Path of the Vampire forum

Raven wasn’t sure whether to laugh or to seriously beg death to take her right then and there, but as she held the cigarette in her hand, the end burned softly as she listened to Clover. Slowly, her head angled to the side so then her brown eyes could view the stranger that had taken up a seat beside her, what was her motives? Really, what are her motives she silently asked her dying self as she watched the woman lift a hand to reach over… Her eyes had widened as the variable ran her fingers along the makeshift bandage towards her wound. She watched the stranger rub her fingers together before she… Did the stranger just lick her blood off of her fingers? Raven asked herself as she choked back a surprise. Did she imagine that? Considering that she was dying, perhaps she had hallucinated it?

The woman felt the variable’s hand return to her wound and it felt almost as if she was groping her side before she watched Clover lift the bloodied hand to her lips to lick once more. The red haired woman wasn’t exactly sure if she was hallucinating or if Clover really was licking her blood off of her fingers. It made her mind swell and she almost laughed at the fact that Clover had said that was wasn’t dead yet. A roll of her eyes was given before a burst of laughter rose up from her lips the moment Clover had spoken once again. A vampire? Now she knew that she would have been screwed if she wasn’t already dying. She rolled her head to the side to view Clover and spotted the fangs. Well hell, she really is a vampire, she thought to herself as she lifted a shaking hand to press the cigarette to her lips.

Slowly, she drew the cigarette away from her lips and sighed. ”I’m dying, there is no way that you can own me. I will belong to death…” Raven paused within her sentence for a moment as she lifted a free hand to her chest to feel the heartbeat pulse underneath her hand, a heartbeat that was slowing at a steady pace. ”I will belong to death soon enough.” Raven would be lying if she wasn’t scared of what Clover was or the confession that she wanted to rip into her throat. It didn’t matter if she was already dying, but the ripping was something she hadn’t countered on. In fact, she hadn’t counted on the entire night happening this way. A gunshot, a stab wound maybe? However, she hadn’t factored in Clover being what she was, a vampire. Nor had she planned on having to run away from the very help that she had needed.

A sigh worked its way to her lips then and her eyes slid closed. The darkness was crawling its way in and this whole struggling to stay alive thing was starting to get old, it was tiring her out. Her tongue lashed out to lick her drying lips as she parted them to speak. ”Even if you started ripping into me now, I’d still die either way.” A smirk played its way along her lips then as she opened an eye to glance over at Clover. If she wanted to rip into her, then why just tell her? Was she chasing a rise out of her? The woman had seen the fat man that had been knocked out by Clover, so why did she bother to sit here and talk with a dying woman? Why not just kill her and get over with it? The fact that she was soon to be dead, made the whole ‘belonging’ thing null and pointless for even saying it.

Raven’s hand lifted again to take another drag of the cigarette before she stemmed it’s flame out by mashing it into the hard street underneath her. However, being torn to pieces seemed like a pretty good idea at the same time. It was relatively quick, depending on the speed that she did the ripping and tearing. Silently, she listened as the sirens got louder with each slowing heartbeat and she realized that they wouldn’t get there in time anyway. The red head reflected back upon the woman’s words and pondered as to why she would tell her after she said that she could lie. However, the fact that Clover greedily licked the blood off of her fingers, suggested that she wasn’t lying. ”We could talk until I’m dead, but it seems rather pointless. I do appreciate the company though, it’s far better than the last time, even if you are…” She paused long enough to hold up her hands to make air quotations, ”A vampire.”

Raven’s words hung heavy in the air, heavier than the overwhelming scent of blood. Again, Clover ran her tongue over her teeth and then over her lips. The faint taste of blood kept her going, but she wanted more. Whether or not Raven died, Clover had already decided to cover herself in the woman’s blood. No, dead or alive made absolutely no difference. How many times had Clo enjoyed the blood from the dead bodies of her victims? Countless. Seemingly endless. The one thing that struck a chord, the one thing that drew Clover out of her blood-induced euphoria was the thought of someone else--something else--claiming Raven. Death had no right to take Clover’s newfound property; death had no right to separate the two women. Raven was right to mention the fact though. Raven had reminded Clover, in a blunt way, that Clover lacked the ability to stake claim.

The options lingered at the back of her mind. Clover had the option to kill Raven. Clover had the ability to thrust Raven into the afterlife, to claim Raven’s life before blood loss had the opportunity. The familiar setting took Clover back to Anton. The man had been a testament to her strength and her consideration, just one of the few instances when she’d shown restraint. The woman next to her could have been yet another example. Instead of tearing Raven apart, Clover had the option to make Raven’s death quick, to cut the remaining moments short. Bleeding out seemed so unoriginal. To die of blood loss seemed like something below the redhead. Raven deserved something more, or so Clover thought. What kind of a woman took on three men, got stabbed by a broken beer bottle, and managed to walk away? Despite the fact that walking away involved stumbling and collapsing and dying, the fact remained that Raven had showed absolute bravery and absolute insanity. Yes, Raven deserved more than a death tied to blood loss.

