seen from South Africa
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from Ireland
seen from Canada
seen from Russia
seen from Ireland
seen from China
seen from Malaysia
seen from Italy
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from Malaysia
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seen from United States
seen from China
In a spurt of activity I have posted Sunless Lives on Ao3.
https://archiveofourown.org/works/64200166/chapters/164759776
Come for the vampires, workplace abuse, complex relationships, and the deeply personal love that I put into this work. It's definitely flawed, but I will be forever grateful I wrote it.
Lara from Sunless Lives.
Art taglist: @whumpistry, @whumpsday, @flowersarefreetherapy, @rainydaywhump,
@softvampirewhump, @whump-me, @honeybees-125, @evilwriter37, @merciless-whump
"It was a delicate operation." for sentence asks!
It was a delicate operation. Not the surgery itself - hip replacements are common enough - but packing everything needed, checking the list, rechecking the list, going over contingencies, calling the hospital ahead of time, talking to nearly every person Simon would come into contact with.
Making sure it would feel safe.
Simon still shook so badly in the car that he couldn't open the chocolate bar Matthew handed him. But Matthew opened it for him. Matthew made the phone calls. Matthew checked the list.
Matthew kept him safe.
Sunless Lives Part 33: I Need to Survive
~2840 words
CW: negative self-talk, beating, broken bones, attempted murder, torture, vampire whump, gunshots, vampire feeding, vomit, mouth whump, non-sexual throat fuck with a foreign object??? fellas…
Also NO main character death!
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~~~
“Mr Bowers, where are we going?”
Bowers glanced at Simon in the rearview.
“You’ll see.”
Simon huddled in the back seat as Bowers drove. He swore, he was never getting into the backseat of a car ever again. But he’d had no choice in this case; Bowers was a grade B vampire, and could easily snap Simon in half if he wanted to. Running was not an option on his ruined feet. Simon had let the vampire tuck him into the backseat and buckle him in like a child, and could only hope that cooperating would make whatever was about to happen as painless as possible.
He was doing his best to not think about what might be coming, but with Bowers refusing to answer his questions Simon had nothing to do but think as he shivered in the backseat. The rain had turned the May night cold, and Simon’s thin pajamas did little to keep him warm.
What if he’s taking you to an initiation.
Simon watched Bowers carefully, and waited until he was looking away while making a turn to feel the item Nora had dropped into his pocket.
What if they’re going to pin you down and -
It was a small metal and glass square. An MP3 player? A smartwatch? Simon didn’t want to take it out and look.
He’s not preybonded to you and Lara’s rules are gone, he can kill you. He can kill you.
“Please,” His voice was steadier than he expected, “Tell me what’s happening.”
“I would,” Bowers replied flatly, “But you wouldn’t like it.”
Yeah, no shit.
Matthew wouldn’t have let this happen.
Simon screwed his eyes shut, flinching from the pang of guilt.
Matthew-the-vampire wouldn’t have let this happen. He’s human now, and that’s a good thing. Whatever happens is worth it. Him being human and alive is worth it.
You’re not.
You’re not worth it.
Simon stared out the window and hoped against hope that the square meant help was coming.
~~~
“We can’t just run off without authorization!” Amber yelled.
“Bowers could discover they’re being tracked any second!” Matthew bellowed, “We’re leaving now!”
He and Gina burst out of the stairwell and into the parking garage, Amber chasing after them.
“You’re going to get yourselves killed!” she shrieked.
“What if they get on a plane, huh?” Matthew snapped at her, “What if they go somewhere we can’t follow?”
“We will figure it out!”
They reached Gina’s car and Gina opened the passenger side.
“We can’t wait for Dune to decide that Simon’s worth it,” Matthew kept arguing while Gina searched through her glove box, “I’m not letting him be taken again.”
“Neither am I.” Gina rejoined him, loading a pistol.
“But Bowers is a grade B, he…” Amber’s outrage melted into fear. “With only the two of you against him… He’ll kill you.”
“You could make it three.”
“I…” Amber slowly shook her head.
“You’re a fucking coward, Amber,” Gina spat.
“No, I’m not!” Amber’s voice echoed through the garage, louder and angrier than they had ever heard. “You think anyone will come after you if I go with you? I need to be here, to convince them to send you guys backup!”
