In My Veins

[Aleksandra (DELETED 8627)]

Wearing

Running her fingers through her dark hair, Aleksandra rested her elbows on the railing of her balcony, her gaze cutting across the dimly lit parking lot of her apartment complex. That feeling of unease crept along her spine like cold fingers, until it was nearly choking her as it secured itself around her throat. She couldn’t shake the sensation that something was out there, and it was watching her, biding its time - but for what, she hadn’t a clue. “Snap out of it, it’s just the wind,” she whispered, her voice like silk as she scrubbed her hand over her face.

It had been the same for days. Every sound, every rustle of clothing or twitch of a shadow, and her mind conjured up thoughts of demons in the dark. It was her father’s fault, his gravelly voice playing over and over in her mind, regaling her with the horror stories he had found online. ‘Another girl went missing, Ally. They found her washed up in Coastside with her throat ripped out. Isn’t that just a few blocks from you?’ Ever since he had told her of the girl, she hadn’t been able to get her face out of her mind - a face that she had never encountered.

In her mind, the woman looked like her.
Brown hair.
Heart-shaped face.
Eyes of the brightest blue.

“No one is going to kill you, that’s insane,” she insisted in that same quiet voice as she pushed herself from the flimsy railing to run her hands down the front of her jeans. The moon hung high in the sky, bathing the abandoned street with a sort of ethereal glow that brought a smile to her unpainted lips. It was times like this that she missed the nights in Australia, where the moon would sparkle off the crest of a wave, instead of the dinged metal of a Toyota. Pressing her fingers to her lower lip, she closed her eyes and inhaled, taking in the scent of diesel and cigarettes before exhaling, the motion meant to expel the fear from her soul.

It didn’t work.

Even as she grabbed her bag from the ground and tossed the worn strap over her shoulder, she couldn’t shake the feeling that someone followed her every movement. Each breath, each twitch of her fingers and annoyed roll of her eyes - something was out there, following her. Lurking. “Oh, for crying out loud.” With that final, exasperated curse, she took the steps two at a time until she reached the landing, her heels crunching into the gravel as she made her way across the empty lot. Her heart pounded in her chest, the sound like music to her ears as she passed her car, the poorly cared for volkswagen sitting unused in its slot.

It was missing a wheel, the hood was bent at a rather odd angle, and the windshield was shattered. It was, she knew, completely beyond repair - but she couldn’t part with it. As she passed, she ran her fingers along a scuff mark and chuckled as the black paint chipped beneath her gentle touch. A ode to my life if there ever was one, she thought grimly as she hurried to the sidewalk. With only ten minutes to get to work - on a twenty minute commute by foot - she was already running late. She couldn’t afford to waste another second contemplating how far her life had really fallen. She put on a brave face for her father, but in the end - she was drowning.

There wasn’t enough money to her name to pay what needed to be paid. Her bank account was in the negatives, and she had back rent due - plus the electric bill. The very thought of it all had her suffocating, and this time, it wasn’t out of fear of the unknown that lingered in the shadows. It was a very real fear - a fear that if she didn’t make it to work on time, she was going to be fired, and then she would be on the streets. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. She wasn’t supposed to be fighting tooth and nail to survive. She had a plan, she always had a plan.

Move to Canada. Check.
Go to school. Check.
Become a chef. Nope.

Never in that plan was she to work day and night at a rundown diner, where she was hit on more often than paid, and where her very sanity was taken from her. Two assault charges, and a threat to a man’s safety by threatening him with grease when he grabbed her ***, and she had more bills to pay than she had cash to her name. She wore the same two outfits, and she only had one pair of good heels to her name. She, also, hadn’t cooked a real meal in weeks. Instead, she lived off the grease soaked fries and foul tasting burgers the diner served.

This wasn’t her passion.
This wasn’t her life.

Shaking her head, she tightened her hold on her bag as she rounded the corner, her eyes closing for a moment. It was too easy to give in to the desperation that clouded her mind, to drop to her knees and stop fighting. The impulse was strong, but she didn’t. Instead, she kept putting one foot in front of the other and forced her unpainted lips to curve into that joyful, bright smile that portrayed happiness she didn’t feel. Her smile said she was in control, despite the fact she was screaming inside. I can do this. I can do this, I have no choice.