And yet, Clover had other options. Clover had the option to restore Raven’s lost blood and continue along a familiar path of torture, to destroy the idea of a mercy kill. Clover liked listening to her victims screams, and she had to admit she wanted to hear Raven’s screams. At the thought, Clover pulled her legs up toward her chest and rested her forearms on her knees. There were multiple scenarios. Her mind went through so many possible scenarios that her mouth water, the venom coating her tongue in the way that Raven’s blood had. Clo usually cut her victims into pieces while they were still alive. Raven had nice arms. That was a possible starting point. But the legs. Clover couldn’t decide. The thought of torturing the woman, mastering death in yet another way, seemed most enjoyable. If there were only the two options, Clover knew which of the two she would choose. She would have chosen the latter. The thought of torture seduced her.

The third, and final, option required more thought, for it required more effort. Clover’s third option included two very separate roads, one option split into two possibilities. Clo had the option to spare Raven, just as she’d spared Anton, or Clover had the option to turn Raven, to spare the woman, and yet damn the woman.

“You don’t have to die,” Clover finally replied, the silence having filled the space between them. Up until that point, she’d wanted to let the silence answer every statement. “I’m not sure what I want to do with you. I could give you a mercy kill. You deserve better than dying of blood loss, don’t you? Think of what you just did in there.” Clover held up one finger, and she knew then that she planned on sharing her thoughts with Raven. She planned on counting out the options, as if she were reading off a list. There were imaginary bulletpoints blossoming between them. “I could prolong your death. Yes, I can do that. For every bit of blood you lose, I can restore it. I can drag this out for as long as I like. I can do to you what I’ve done to others and make this into the best game you’ve ever played.”

The two options seemed like the only two Clover meant to present. And the truth was that those two options seemed like the best. The third option, the one which split off into two, branching off as if it were a small tree, showed more consideration. Clo liked ******* with humans, if she were blunt with herself and with anyone else. There were plenty of reasons for her behavior, but those weren’t important, not then. At the last moment, she found the words slowly falling from her lips, carried up her throat and over her tongue. “I could save you. I could replenish your blood take you to a hospital. I could give you another opportunity to make the same mistake again. Would you make the same mistake again?” The question wasn’t supposed to have an answer, but Clover still paused. “Or I could take death out of the equation entirely. You could belong to me for the rest of eternity. I take care of what’s mine,” she reasoned, turning her head to try and lock eyes with Raven. “I’ve never given someone the chance to choose, and there’s no guarantee your input will make any bit of difference, but what would you choose? What do you think would benefit you? Do you want to live, Raven? Or would you rather die?”

Clover’s words washed over the dying woman and a genuine smile ghosted over her lips before a laugh parted her painted lips. The laughter echoed around them, bouncing off of the brick walls as she continued to laugh. Pain shot through her like a bullet and she lifted a hand to press to her stomach as she leaned forwards while she continued to laugh. Her red and black hair covered her face as she laughed. The woman felt as if that exact movement made her all that much more light headed, but she couldn’t help but laugh. The sound was strange to the woman, the genuine laugh that had parted her lips and bubbled out, for she hadn’t laughed like this for many many years. Everything had become grey, that was unless she felt pain and then it was as if the world held more than just the grey colour. In truth, she had died by the hands of betrayal and been reborn as a junkie for pain. That was, until tonight.

Tonight she had felt alive, far more alive than she had felt before and she didn’t know whether that was because she was scared of the variable seated beside her, or the simple fact that she was dying. The fact that Clover had mentioned that she didn’t have to die, was beyond funny to the woman and the laughter continued. A tear of laughter graced the corner of her eye and more laughter ensued. Raven probably looked like she really had broken, that she really had lost all rational thought. However, it was only because of the rational thinking and the simple fact that she had another way out presented before her when it seemed like death would take her yet again. It was as if destiny just wouldn’t give her that satisfaction of simply dying. No sane person, would turn down the option to live, but she was right. If Raven lived and was taken to the hospital, she would do the exact same thing.

It was the chase of the adrenalin, the cat and mouse chase between her and death. It was a dance that they had played ever since betrayal had reared its ugly head and she had played that game ever since. The tattoo upon the side of her neck was the tattoo that she had gotten to cover up the scar of the knife injury. He had been sloppy with the blade, but she had been in the hospital for a while afterwards. The laughter finally died upon her lips as she moved to rest her back against the wall once more. Her bloodied hand lifted to brush back her hair, leaving traces of blood within the strands, but she really didn’t care much about that. ”We could prolong my death, but in the end, death would be inevitable, no matter how much fun we have. The woman lifted her head and peered at the woman beside her from underneath her lashes, as her gaze was half closed. It was an effort to look at the woman as it was.