Gina and Matthew exchanged a glance. Amber was right - she was the only one in a position to sway the VIU.
“Here.” Amber unstrapped her holster from around her waist and handed it and the gun it held to Matthew.
“Thanks,” he said, softening.
“Just… Survive as long as you can, and I will send backup ASAP.”
Amber stepped out of the way and watched as Gina’s car pulled out of the parking garage.
Then she sprinted back into the building, determined to do what she could.
~~~
Simon slammed into the ground, bruising his knees and scraping his palms raw on the wet asphalt.
“Get up,” Bowers ordered, closing the car door.
“I can’t!” Simon gasped. Bowers grabbed his arm and hauled him upright. He was done playing games. Simon cried out when his feet were forced to touch the ground, but no one was around to hear him.
They were in some sort of warehouse district; massive buildings loomed out of the dark around them, and Simon hadn’t seen a soul on their way in. Whatever Bowers needed this level of privacy for couldn’t be good. Simon’s earlier shocked calm, necessitated to keep Nora alive, had worn off and now he was truly terrified, trembling in Bowers’ grip.
Bowers half dragged, half walked Simon to the door of the warehouse he’d pulled his car up in front of. He threw open the unlocked door and shoved Simon through. Simon fell into the dark, bruising his limbs a second time as he tried to brace his landing. A moment later lights flickered on above him; he was surrounded by sky-high shelves full of plastic-wrapped boxes. He rolled over to look at Bowers, still posed by the light switch. Simon’s heart pounded and his breath came fast.
“Here’s where I come clean.” Bowers reached down and plucked up a length of pipe from where it leaned against the wall, as if waiting for him. It was about three feet long and two inches in diameter, and made of aged dark metal. The ends glinted bright where they were sawn off.
Bowers started to take leisurely steps towards Simon, who began to pull himself backward along the floor, eyes glued to the pipe.
No.
“Everyone’s noticed by now, since the humans got the cure, and our man Yarl is out, the vampires being caught the fastest are the ex-clients of one Miss Lara Everett.” He twirled the pipe around. “That’s no good for us. No good for business.”
Simon rolled over onto his hands and knees, desperate to get away, to get away faster.
“But of course, none of them can kill you… Not directly, anyway. But I can. So I’m cleaning up, Simon. I took care of Isles and… You’re next.”
Simon froze, petrified.
Christian… dead?
YOU’RE NEXT.
Charged with adrenaline, Simon dug his feet into the floor and ran. The pain ripped a cry out of his throat. He made it two steps before the pain in his feet and his overworked legs made him stumble. His skinned palms crashed into the concrete floor yet again, then his elbow when his right wrist collapsed. But Simon moved through the pain, pushing himself up onto his left hand and his battered knees with a gasp. He could still move, he could still -
Bowers’ shoe stomped into his back, flattening him back to the floor. Simon twisted his head to look up, one cheek pressed against the concrete. Bowers leaned down, putting more weight on Simon’s back and ribcage.
“And since I have to do it anyway,” he smiled, “I may as well enjoy it.” He stepped off of Simon and raised the pipe. Simon twisted his body to the side.
“Please, don’t-!”
The vampire brought the pipe down with a tremendous clang onto Simon’s left hip and a crack shot through Simon’s pelvis. Simon shrieked as the pain lanced up his spine and down his legs like white hot fire. He had no time to process the hit before the pipe came down again, smashing into his femur with a crunch. Simon tried to curl up, to hide from the excruciating pain, to expel it through his mouth, but the next hit shattered his left shoulder blade. His existence felt like one unending screech of agony as he writhed on the concrete under Bowers’ merciless gaze. Bile rose in his throat and he gagged, desperate to fall unconscious, desperate for it to end. He couldn’t even form the words to beg. He could only breathe, scream, breathe, scream.
I don’t want to die.
I don’t want to die.
I don’t want to die.
“Fuck, you’re loud!” Bowers shouted over Simon’s ceaseless wailing, “Let’s see what we can do about that!”
