside of my cheek to suppress the torrent of emotions threatening to spill over, I forced myself to turn away and walked towards my room, the weight of inevitability heavy on my shoulders.
"You see ? He hates you. Only I can love you, despite how unbearable you are," Adams' voice slithered after me, dripping with condescension.
I quickened my pace, almost desperate to distance myself from his suffocating presence, and slammed the door behind me with a finality that rang hollow in the silence.
I stood there for a moment, body tense and mind racing. I began to divest myself of clothes, casting them aside in a careless trail leading to my dresser.
"Beautiful…" The word echoed in my mind, a hollow imitation of Adams' praise that usually accompanied his weight on top of me, pressing down not just physically but emotionally. I squeezed the robe tighter around my body, the fabric almost feeling like armor against the world outside my door.
"Shut up, shut up, shut up," I recited like a desperate mantra as I made my way to the bathroom across the hall, each footstep punctuated with the urgency of my thoughts.
He didn't mean those words; I was painfully aware of that. It was all part of his twisted need to justify his actions, a delusion I could see through clearly. How could someone like me ever be beautiful? Even in my transformed state, I felt more grotesque than ever. As I glanced in the bathroom mirror, reality hit me hard—my lips were chapped, and my brown skin was ashy, desperately in need of moisture. The dark bruises under my eyes seemed like permanent reminders of sleepless nights, no amount of sleep appearing to lift the weight they carried.
Oh, but at least I had missing teeth now, oh joy. My canines had fallen out just a week into my stay here, and Mikhail, with his detached calmness, assured me they would eventually grow back as fangs. It was a transformation I had never asked for, yet now it marked me in ways I hadn't anticipated.
I was supposed to go out and show myself to the world like this ?
With a heavy sigh, I hung the bathrobe on the hooks behind the door before I trudged to the shower booth.
"You should try the tub again, maybe it will work this time and you will finally join me."
He was talking about that time I nearly took a dive into the water I'd drawn for a bath I never ended up taking. In my panic, I thought that maybe drowning would be the way out. Spoiler alert: it didn't work. All I walked away with was the weird realization that vampires don't need to breathe. Surprisingly, that little shock was just enough to yank me back to reality.
At that moment, I figured the only real way to end this miserable life of mine would be to step out into the sun. But let's be real—I'd probably pass out before even making it out the door.
I closed my eyes and focused on the sound of the water around me, willing it to drown out Adams' voice. I decided I'd go along with whatever Mikhail wanted, not because I was eager but more like I had run out of energy to fight it. I mean, I'd already hit rock bottom; it was hard to imagine things getting worse.
After the shower, though, I surprised myself. I actually felt a little bit refreshed as I slipped back into my bathrobe and headed to my room. But as soon as I stepped inside, I froze—I found the door wide open, and there was Mikhail, casually dropping shopping bags onto the floor like he owned the place.
Well, I guess he actually does.
It was like he had a sixth sense for my presence; he noticed me right away, as if I had bells on my ankles or something. There was this awkward pause long enough for him to realize I wasn't about to say anything, and that's when he finally broke the silence :
"I had some free time today," he said, his deep voice breaking through the tension, "so I took the liberty of getting you some new clothes."
Ah…
I can't help but feel a mix of surprise and gratitude amidst the turmoil swirling within me, but I simply nod, not trusting myself to speak just yet.
"Thank you." I mumbled as I approached the bags, crouching to have a closer look.
The bags were packed to the brim with cozy clothes, all strikingly similar to what I usually wear—think silk pajamas, oversized hoodies, breezy cotton shorts, nightgowns... Wait what ? I fished around in one of the bags and pulled out a striking pale pink satin dress adorned with delicate white lace trim. Just from the feel of the fabric, I could tell it must have cost a pretty penny.
Suddenly, I heard a sharp intake of breath from above. I looked up to see Mikhail, his lips slightly parted and brows furrowed in surprise for a split second. But, true to form, he quickly composed himself, slipping back into his usual cool and collected demeanor.
Honestly, all these clothes screamed my style, right down to my obsession with all things pink.
"How do you know what I like to wear?" I couldn't help but blurt out, genuinely surprised. I mean, with how monochrome his wardrobe was, I never would have guessed he had any interest in feminine fashion at all.
He tilted his head slightly, almost as if he were pondering how much to tell me.
"The bond we share allows the Sire to glimpse the fledgling's last memories before death," he explained. "I just based my choices on that. So I'm afraid the… options might be rather limited."
That clicked. It made sense why there was only loungewear; I'd been wearing pajamas back then.
But honestly, that was better than him guessing my style out of thin air. There were certain fabrics that made me want to gag, like linen or—God forbid—denim. Just picturing the feel of those materials against my skin sent shivers down my spine.
Wait a minute. That also meant he'd seen everything that went down with Adams. He saw him—
Sudden nausea rolled through my stomach like a wave, and I had to press the back of my hand over my mouth to contain it.
That explained why he never asked about what happened, why he seemed unfazed by the fact that I had killed Adams. Everything was in black and white right in front of him.