A smirk played upon her lips then, ”You could take me to the hospital, but I can guarantee you, that I would still make the same mistake, even if I could have dodged the bottle. Pain was what I was chasing for and I found it. It’s so beautiful, even with you sitting beside me. It’s an euphoria that I live for and would gladly die for, because it’s all I’ve got in this grey world.” Slowly, she leaned her head back as a sigh of content caressed her lips and her eyes closed. ”Even if you could take death out of the equation and own me, could you guarantee an eternity full of pain? Sweet, sweet pain? An eternity of pleasurable pain does sound appealing, but in the end, it’s not really my decision.” An eye peeked open so it could roll to the side to view Clover, the woman who had pulled her knees up to her chest. ”It’s yours and yours alone.”

After a moment’s pause, she lifted a hand to touch at her neck, to press her bloodied hand over the tattoo that resided there. Raven had a chance to escape death once more and perhaps she could escape its clutches once more. However, she was at peace with whatever path that she was thrust upon. Death would end it all, as it was probably a fate that she was destined for, but if Clover did take death out of the equation, then she would have eternity to chase the dragon, so to speak. Another chuckle crossed her lips then and she almost wondered just as to why she even thought that this woman was serious. Clover was a vampire and Raven didn’t trust her, not in the slightest. She could do something else entirely, that was the power of a variable. ”Even if I do believe you...”

She paused long enough to draw a breath that seemed to rasp against her dry throat; even her fingers had begun to feel cold, a sure sign that death was closing in. If she wasn’t dead in the next ten minutes, she would be surprised, as the rate of blood flow was steady. She was on death’s door step for sure, all she had to do was knock. Her tongue lashed out to lick her even dryer lips before she closed her eyes to whisper her words. It was an effort to utter the words and the hand at her throat slipped back to her lap. ”Even if I could believe you and even if you could own me, I’d never be a good soldier. I have a bad habit of not following orders and not giving a **** about them.” Her nostrils flared with a breath, something else that took a great deal of effort, ”So if that is what you’re looking for, then it’s best you leave or finish me off.”

The variable held the power, but as the loner with nothing to loose, it didn't really matter as to what happened in that moment. Death or eternity, it didn't matter, because she held no expectation of the situation. There was no point to having expectations when it was clearly out of her hands.

Clover felt as if they were bargaining, going back and forth with reasons to live and reasons to die. Raven’s honesty struck a chord and resonated deep within Clover’s chest. Absolute honesty. And so fearless. So forward. Did Clo really want an obedient childe? Yes. All Clover wanted was someone to control, someone to intimidate, someone to bend and break. Raven represented none of those things. And yet, Clover wanted her, every inch of her, every thought and action. Red-and-black hair. Smirk. Nose ring. Laugh. Raven represented a unique individual, and she represented a unique vampire, a unique childe.

“I’ll handle you,” Clover finally spoke, her voice slow and careful. “I already have obedience, and if I don’t, I have fear. I want the challenge, and you’re a challenge. You want pain? I’ll give you pain. You want nights with blunt trauma? Bullet holes? Stab wounds? I can give you these things. And in exchange, you’re mine. I’ll take care of you. Of what’s mine.”

Her boots slid along the ground as she stretched out her legs. Clover no longer went for the woman’s wound. She moved forward, getting on her hands and knees, so that she could be positioned in front and to the left of the woman. The strong heartbeat that had weakened. The bright eyes that had dimmed. And still, Clo found herself drawn to the woman. Normally, her sirings were quick and violent, not offered but taken. There were no lengthy discussions, no weighing of pros and cons. Again, Raven was different. Clo kneeled there and reached forward to place a palm against the side of Raven’s neck. With flesh against flesh, Clover felt, rather than heard, the steady pulse. Despite the slow cadence, the constant decrescendo of the life-giving melody, Clo felt as if she were in the loudest display imaginable. The pulse vibrated her hand and sent chills up her arm and down the length of her spine.

Clover didn’t know when she’d made the final decision, or if she’d known from the very beginning. Perhaps she’d known from the very moment she’d set eyes on Raven. There were no more doubts, no more lists riddled with complications, with main points and subpoints and endless citations. They were two very different people, one vampire and one human, tucked so neatly into the shadows of the alleyway. The sirens had since faded into the background, along with the hurried footsteps of emergency personnel. The men were scouring the building for witnesses, for people with life-threatening injuries, and yet they hadn’t gone near the backdoor; Clover and Raven were in their own little world, one built with blood loss and bloodlust.

Tattooed fingers brushed over the skin on Raven’s throat. The word werewolf, the letters tattooed on the inner portions of her fingers, made invisible cuts along the skin. Marking. Dissecting. If it were possible, Clover might have carved out the qualities she’d grown to adore and left a husk behind. It just wasn’t possible. Her teeth turned to fangs, each one sharp and pointed. Her eyes trailed downward, down toward Raven’s arm, and stayed there. Clo let her hand fall from Raven’s neck. She closed a hand around the woman’s left forearm and inched closer. The leather jacket concealed smooth skin, but not well enough. Clover only had to push the jacket up over the wrist to reveal the skin, the skin that concealed the artery she craved. They needed more time. They needed time enough for Clover to get her fill and recycle the blood, Raven’s blood. They needed more than the time offered by the jugular.