Repeating that mantra, she held up her hand to wave thanks as a car came to stop, allowing her to cross the street. As it pulled away behind her, she began to run through her mental checklist of things to do, when she felt something shift beneath her. Before she had a chance to blink, the sewer lid was slid back, and a pale set of fingers shot from the darkness, their gruesome nails tearing through the fabric of her jeans as they grabbed for her. Too stunned to fight, she could only scream as her world flipped upside down and she was dragged into the dark.

[Blaize]

[Wearing]

There were still a few things Blaize had to finish up at the studio; he needed to hire an instructor, and it had to be someone good. Someone professional. Someone who would do the studio proud, and who would help to produce quality dancers. Someone who would do him proud.

Not only that, but he had to spend some time on the phone, contacting ‘reps’, letting the dealers know that he had a new set-up, that he could sell larger quantities and different varieties of the drugs that he'd previously peddled. He didn’t ever take them himself – thankfully, given they’d no longer work if he did – but it had been an easy and flexible way to make money on the side. The hours that he practiced, he needed a job that paid well but didn’t take up too much time. The only jobs available for that kind of income were illegal ones. And he would do anything for his career – provided he didn’t get caught.

His hair was a mess when the smell drifted through the front door. He hadn’t even been there long, an hour, maybe two. But he was already stressed, like he’d been studying for days. The scent, however, was distracting. Mouthwatering, even though he knew it was food that he could no longer eat.

Deciding to take a break, Blaize slipped out the front door of the studio. Ahead, on the quad, were tends, and rows of tables. It was some kind of culinary event, something organised by the University, obviously. He meandered closer, his hands in his pockets; he was about to head back to the studio when he saw her. There was something about her heart-shaped face, the flush of it as she worked, the pure joy that he saw there. This was her element. This was her passion. It was obvious. His feet carried him, closer, until he could overhead the conversation. She had an accent. What was it? New Zealand…? No… Australian. He caught bits and pieces about her life; he heard someone call her Aleksa. He heard her talk about the café where she worked. Subconsciously he’d meandered closer still, until it was insisted that he try the food. It didn’t matter how much he tried to decline – she seemed insulted that he would – so he gave in. Surely it would take a while for him to react to it. He could get away. Besides, it smelled so ******* good, how could he not?

Except, of course, he was wrong. The food had only to travel halfway down before he was bringing it back up again. The meal wasn’t even finished before he was hunched over a nearby trashcan, throwing up his guts. It was embarrassing, and he didn’t wait around. He didn’t even apologise – he just made a run for it, right back to the studio where he cleaned himself up.

It was only later that he realised he should go and apologise. Why? He didn’t know. It wasn’t really something he’d think of doing, except there was just something about her. When he went back, however, she was gone, and the tents were being packed up.

_______________________________

The next night, Blaize made it his mission to find the café where Aleksa worked. He would go in, and he would apologise. He would avoid any insistence that he eat, or drink. He would apologise, and he would leave again. Simple as that. A quick google told him where to go. And twenty minutes later he was rounding the corner in his second-hand Skoda Sedan to find a park – and there she was. About to cross the road. He watched her, staring, wondering if she could see through the windscreen. But the headlights were bright, and she probably didn’t notice. Maybe she didn’t remember.

Blaize parked the car and got out, about to follow her into her workplace. He turned around in time to see her being pulled mercilessly into the sewers, her scream piercing his ears. He dropped his keys as he bolted toward the sewer grate. The miscreant who’d done the job hadn’t even bothered to pull it closed. And why would they, when they had a meal to consume?

He didn’t even look before he dropped into the darkness, feet lithely finding the grime of the sewer floor, body absorbing the shock like that of a cat. His breath caught in his throat as he waited for his sight to adjust. Time was of the essence. Already, he could be too late.