He seized Simon by the neck and dragged him upright, his back against Bowers’ legs. This sent new waves of pain through Simon’s body as displaced nerves jostled against bone crushed against muscle. Bowers shifted his grip to Simon’s jaw, pulling his already screaming mouth open wider. He lifted the metal rod and shoved the end of it into Simon’s mouth, and pushed, the sharp metal edges tearing, ripping, scraping at the delicate tissue of Simon’s cheeks, his tongue, his throat, as Bowers forced the rod in further, not caring what damage he caused. Simon choked, on the rod, on the blood, on bits of flesh. His screams were finally stifled as he struggled to breathe. His arms flopped uselessly. His eyes rolled.
“Better,” Bowers grunted, “Much better.” He yanked the rod out, splattering blood, and dropped Simon back to the floor where he heaved and choked and spat out blood and chunks of his own throat. Gone was the screaming; now Simon could only agonizingly gag and wheeze.
Bowers raised the rod once more and brought it down on Simon’s right shoulder. Simon’s whole body jerked, but the only sound he made was a horrifying gurgle. He shouldn’t still be awake. He shouldn’t still be alive. It wasn’t fair, wasn’t fair, wasn’t fair. His brain reverted to primeval instincts: The danger is behind you. Crawl.
Simon dug his fingernails into the concrete and dragged himself, inch by inch, forward. It was the only thing he could do. Maybe, somehow, he could crawl away from the pain. Leave it behind.
Bowers stood back and watched Simon struggle, clawing at the floor until his fingernails broke. Going nowhere.
He laughed, and it echoed throughout the building.
BANG!
Matthew fired from where he stood by the door, gun raised and eyes full of fire. Bowers spun, his hand flying to his shoulder where blood burst from a bullet wound. He crouched and sprang back, taking shelter in an isle of shelves as another shot rang out. Matthew cursed and lowered his weapon, running forward towards Simon. Gina hung back, watching the room like a hawk. Matthew fell to his knees at Simon’s side.
Simon was lying face-down on the ground, silent and still. Blood seeped out of his mouth and bandages around his feet were stained red. Horribly dark and discolored blotches of skin peeked out from his t-shirt. His left leg lay at a sickening angle. Bruises littered his arms; his nails were cracked and bleeding.
“No, Simon…” Matthew reached out to touch him.
“Matthew, look out!” Gina shouted.
Matthew looked up and saw the vampire charging towards him, pipe raised, moving at an unnaturally fast pace. Matthew had just enough time to duck, and he felt the rush of air and heard a faint whistle as the pipe whizzed over his head. A second later and his brains would have been bashed in. Bowers kept sprinting past him, and shots rang out as Gina tried to hit him before he disappeared back into the stacks of boxes.
“Shit, he’s too fast, I can’t hit him!” she yelled.
Matthew stood, staring at the isle Bowers had disappeared into. He pulled his phone out of his pocket with a shaking hand.
“I need to call an ambulance now or it might not arrive in time - Gina!”
Gina turned in time to see Bowers making a run at her out of the stacks. She stood her ground, aiming and firing as he approached. Her shot landed in his chest, but he was unphased, and swung the pipe as he passed her. With no time left to dodge, Gina was hit squarely in the stomach and knocked to the ground. Her body convulsed as she dry heaved and gasped for the air that had been knocked out of her.
“Gina!” If she was down, Bowers would make his next blow a killing one. Matthew started to sprint over to her, but he heard inhumanly quick footsteps behind him. He started to turn but was hit squarely in the right arm.
“Ahhg!”
Pain erupted as his humerus snapped. His arm spasmed and his gun clattered to the floor. He stumbled and only caught a glimpse of Bowers as he vanished back into the maze of warehouse shelves. Matthew looked around wildly, at Gina, struggling to stand, at Simon, a mangled mess on the floor. He couldn’t protect both of them - he couldn’t protect either of them
Bowers was too fast.
Too powerful.
He was going to kill them.
Breathing hard through the pain, Matthew stuffed his phone back into his pocket and scooped up the gun in his left hand. Amber’s gun.
She wasn’t going to get there in time.
He heard Gina scream - a shriek of true fear, something he’d never heard from her before that poured ice down his spine - and he could only watch as Bowers flitted past her and knocked her from where she had just started to stand up back to the concrete with a horrible clang. She lay frighteningly still, a red gash at her temple. Bowers was already gone.