Clo pressed her lips to the woman’s wrist, as if she were merely gracing the area with a kiss, and then parted them to reveal sharpened fangs. Without hesitation, she tore through the layers of skin. Clover licked and sucked at the blood, allowing it to coat her lips and tongue, to dribble down her throat. And then she closed her eyes and waited for the inevitable sights and feelings to wash over her.

Raven honestly didn’t know what to expect, but she didn’t expect to live. So when Clover spoke, she felt a shiver run down her spine at her words. She would take care of her? No one had taken care of Raven, ever. She had taken care of herself, gone out and sought out her own pain. This woman, this stranger, offered to give her such things and she wondered why. In her foggy mind, she watched Clover move in front of her and felt the fingers at her neck before she saw Clover take her left hand into her own. Is she going to hold my hand until I die? Raven asked herself before she felt a sharp stabbing pain flood through her wrist and a gasp of pain parted her lips, too weak to make any other sound. It was at this point that she felt as if her life was beginning to flash before her eyes and she closed them as a memory washed over her.
Her breath felt as if it was icy and she pulled her jacket closed while her brown hues peered around the area that surrounded her. Snow was falling heavy and for some reason, her brother had texted her to meet him out in this back street at this ungodly hour. She had barely had any sleep from the night before, as she had been out in the fighting cage. Her cold hands lifted to pull her red and black locks tight into ponytail and she heard the crunch of snow which indicated that someone else had decided to show up. The woman turned to face a man with black locks that brushed his shoulders. Similar brown eyes peered back at her and she noted that he must have been incredibly cold, because he had pocketed his hands. ”Brother, I hope that you have a reason for this meeting, I’m tired.”

A frown descended upon her brow as he paused and shifted nervously, a sign that he rarely showed. ”The debt collectors want more money sister, I need your help. I need what you won in your rounds last night to finish paying him off. You owe me, because if you had helped me, I wouldn’t of have had to have loaned money from him in the first place.” Raven pursued her lips before she shook her head. Her brother had a drug addiction and had loaned money to score some more. A shake of her head was given and she turned away from him. Her steps angled to walk away as she spoke, ”I fought for the money I won and I refuse to feed an addiction that in the long run won’t benefit you. You’ll kill yourself.”

”I’m sorry then that you feel that way, but I need your money.” Her booted feet crunched through the snow as she moved to walk away. ”No brother, I’m sor… She heard rapid sounds of feet pushing through the snow and then pain sliced through her neck. Shock sliced through her body as a pained cry parted her lips. A hand lifted to her neck as her knees buckled at the sudden shock of pain. She felt the blood coat her fingers and she knelt in the snow. Raven then felt the cold swarm her as she lifted her head to see her brother’s shaking hand that held a bloody dagger within his fingers. ”You left me no choice, sis.” Shock was all that she felt and she couldn’t tell if it was from the betrayal of her own brother or from the blade that had sliced through the side of her neck.

Blood spurted through her fingers as she stared at the one person that she had thought that she could trust, but then again, who trusted a drug addict? Darkness was beginning to creep into her field of vision and she was losing consciousness fast. She felt hands pat over her pockets as her eyes fell closed and she heard sirens in the distance. Had someone heard or seen? The woman fell to the snow and felt the darkness draw her under while the cold invaded her body with ice. Everything was just so cold and it was the last thing that she remembered before she was drawn under.

Darkness ruled over her mind and body, as she felt nothing but numb inside. Thump, came the sound and she felt it shock through her body. Her heart had started once more and as she struggled to open her eyes, she saw lights flashing red and blue before a mask covered her lips and her eyes rolled back into her head once more. The woman fell back under the blanket of shadows once more, but instead, she could hear her own heart beat when it had been nothing but absent before.

Sounds of machines beeped in the background as she opened her heavy eyes and felt nothing. Her brown hues saw in a hazy vision, the IV drip that stuck out of her arm and she heard distant voices in the background. A tube was stuck down her throat and so speaking was pointless. However, it didn’t matter to her, nothing did. It was as if everything was grey, life was gone and although she was hooked up to machines, she couldn’t feel a thing. Raven’s gaze rolled upwards to view the face of a man in a white coat and it seemed as if he was talking to her, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. Her own brother, her own blood, had betrayed her. All she felt was cold, cold as the snow that she had thought would be her blanket for her death bed. Darkness pulled her back under once more and sleep found her tired form.