[Aleksandra (DELETED 8627)]

As the darkness closed in around her, she knew that she was going to die. If, by some miracle, she survived the fall, she knew there wasn’t a way in hell that the creature watching her descent would let her leave unscathed. The knowledge didn’t stop her from clawing fruitlessly at the damp stone, however, as she fought to find the purchase that would stall her ultimate demise. With nothing but mold beneath her nails for her effort, she met the ground with a jarring force, her teeth slamming together as pain shot through her skull and crept up her spine like lightning. Over the ringing in her ears, she heard the maniacal laughter of her attacker, the sound chilling.

Turning her head to the side, she coughed up a mouthful of blood as she pressed her palm to the stone, her dazed mind fighting to piece the puzzle together. Somehow, she had survived, though in what state, she couldn’t say. There wasn’t a single inch of her that didn’t hurt, and for a second, she thought about laying there until she could collect her breath. It was the skittering of feet echoing off the walls that told her how bad of an idea that would be, and she tried to force herself to sit up. The moment she did, her vision blurred, and she could distantly make out the slender shape of someone in front of her, before it disappeared. “W-What do you want?”

The question was whispered, and as she traced her tongue over her teeth, she cringed. Laughter was her only answer, and as she lifted herself to her knees, she wondered if she hadn’t imagined the whole thing. There was no way that she was pulled into the sewers - she must have fallen in on her own. The second the relief filled her, it was quickly vanquished, when two slender hands gripped her shoulders and lifted her to her feet. There was a growl against her ear, the sound all animal, before she was yanked further into the dark. Pain made her nauseous, and as the adrenaline began to ebb, she felt nothing but pure fear as she was shoved against the damp wall.

“Shh, shh. Pretty,” a voice snarled next to her ear, causing her hair to tickle her skin before her head was snapped back. White hot pain blinded her as fangs pierced her skin, her scream cut off by a cold hand clamping over her mouth. Knees weakening, she tried to fight against the hold, but was like a mouse running from an owl. There was no way she could pry herself from the solid force that pinned her to the wall, and even if she could - she knew nothing of the sewer system. There would be no way she could escape before they were on her. It didn’t stop her from trying, though, her bloodied hands clawing at the cloth of their shirt as her tears soaked her skin.

[Blaize]

Blaize had never felt more like a predator, though he wasn’t hunting prey. He was position with one knee on the ground, tips of his fingers splayed against the grime of the sewer floor as he balanced himself upon landing. Pupils widened in the low light, breath stilled and head twitched to the side. It was almost as if he could feel his ears swivelling, trying to find the slightest sound.

And there it was. A scream, cut off. Sound echoed in the sewer system, but Blaize went with his gut instinct. It had come from the left. He darted into the tunnel and around a bend, hoping that he wasn’t too late. Hoping that he would have the ability to chase off the attacker, and not get killed himself. He’d have some explaining to do later, maybe. It depended. She might not remember, given the power of a vampire’s bite. He could call an ambulance, tell them she’d just fallen into a sewer grate that someone had stupidly left open.

What he witnessed was a feral animal tearing into an innocent woman’s throat. Blaize snarled – a sound he never knew he was capable of, nor had he ever had reason to use – and launching himself forward. He grabbed the other vampire around the middle, using momentum and weight to shove him off, to push him away. Blaize landed on top of the attacker, the momentum taking him to the ground, too. The vampire beneath him was wild, and retaliated with violent frenzy. Blood soaked the vampire’s lips, and was spilled over his chin. It disgusted Blaize. Blaize, who’d been too preoccupied with his career to ever really lift a violent finger to anyone – but something awoke within him.

With superior strength he grabbed the vampire by the lapels of its tattered shirt and lifted, before slamming the body back into the hard ground. Not just once, but twice. Three times. Four, five. Over and over, with greater strength each time, the vampire’s head cracking over and over against the cement. Blood bled into the cracks and the water. Eventually the vampire stopped struggling. The skull had cracked, the brain was damaged. Wild eyes rolled back into the creatures head. Blaize stood, but he didn’t stop. He’d let go of the monster only to kick. With feet that were accustomed to grace and delicacy, he kicked and stomped until the body disintegrated into ash. He huffed at the mess, slightly addled, wondering…

But then he remembered why. The violence was for a reason. How late was he? Was it beyond repair?