Matthew raised his weapon and spun around, frantically searching for Bowers. His right arm dangled, useless and excruciating. He heard footsteps, but in the large echoing building he had no way of pinpointing their location. They grew louder, faster, and Matthew pivoted to see Bowers rushing towards him, his eyes full of bloodlust and his knuckles white where they gripped the pipe. Matthew fired haphazardly, the first shot flying over Bowers’ shoulder and the second one hitting home in the center of his chest. Bowers finally stumbled, and instead of hitting Matthew with the pipe the vampire tackled him, pressing the pipe down over his throat. Matthew caught it with the heel of his good hand, still holding the gun, but was only able to resist the downward pressure for a moment before the vampire’s superior strength won out and the pipe pressed down on Matthew’s throat. Bowers held the pipe down with one hand and easily plucked the gun away from Matthew with the other, tossing it aside.
Matthew couldn’t breathe. He wheezed and reached up to claw fruitlessly at Bowers’ face. Bowers only smiled, baring his fangs, and bore down on the pipe harder.
“Not so tough now that you’ve been cured, huh?”
Matthew’s legs kicked uselessly against the floor. Bowers held him pinned there for what felt like an eternity. Matthew felt the air in his blood running out as his raised arm wavered and collapsed and his legs stopped moving. Spots filled his vision.
Suddenly the pressure lifted, and Matthew was able to suck in a stinging lungful of air. The relief lasted less than seconds, though, as the pipe was replaced by fangs. They sank into Matthew’s neck, and his chestful of air rushed out of him in a strangled cry. He was able to breath a little now, and movement returned to his limbs, but he could only wriggle and push at the vampire to no effect as Bowers fed, holding Matthew’s neck still with his teeth and his hands on Matthew’s shoulders.
Matthew had never been bitten before. It was expected to happen eventually in his line of work, but senior agents had always warned him: there’s no way of preparing for it.
There’s no way it won’t stick with you.
It’s slower than you think.
As Bowers leeched his vitality from him, Matthew found he could turn his head, ever so slightly, and look around. First to Gina, still motionless on the floor. Then over to Simon, his head in a pool of blood.
He could only be grateful he was dying among friends.
He began to feel cold, and dizzy. He lifted his hand to look at it: pale white and shaking. He could only hold it up for a second before it slumped to the floor. He refocused, as best as he was able, on Simon, who now looked very far away.
I’m so sorry. He couldn’t tell if he was thinking, or speaking, or just mouthing the words.
It shouldn’t have ended like this.
Not for you.
You deserved better.
I love you.
Bowers lifted away from him, and Matthew felt the blood run down his neck.
He must be done.
I must be dead.
Then he heard a horrible hacking cough. With great effort, Matthew rolled his head to look at Bowers.
The vampire was doubled over, clutching his chest, gagging and sputtering.
“No,” Bowers cried out, “No, no!”
He spasmed, and vomited up blood. He turned and screamed wordlessly at Matthew, spattering red. He heaved in a breath, and his own blood leaked out around his fingers where he pressed them to his chest.
“You poisoned me!” he wailed at Matthew, “Fucking turncoat!”
A smile crept over Matthew’s lips.
The cure.
It was in his blood.
It was turning Bowers human - and humans can’t survive two shots to the chest.
At least Matthew could die knowing the three of them had been avenged.
That Simon had been avenged.
His eyes drifted closed as sirens approached in the distance.
~~~
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Taglist: @flowersarefreetherapy, @pigeonwhumps, @sunshiline-writes, @seasaltandcopper, @pirefyrelight
a little Simon doodle, as a treat
I'm trying out a new style! Have a Matthew.
Sunless Lives Part 25: I Will Wait
~1580 words
CW: drugging, noncon undressing, nonsexual nudity, noncon touch, medical whump, forced institutionalization, ED mention, negative self-talk
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~~~
DR MANDAL: I’d like to know how you like the staff and faculty here so far.
M BECK: Oh, they’re great. Everyone’s been wonderful.
DR MANDAL: No trouble at all?
M BECK: None.
DR MANDAL: That’s good to hear. What about the other patients, do you like your roommates?
M BECK: Sure, they’re alright.
DR MANDAL: No issues?
M BECK: We all wake up with nightmares, so it’s not like it’s fair to complain about that.
DR MANDAL: So no issues, but do you like them?
M BECK: I think so. I think everyone here hates themselves so much, it’s hard to connect with other people.