The waiting proved to be the hardest part. Eventually, Clover forgot all about the impending memory, the one thing connecting her to her victim. No, she had the blood. The blood that flowed in the way that the memory flowed. Slow. Steady. Clover’s eyes remained closed, as if she were blocking out the image of her surroundings, and she tried to relax her body. Unknowingly, her grip tightened. Her fingernails dug into Raven’s flesh, though they never punctured the skin. Clo inhaled sharply, intaking a quick burst of air through her nostrils. The cool air circled around in her lungs and overtook her organs. She was swept up in the cold of her surroundings and the cold of the memory.

Snow. Had Clover even seen such beautiful snow? White and crisp, the flakes coated the ground beneath her boots. She saw the world through Raven’s eyes, and she saw everything right and everything wrong. Unlike Raven, Clo had the strength offered by an unbiased opinion. When Raven spoke, Clover listened; when Raven’s brother spoke, Clover listened. Still, Clo could hardly hear about the sound of the snow crunching beneath their feet. And had the cold ever been so loud? Was it possible to hear the temperature? The memory assured Clover of the possibility, cementing the idea that snow had a volume. Only when the knife bit into Raven’s throat did Clover feel something about the cold. Clover felt heat. She felt the burn of the blade as it dug into Raven’s neck, the burn of the blood as it poured from the open wound.

Just as she heard the cold, she heard the betrayal. She felt the betrayal. All of her senses recognized the feeling, interpreting the emotion in a variety of ways. What if June had betrayed Clover? Then again, hadn’t Clover betrayed June in a similar way? The questions thrust Clover further into the memory, right into foreign territory. The more she thought about her past and connected the dots, the less she tasted the blood. She lost the thread running from reality to the imaginary, from the present to the past. Clo felt the weight of the sword in her hand, and she heard the sound of the blade as it sliced through the air. For the millionth time, she watched as the sword cut through her younger sister’s neck. Clean. Quick. In her scenario, she’d taken on the role of Raven’s brother.

The white snow had been stained a wonderful shade of pink, one that grew darker and darker as it neared Raven’s body. Red, violent red. Clo drew nearer, her arms spread as if to take Raven into her arms, but the action was useless. Her arms went right through Raven’s body. And Raven wasn’t June. Clover understood that she wasn’t responsible for Raven’s state.

Again, sirens broke through the silence. Before the memory faded and continued at another location, Clover tried to memorize the face. Her brown eyes focused on the slope of the man’s nose; she looked at the shape of the forehead and the curve of the lips. Raven belonged to her, and any past wrongs belonged to Clover. Clover wanted to solve the problem, and solving the problem meant finding Raven’s brother and showing him the same level of kindness. Clover meant to show him even more though. Clover meant to show him what it felt like to be the victim.

Where Raven saw through hazy eyes, Clover saw through the same. They were taking the trip together. She heard the sirens and saw the all-too-familiar flashes of red and blue lights. Beep. Beep. The noise continued, one beep after the next, until Clo felt as if she were the one hooked up to the IV drip, as if she were the one lying in the hospital bed.

The memory slowly began to fade away. The black edges overtook the color, swallowing the hospital room, swallowing the doctor, and swallowing the bed. The last thing Clover saw was Raven’s closed eyes. Clover ripped her fangs from Raven’s wrist, but she remained close. They had to stay close if Clover meant to exchange blood. Her fangs still extended, Clo leaned her head down and dug them into her own wrist. Clo tore at her flesh as if she were trying to feed from herself. Her black blood ran thick, as if it were tar, and clung to her flesh for only a moment before disappearing. Clover found it easier to do a quick turning, not giving her blood the opportunity to disperse. Slowly, she extended her wrist. “You have to take some. I know it doesn’t look good. I know it’ll probably taste like **** to you.”

Raven didn’t understand why the memory had washed over her, it just had. Perhaps it was because of how close to death she really was. It reminded her that somewhere her brother was still alive and not living with any regret. Her parents always favoured her brother, he could never do anything wrong, even when she had laid in hospital for days unable to speak because of the tube in her throat. It had been dangerous to speak, the doctors had been afraid that she would pull stitches when she did. So silence had become her friend and so did the pain. The moment that she was strong enough to deny the morphine, she did and because she was awake and able to make decision for herself, there was nothing the doctors could do about it.

When Clover had pulled away, Raven had a weak protest upon her lips. She wanted to feel those fangs digging back into her skin, to feel the pain even if it was just for one last time. It was then through hazy vision that she noticed Clover holding out a bloodied wrist encouraging her to drink it. It was black and looked like tar, tar that dispersed after it had touched Clover’s skin. She had to drink the woman’s blood just like she had drank from her wrist? Was this the process to becoming a vampire? Her right hand reached out to gently take the wrist as she leaned forwards to press her lips over the Clover’s self-made wound. The woman sucked before she swallowed and she leaned back as she rolled the taste upon her tongue and swallowed once more. It tasted coppery and a little bitter, a bitter taste that reminded her of coffee, black coffee that she had in the mornings after a long night.