He went to Aleksa’s side; he held a hand out to her forehead, wanting to press a palm to it, though instead it just hovered while his gaze swept her body, assessing, trying to figure out what he needed to do next.

[Aleksandra]

Feeling the threadbare cotton tear beneath her violent grasp, she pressed harder into their chest, her blunt nails scratching into whatever skin she could find. Deep in the crevices of her mind, chained behind a heavy lock with no key, she knew that there was no point in her fight. The creature that held her against the damp wall possessed the strength of a thousand men, and no matter how hard she fought to gain freedom from their grasp, they only held her tighter. With the warmth of her blood coating the quickly paling skin of her throat, she finally began to relax her fingers. The wildfire of pain that had consumed her only seconds ago had begun to dim with each breath. As cold fingers dug into her shoulders, bruising the once flawless flesh, her head fell back, cracked skull connecting with a quiet thud.

This is how I’m going to die.
I shouldn’t have lied to daddy.

Her thoughts were sluggish as the animal – she could no longer think of them as anything else – continued to feast, their fangs ripping at her skin with savage, quiet growls that vibrated at her ear. It was an awful sound, one that if she were to survive this ordeal, would haunt her for the rest of her life. It wasn’t the glow of their eyes, the feel of their savage claws as they scratched at her or the smell of decaying flesh and freshly formed mold. No, it was the horrific sounds of her blood pulling from her veins, their tongue lapping hungrily at every last drop, and the starving snarls that would be what she took with her to her grave. If anyone were to ever find me, she thought dimly before her lashes began to flutter, eyes fighting to stay open, even as she knew her time was fast approaching.

Releasing her hold on their shirt, her arms fell limp to her sides before she was suddenly collapsing. Her knees cracked against the sewer floor, the left over water soaking into her jeans as she fell forward. She had no strength to stop her descent, and instead, she simply crashed on her side. Narrowing her tired eyes, she tried to make out the shapes in the dark, but all she could make out was the faintest hint of gold amidst the shadows. After a moment, she closed her eyes and allowed the sounds of grunts and bones snapping to lull her into what she prayed were her final moments. If she couldn’t survive the first creature, there wasn’t a way in hell she could make it through a round with the newest.

Unfortunately, as most things managed to work in her life, she didn’t get that chance.

As the sounds of the attack finally died down, she could feel the other approach. It was something she couldn’t explain, a metaphysical pull that allowed her to know it wasn’t the same creature as before. Everything about their mere presence was different, and as she could feel the hesitation as it held its hand above her, as if afraid to touch her. “P-pl-please don’t…” Her words were hoarse, each one pained and wet as she coughed, blood spraying from cracked lips. If she were to die, she wanted to die in peace, alone in the darkness that embraced her like a long lost lover. She didn’t want to die at the hands of this creature, his own covered in the blood from his victory against the savage beast.

Of course, she didn’t want to die at all.

[Blaize]

Blaize didn’t watch movies or television shows but even he had seen enough to know that Aleksandra was on her last legs. Or maybe it had nothing to do with popular fiction and what it chose to show its audience, as true to life as it could get. Perhaps when confronted with death, a person was instinctively aware of how close it was – as if he could see that reaper with his scythe in the wings, waiting for his time. Or maybe it had nothing to do with the instinct people were born with. Blaize was a vampire. Beyond Aleksandra’s breathing and the steady drip of sewer water he could hear her heart. It was struggling. She’d lost too much blood – and she was still losing it, the vibrant red life-giving liquid oozing from the wound at her neck, too torn to properly heal.

”… I just wanted to come and apologise…” he said. He said it to buy himself time. He said it because he had no idea what else to say. She’d pleaded don’t and he didn’t know what she meant. Don’t touch her? What else was he supposed to do? He couldn’t just leave her here to die in the gross stench of the sewers.