It was downright mortifying to think he had witnessed me in such a pathetic, vulnerable moment. How could he not be disgusted by the whole mess I was ? I would have preferred if he just thought of me as a cold-blooded killer instead.
"Something's wrong ?" he asked, picking up on my visceral reaction.
"I need to dress," I said hastily, just as he started to crouch down to meet my gaze.
"Oh." He froze as he seemed to just register that I was wrapped in nothing but my bathrobe.
Clearing his throat, he looked a little awkward. "Right. I'll wait for you in the living room."
With that, he stepped back, giving me some much-needed space. I took a deep breath, trying to shake off my discomfort. Once the door clicked shut behind Mikhail, I finally felt the tension in my body ease up. It was as if a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. I turned my attention back to the bags scattered around the room, rummaging through them until I pulled out a cozy white hoodie and some cream-colored joggers.
Now, where did I put those kitchen scissors ? I had developed this little ritual of keeping them nearby to cut off the tags from borrowed clothes—and now, the one I was about to wear was no exception. Seriously, I can't stand the feeling of those tags; they scratch and itch like there's no tomorrow, and they drive me crazy. I just couldn't concentrate on anything until I got rid of them.
After a couple of minutes of searching, I finally found the scissors tucked away in a drawer. With a few snips, the tags were off, and I could finally slip into my new getup. I dressed quickly, feeling the soft fabric against my skin, and then I set about tidying things up a bit. I shoved the bags into the dresser, planning to sort everything out later.
I quietly slipped out of the bedroom, the soft creak of the door barely audible in the hush of the night. As I made my way down the dimly lit hallway, I paused at the entrance to the living room, as I caught sight of Mikhail standing in front of the fireplace.
His voice was low and smooth, almost a whisper, yet it held an unmistakable authority. "Yes, we will be there soon," he said, the edge of impatience threading through his tone as he spoke into the phone.
The quietness of his conversation made me hesitate in the shadows. Was I even supposed to hear ? My heart raced slightly as I continued to listen.
"Yes, that would be preferable if it was empty… Don't be difficult, I will make it up to you."
So he was this condescending with everyone, huh ?
As usual, it didn't take him long to notice me. He glanced up from his phone, tucking it into his pocket with a casual flick of his wrist.
"Ready to head out ?" he asked, and I nodded.
"Wonderful," he replied flatly— he really was more, deadpan than even me— before striding toward the front door. I kept close behind, following the sound of his keys jingling in his hand.
The moment I stepped outside, the crisp night air enveloped me. It felt refreshing, almost electric, brushing against my skin after being cooped up indoors. I inhaled deeply, savoring the coolness as it filled my lungs before letting go in a slow sigh. For a second, I forgot all about my thirst; the rush of freedom and the thrill of the night overshadowed everything else.
As I stood there, taking it all in, I realized how long I had craved this simple pleasure—admiring the delightful view of the uptown neighborhood that I had only ever glimpsed through the bay windows. The street lights flickered warmly against the darkening sky, casting gentle glows that danced over the houses and trees. It was everything I had imagined and more, and I couldn't help but smile, feeling a surge of excitement.
If I had died that, I would have never experienced this, it dawned on me.
The sound of Mikhail's sleek gunmetal car turning on startled me out of my reverie. He looked at me, then nodded towards the passenger door—a silent order.
I sighed quietly, my train of thought broken. The door opened with a click. Inside, it was cool and dim, a contrast to the sun. I settled into the leather seats, surrounded by the scent of polish and Mikhail. The silence here was different, thick with expectation. I turned to him, waiting for him to speak and break the tension that always seemed to surround him.
"Is there something in particular you'd like to do ?" His deep voice cut through the silence, throwing me for a loop. I froze. My mind was a mess of confusion, but suddenly, it went blank.
I opened my mouth, wanting to say something, anything, but nothing came out. My throat tightened up; I was totally speechless. It wasn't that I didn't want to answer; I just couldn't. I had no idea what to say. His question felt huge, like a massive space, and I was standing there with nothing to fill it.
What do I want to do ? It was a simple question, but it hit hard. I hadn't thought about it, or maybe I'd just ignored it. Now that he asked, it felt like I was hearing it in a language I didn't understand. Things I might have wanted before seemed far away and fuzzy. I tried to find something inside me, some kind of desire or wish, but I just felt empty. The silence dragged on, with only my heart pounding in my ears, beating like crazy.
"That is also fine if you cannot think of anything. We can figure it out as we go." A touch of gentleness softened his typically even voice, which eased my shoulders and quelled the unreasonable, bothersome anxiety I felt disappointing him.
"I've never really thought about that much…" I said sheepishly, not knowing why I needed to explain myself to him.
Mikhail simply hummed in response, already focusing on getting us going. He turned the ignition, and the engine started up smoothly, humming quietly. A gentle vibration ran through the vehicle as he lit up the dashboard and shifted gears with a soft click.
Well, here we go, I guess.