Her hand still had its grip upon the stranger’s wrist and slowly her fingers released this grip as it fell back to her lap. Another swallow and she licked her lips to gather the rest of the traces of the blood to swallow once more. ”Why?” She whispered softly and continued. ”Why did I see…” A sigh caressed her lips as she closed her eyes, too weak to continue her sentence. The blood loss and the blood she lost to Clover who drank it, had brought upon the final stage within the whole dying process. The darkness began to fog her mind and she was almost relieved. It was strange really, she never really thought that her death would have company, in all honesty, she thought she would die alone. Everyone that had dared to try to get near her, she had pushed away.

The woman had not wanted the same situation that had happened with her brother, happen with someone else. That she would have her trust betrayed all over again. If that had happened, then she should have known all along that she could never trust anyone ever again. Raven didn’t know if she could trust Clover with this whole vampire thing, but if the sight of fangs wasn’t enough to convince her, then she was stupid. However, whether this whole process was true and death wouldn’t keep her, then that was to be decided when she woke up. If she woke up then it was true, that Clover was telling the truth. That she would escape death's clutches, but would it really be for eternity? Eternity sounded like a pipe dream, everyone wished that they had an eternity to live to do all the multiple things that they wished that they could do in one lifetime. An eternity of pain? Sounded like a dream.

Death crawled in on the woman and she felt nothing but cold within as her body slumped against the wall with no life left within her body. Even her heart had slowed and gave one last thump before silence reigned over its beat. Some would describe a bright light waiting for them, Raven didn’t see that. In fact, she saw nothing within death’s embrace, just nothing. The nothing was just seeming to stretch on and on, she was either going to survive this and become a vampire, or she was going to die for good. Suddenly a rush of energy burst through her and she felt the darkness begin to clear. She felt the heavy weight lift from her and it was then that her eyes snapped open as she took her first breath. As that breath rushed in, she felt a heightened sense of relief that death was not going to claim her today, that she could continue chasing the pain dragon.

Clover had assumed the blood-induced images were some form of torture. The memories allowed her to connect with her victims, as if she were stepping into their shoes and opening small doorways into their lives. At first, the images had made her doubt herself; they had made her reluctant to feed directly from humans. Once she’d mastered the ability to separate her thoughts and feelings from those of her victims, she’d found something welcoming, something soothing, about the blood memories. She’d even craved the adventure buried within the deep-red substance. She’d learned to delve into the individual cells, navigating her way through red blood cells, gliding her way through white blood cells, and slipping her way through platelets. Clover became the blood. As insane as it sounded, the experience reminded her of something entirely psychological, something all too trippy, and yet all too extraordinary. At the end of the day, despite her comfort with the ability, she still had no real understanding as to why she possessed the power.

Why, Raven had asked. Clover didn’t know. Clo didn’t know whether she’d drawn the memory from Raven, or whether Raven would have experienced the memory all on her own. There was no test, not in their current situation, and Clover had no desire to ask someone else to use Raven as a subject. Perhaps they’d never know. “I don’t know,” Clover admitted, voicing her thoughts. “I don’t know whether it was me, or whether it was you. I don’t know if you would have experienced the memory on your own, or whether I did something to draw some memory out of you. But I saw it too. I saw him. I saw what happened to you.”

Her words were quiet, barely loud enough to be considered spoken, so Clover had no idea whether the woman heard the words or not, whether something had been communicated or not. When Raven’s body slumped against the wall, Clo felt a familiar rush of doubt. Would the blood take? Even though the bite alone had been said to turn a human, Clover was never truly sure. The last thing Clover wanted was to have gone through all the trouble for nothing. The sound of nearing footsteps forced Clover to leave Raven’s side. She got to her feet and made her way back down the alley, passing the gangster’s body. That’s what he was, at the heart of things. The fat man was no better than a common gangster, a street thug, and he deserved to rot in the pile of garbage strewn about his body. On her way past the trash can, Clover collected a study wooden crate, one that seemed to have houses a large collection of fruit, or maybe something else entirely--she didn’t know, and she didn’t care. She broke the crate into pieces, saving the largest for the door.

They didn’t need someone stumbling across them. Clover jammed the piece of wood under the handle of the door, pushing the side of her boot against the bottom of the door until she couldn’t budge the door at all. When the emergency personnel went to open the door, they spoke about how the door was locked, and no one could have gotten through. No one could have opened the door. Still, she waited there. She stood a few steps away from the door, fists balled at her sides, and waited for the men to break the door down. Clo waited for something that never happened. The noise that stirred her from her stance came from down the alley. The metal trash can ground against the asphalt of the alley, accompanied by a series of groans. And then she heard a quick breath, a sudden inhale. The gangster had recovered rather quickly, and Raven had survived. One meant more than the other.