”I’m not going to hurt you, okay?” he said, more certain of his words this time. The truth was ingrained in them, weighing them down. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her any more than she was already hurt. But he couldn’t help her, either. He had no ability to magically heal the wounds of others. But then…

… he remembered the night of his own turning. He remembered his own bone as it protruded from skin, a break so severe he would never dance again if left to traditional medicine. Lyonel had promised to fix him, and with a good, healthy meal of Lyonel’s blood, Blaize was fixed. His leg healed. He hadn’t been close to death, but a break so clean and a wound so jagged, and it was gone within a week. He was walking again like nothing had ever happened. Should he? Would it turn her? He was still so new… what if he only gave her a little bit, could she heal and remain human? Would she even want to be a vampire? Blaize shifted, sitting in the muck.

”You are dying,” he stated the obvious. ”But I can help you. It might change you, forever. But you’ll be alive. Will you let me help you?” he asked. He could have forced his blood onto her but would good would it do if she assumed he was intending to hurt her? No, this would be far smoother if she submitted, willingly.

[Aleksandra]

You are dying.

The words bounced off the damp walls and ricocheted in her mind like a loose bullet, stealing the breath form her lungs. It wasn’t as though she had thought she would survive this. The moment she had felt the claws in her ankle, she had known she was going to die. Even as her survival instincts breathed life into her veins, sending her into a panic like a caged tiger, she had felt the icy brush of death against her neck. Hearing the soft spoken words, however, had been that final nail in her coffin. She tried to find emotion in his voice, compassion in the way he carefully chose his sentences, but she knew nothing of him.

Which begged the question, how had he ended up in the chamber with her? Pressing her hand to the damp floor, she tried to push herself away, but she barely managed an inch before her strength gave out. “Don’t… want…” The words felt like knives in her throat, and she turned her head away as she coughed, the sound thick. Her vision swam, and the light that caused her blue eyes to shine started to dim as she found him in the darkness. She could barely make out his features, just a blurred shape that kept coming in and out of focus within the shadows. He had said something else, hadn’t he? He had said he could help her – it would change her, but he could help her.

She didn’t want to die. She couldn’t leave her daddy. Not like this.

Trying to breathe past the heaviness lying on her chest and shake the numbness seeping into her bones, she parted her lips to tell him to do what he had to – but only a choked sound emerged. Frustration swelled in her chest, and she weakly slid her hand across the cold ground, fingertips brushing across his leg. It was the only symbol she could think to give as her voice failed her. Her eyes, tired from the fight, begged him to save her, to not let her die alone on the cold ground of a sewage system, with the sour scent of mold, grime, and all the foul things she didn’t want to name perfuming the air.

[Blaize]

Everything about Aleksandra screamed desperation. It wasn’t a weak desperation. It wasn’t a sour desperation. It was a desperation borne or strength. Blaize had already made the decision, hadn’t he? He’d already asked her to make the choice, so he had to follow through. Didn’t he? Hesitation tensed all his limbs. He’d only just turned. If he thought long and hard he could still feel the ache in his leg where the bone had snapped. The agony of humanity was still fresh.

Don’t want. It could have been interpreted both ways. She didn’t want to die or she didn’t want him to change her? The fluttering grasp at his leg and the desperate plea in her eyes contradicted the latter assumption. She didn’t want to die. In the end, who ever really wanted to die? No one who was young and healthy and with the fire of passion in their souls.

”I don’t know what the **** I’m doing,” he muttered to himself even as he pulled the swiss army knife from his pocket. He didn’t have teeth to tear at his own skin with. The blade slid from its sheath and he winced as he pressed the tip to his wrist, over the vein. Red blood pooled to the surface, stark against his pale skin. Not that Aleksandra would see, but he could see it just fine. The darkness was not as all-encompassing as it should have been, not for vampires.

”Okay, chef. Not promising this is the best thing you’ll ever taste but it’ll do the trick,” he said, offering his wrist to the woman. This was how Lyonel had done it, right? Blaize wondered if he should have called his sire to make sure he’d got all the steps right, but somehow he didn’t think there was time. ”…please don’t hold this against me.”

[Aleksandra]

‘You have to promise me you will be careful, Ally-Cat. Promise me that you won’t end up like those girls. I can’t imagine losing you, too. Make that promise for your old man, yeah?’