“Stay,” Clover commanded, pointing a finger at the trembling man. The blood that ran down his forehead made her stomach churn. She fought an internal battle against her vampiric urges. He presented himself as a blood bag; he was nothing more than a storage unit, one filled with something better than precious belongings. The gangster was a snack with two arms and two legs. Did Raven have the appetite needed to murder him? After a pause, Clo went back toward the quivering man, grabbed him by his upper arm, and yanked him to his feet. She shouldn’t have been able to lift him, not with how much he weighed, but she had more strength than her frame revealed. “Let’s take a walk,” she spoke nicely, “and you can tell Raven how sorry you are. You can apologize, sincerely, and maybe she won’t kill you. Maybe you’ll walk away.”

The moment that Raven’s eyes snapped open, she was aware of a burn at her throat, one that spoke of a hunger that wanted to be sated. The next thing that she noticed was the smell of blood, her blood to be precise and she rolled her head to view the wound which had apparently stopped bleeding so much. Was that right? Wasn’t she supposed to be dead right now or still bleeding at the very least? Thirdly, the young vampire also had noted that Clover was no longer by her side and she rolled her head to view the form that was by the door. A piece of broken wood had been jammed under the handle of the door, which must have been to prevent anyone following the trail of blood. Good idea, she silently said to Clover before she noted the fact that her sire had moved forwards to grab the fat man off of the ground.

Slowly, her brown eyes followed their movements but she was barely aware of the fact that Clover had spoken or the fact that the fat man had started bubbling out an apology. Keeping her movements slow, the woman began to rise from her position upon the ground. Her brown hues had locked onto the trail of blood that had marked his forehead. Suddenly, she realized that her hunger was not for normal food, it wasn’t a thirst for alcohol or water either, but blood. Clover was a vampire, a vampire that had just turned her and she knew that a rational and sane person would have felt disgust at this new found fact. Raven on the other hand, felt her fangs snap into place, but they didn’t distract her from the scent of blood. Blood that made the burning at her throat feel as if it was on fire.

Raven took a step towards them as the fingers of her right hand twitched. The blood was the most captivating thing that there was at that point in time and she couldn’t help but wonder if it tasted just as good as it smelled. While her movements were slow, almost like a predator stalking their prey, she finally paused before him, her gaze still locked upon the blood that continued down his forehead. Her right hand lifted then so then her index finger could swipe at the blood, gathering it upon her own blood stained hands. It was then then she took a moment to look at the drop and she briefly wondered if it really was the thing that she craved right now. It made sense if she was a vampire. Finally, she stuck her finger into her own mouth and the fire that had been burning at her throat light and fan into a blaze. A blaze that burned for more and a groan of pleasure rumbled within the woman.

The blood, while only a drop, tasted so good and her gaze snapped to the man once more. Her gaze focused upon his face, especially those eyes that had once burned with an anger that had evaporated long ago. His eyes were now wide, wide with fright and she could hear his heart race like a rabbit. A rabbit caught in a trap and her lips peeled back into a smirk while flashing her fangs in the process. ”I didn’t quite get that, but I don’t really care.” She couldn’t give a **** about him nor about anything at the moment, because right then, she had savored blood, blood that she wanted more of. Her hands came up to grip at the man, one rested upon his right shoulder, but the other moved higher to grasp locks of hair sharply and she pulled his head to the side. In one movement she lunged forwards to sink her fangs into the man’s neck.

Raven drank, she drank deep as the blaze in her throat burned higher and a growl was emitted. She pulled her fangs out only to sink them deeper into his neck agan. The nails of her left hand dug into the man’s skin, drawing even more blood. Gulp after greedy gulp, it began to soothe the blaze at the back of her throat, but the burn was still there, no matter how much she drank. A beat that was slowing and dying could be heard, but the woman couldn’t care less, even if it was the man dying. All that she did care about was the blood that was also beginning to thin. Another growl was issued and she pulled her fangs from his neck only to slice them through a different location at his neck. She felt him weaken and his legs buckle, but her hands kept him in place as she continued to draw the last few drops of blood from his body. Th-Thud, th-thud, thud… thud…… thud, echoed the last beat as she ripped her fangs from his dead body.

Silence reigned over Raven for a moment as her eyes closed and her fingers released the man. She heard his dead, fat weight fall to the ground, but just like before she didn't care about the dead man. The blaze was gone; it had been replaced with a soft burn. A smile caressed her lips and her brown hues looked back to Clover. ”That… Was some rush.” She smirked before she glanced over Clover’s face for a moment and remembered the last words that Clover had said before she had died. ”You saw it as well… The reason why I don’t trust a soul.” The newly made vampire looked to the dead body at her feet and she wondered just as to what she was going to do with him. ”I’d prefer that you forgot you saw that, it doesn’t matter anymore.” It mattered to her, a lot, but there was nothing more she could do about it. She hadn’t seen him ever since that night and there was no evidence or proof that tied him to her stabbing. He had disappeared and she was sure that their parents had helped him do it.

However, she didn’t want Clover dwelling upon it, because in her books, it was the first time that anyone had gotten a peek into her past and she wasn’t sure if she liked that fact. Reliving the memory upon her death bed, wasn’t at all that surprising though and her gaze was drawn upwards. ”So what now?” She asked before she moved to glance at her side, her fingers tugged at the bandages and pulled them away from her wound… Or was it still a wound? It was almost… translucent in a way and a brow perk up at the thought. ”I take it that this is a perk of being a vampire?”

From the moment she’d met the fat man, the leader of his little band of men, Clover knew he’d handed over his death certificate. He wasn’t very bright, and he had absolutely no redeeming qualities, at least in her eyes. When she’d presented him with hope of his survival, she presented him with a bold-faced lie. She’d give him just enough hope to keep him going, but she knew he wasn’t going anywhere. If they’d left him by the trashcan, Clo would have returned later, traced his steps, and killed him. There really was no hope. The only one with any type of luck, in the current situation, was Clover--she had luck in spades.

When the man actually started apologizing, Clo lifted her free hand and pinched at the bridge of her nose. He’d taken her seriously. He really believed the lie and latched onto false hope. Clover wanted to pull him close and coo at him until she ripped his head from his shoulders. Oh how she loved severed heads. But instead, she slowly loosened her hold on the man’s arm, allowing him an inch of wiggle room. Neither of them required the death grip she’d had on his arm. He wasn’t going anywhere; he was too busy sobbing and sputtering out his apology. Clover adopted the role of the watcher, observing Raven’s motions as the young woman tasted her first bit of blood. There were three ways of reacting, in Clover’s opinion: Raven could have accepted the blood, just like any other vampire; Raven could have rejected the blood, being too squeamish and having a strong hold on human eating habits; or Raven could have developed one of the curses that her sire had, that even Jesse had--Raven could have developed insatiable hunger or a type of blood frenzy.

The third option requiring more observation and first-person accounts, so Clo could only assume. Clover could only hypothesize, using one instance to weave together possibilities. Raven certainly savored the blood, if the woman’s actions communicated anything. Clo tilted her head to the side and followed the motion of the man’s neck, from the way Raven gripped his head to the way Raven jerked it to the side. The redhead was on a mission, and the man’s skin was in the way. The quick thrum of his heartbeat reached the peak of its crescendo, and they both witnessed the slow decline. Clover loved to witness the slow decline, to cause the slow decline. The smell of blood had her covering her nose. She didn’t want to rip Raven’s kill away and tear into the man’s body, ripping him apart and lapping at the blood.

When the man’s body slumped to the ground, Clover grinned at the cracking of the skull. His own body weight, and the concrete below, had caused the injury, and yet the sound was so delicious. “It doesn’t have to stop being a rush. As long as you aren’t sloppy, you can do this whenever you want. You can go out and slaughter ten of these fat fucks. I’d recommend finding someone cleaner, but it’s your business,” Clover teased. The air between them changed from one of humor to one of seriousness, and Clo wasn’t sure if she wanted to reply or not, if she wanted to keep going.

“I did see it. If it’s the reason you don’t trust anyone, then it matters. If it didn’t matter, then it wouldn’t bother you anymore. You’re asking me to forget something important about you, and I can’t do that. One, I don’t forget. Two, I don’t want to forget. I won’t tell anyone though.” Clover shied away from promising, since she was known to break promises. In fact, the only promise she still upheld was to Jesse, and it was hard sometimes, hard not to lie. Clo wanted to ask more questions; she wanted to dig deeper into Raven’s past. Instead of prying information from her new childe, Clo focused on the rest of Raven’s words.

Raven removed the bandage, and Clover didn’t know what to expect. Some part of her expected to see gushing blood, but she something more fascinating. Clover saw a wound that mirrored her own wounds. Raven was a Shadow, the same type of vampire as her sire, which was lucky. Clo understood Shadows. Clo could share all of her knowledge with Raven. If Raven had revealed a mess of a wound, Clover would have known her childe was of another path. Clo would have had to seek outside help, which she loathed.

“It’s a perk of being a Shadow, which is what you are. That’s exactly what type of vampire you are. And I’m the same type. We’re lucky. I would have had to ask people for help, and I hate asking for help. You probably would have been tossed out into the world on your ***,” she admitted, enjoying that bit of honesty. “When I was turned, I hated my sire. I spent months wanting to kill him. This is good.” There was a quick motion between them, just a back-and-forth motion of her hand. They were better off. Perhaps it had to do with the fact that Raven was at death’s door. Clo circled back around to the question about their current situation, the one that really needed answered. After all, Clover had turned a random woman in an alleyway. She hadn’t involved Jesse at all. There were probably going to be mixed feelings. Clover really didn’t regret a thing, not then. Raven had something, and Clover admired that something.

“We can go wherever we want. We can do whatever the hell we want to do,” Clover grinned.