She had made that promise that night, standing beneath the glow of the moon, her damp hair pulled back in that messy bun her father had always hated. She remembered curling her lips around the pink straw of her drink as she laughed it off, his fear something that she refused to believe. It had been easy to make that promise at the time, when she was nothing more than a college girl, trying to get by. Now, she wished she had listened to him a little more, because as she lay on the cold, hard ground, her blood clogging her throat, she realized she had broken more than that promise. She had broken his heart.

She would never see him again, never smell the scent of his tobacco or taste the familiar burn of his homemade brew. With each painful breath, the last tie her father had to this world was slipping further away, and he wasn’t aware. Rolling her head to the side, she tried to find the stranger in the dark, her paling eyes searching the shadows until the blurred lines of hi face came into view. Her lips, cracked and bloodied, parted to plead with him, but only painful silence emerged. The words were there, dancing like demons inside of her mind, but her body refused to cooperate. She could sense the hesitation in his actions, even before the doubt was voiced, his words like a knife to her heart.

It hadn’t crossed her mind to question what he had meant. Did it truly matter? She had made it clear she hadn’t wanted to die, hadn’t she? Why are you just sitting there?! Tears streaked her porcelain cheeks, and she found the strength to curl her fingers, nails gliding along his jeans. As weak as she was, the touch was more like the brush of a feather – there, then gone. It had been meant to promote urgency, and when her hand fell away, cold skin hitting the damp stone, she felt him move. His voice sounded far away, as if he was talking to her from the ocean floor, the words making no sense – until she felt skin against her lips. Her eyes flew open, the blue shining in the dark light as she remained frozen. This wasn’t right – was it? What kind of trick was th---

They had their throats slashed, Ally-Cat, and they were drained of blood. They are speculating that it’s some kind of vampire cult. Not that I’d ever buy into that, but… just be careful. Please. For me.’

Vampire.

It wasn’t possible. She refused to believe – but right then, with her heart two beat from quitting for eternity, she didn’t have that option. It was her last chance. He was never going to get her to the hospital in time, and even if he did, what could they do for her? It was too late. She would do anything for her father – anything to stay alive – even if it meant putting her faith into a stranger in the dark. Parting her lips, she closed her eyes as the first drop of blood hit her tongue, and then she swallowed.

[Blaize]

Blaize remembered the way it had tasted, when Lyonel had fed him the magic blood. It wasn’t like ordinary blood – it didn’t taste like his own blood did, if he ever got a papercut and stuck his finger into his mouth to stem the bleeding. Sure, it had the coppery remnants of human blood but there was something else there, something else that overwhelmed all else. By all rights it should have tasted rank. Vampire blood couldn’t be considered living, could it? Their hearts didn’t beat and much like the shark, didn’t blood have to keep moving in order to live?

Blaize couldn’t say. He wasn’t a scientist. He had no idea how blood worked, but he’d pondered it since and he remembered, now. Even as his eyes closed and he was subject to the uncomfortable sensation of blood being taken from his veins, he remembered. Lyonel’s blood had been alive in so many ways. It was like electric fire as it coursed through Blaize’s body; it had exploded upon his tongue and burned warm, pleasurable almost as it slid down his throat – akin to whiskey or vodka but without the bite. Blaize had greedily taken as much of that magical substance as possible until he couldn’t anymore, until it spread to his organs and started to slaughter them, one by one. Until he’d felt the urge to expunge every unneeded fluid from his body, sure that he was going to die right there on Lyonel’s couch.

He’d been dubious, if desperate. His attitude wasn’t the best in the beginning; his leg was so broken he’d thought it wouldn’t be reparable. But as he’d watched the blood had started to mend the break, the sinew of muscle and flesh working hard to stitch itself back together. It had been miraculous. Now, Blaize had nothing but respect for his sire, an awe that could not be rivalled. He had his issues, of course, but he assumed he would get over them, that they would be dealt with in due time. He had no regrets.

And, like Lyonel had done with Blaize, he didn’t pull back. No, he waited. Despite feeling flushed, despite knowing that he would need to try to replenish his blood later, he didn’t tell Aleksandra when she’d had enough. Because he didn’t know. Only she would know, just like he had, when the change forced her pain rather than on the blood that would save her.