DR MANDAL: That’s very observant. Would you include yourself in that?
[0:26]
M BECK: Yeah.
~~~
The intake process was terrifying. Whatever drugs he’d been given had worn off enough for Simon to be awake, but not enough for him to resist as he was manhandled by orderlies out of the car and into a hulking rock of a building - the title of Fort wasn’t just for show. He didn’t have much time to look before he was inside, lifted onto a gurney and wheeled through a dizzying maze of hallways and into a cold room. Broad-shouldered orderlies leaned over him, and started taking off his clothes. One unzipped his coat, while another sat him up. The coat was jerked over his shoulders and off, and dropped unceremoniously on the floor. Then his turtleneck was peeled off, his arms gripped and guided by strong hands. He whimpered and flinched when they touched his skin directly for the first time, and he distantly registered a laugh. His upper half was dropped back onto the gurney and they set to work on his lower half. Someone pulled off his boots and socks while someone else started unbuttoning his jeans. This sent a shock of panic through Simon, he wanted to tell them to stop, but he couldn’t form the words. He couldn’t form coherent thoughts either, instead his head was overtaken by wordless waves of fear and shame and embarrassment as they pulled his pants and underwear down. A hand briefly grabbed his ass but Simon couldn’t tell if it was on purpose or not. Tears slipped out and ran down his temple and into his ear. He couldn’t even move to brush them away, much less stop anything that was happening. Someone whistled when his thighs were revealed.
“Bloodbag.”
“Yup.”
“Fuckin’ idiot.”
A vague figure ran a hand over his ribs.
“ED watch?”
“Probably.”
“I’ll be deciding that.”
The orderlies backed off, and a gray-haired man in a doctor’s coat took over, briskly taking Simon’s vitals and shining lights in his eyes, ears, and mouth. He manually pulled at Simon’s eyelids and jaw himself, and didn’t address Simon as he worked. Then, Simon could only lie there and watch as the worst happened: the doctor received a camera from an orderly and started taking pictures. His face. His scars. The bites. The flash of the camera left Simon blinded and dazed. The doctor barked at the orderlies to flip him over and Simon heard the camera click as he captured his backside as well. Then he was dropped onto his back again, a sheet was thrown over his lower half, and the room was suddenly quiet and empty.
His head flopped to the side on the thin padding of the gurney, mouth agape. Tears and drool slowly leaked out, out of his control. He felt disgusting. Violated. Scared. This had to be some sort of mistake. There was no way Chris would send him to someplace like this. Your boss and your friends were so very worried, Kelly had said - Gina, Amber, and Devon had had a hand in this as well. He needed to talk to Chris. This all had to be some horrible misunderstanding. It had to be.
He wanted Matthew.
He wanted to go home.
Maybe you made a mistake.
Simon drifted in and out of consciousness for a while, but was finally brought back by his stomach growling loudly. He’d lost a lot of his appetite over the last month, but even he could only go so long without eating. He found he could move his arms, and legs, and even slowly sit up. He discovered some thin, scratchy clothes folded at his feet: a long sleeved t-shirt and elastic-waisted pants, both a sickly shade of green, and started the laborious process of putting them on. He felt sick, dizzy, cold, and hungry, and his limbs moved half a second slower than he wanted them to. He had just pulled up the pants and was standing unsteadily against the gurney when the door opened. He flinched back, grabbing the gurney for support. The large redheaded orderly that entered looked him up and down.
“McKenna?”
“Yes?” Simon breathed.
“With me.” He stepped aside and held the door open. Simon tentatively scooted through under his gaze.
“Where-?”
“Left,” the man ordered.
Simon started walking to the left down the hall, but his legs wobbled under him and he staggered into the wall. The large man caught his upper arm, gripping it hard enough to bruise, and dragged him along.
“That hurts, you’re hurting me,” Simon pleaded. No response. “Where are we going?” Nothing. They passed by more doors and under more fluorescent lights, as well as beady-eyed cameras mounted in high corners. The surveillance reminded Simon of Lara’s house, and his heart pounded. He stumbled to keep up. “I haven’t had anything to eat since yesterday, can -”
The orderly abruptly stopped and slammed Simon into the wall, pinning him there with an arm across his chest that knocked all the air out of Simon’s lungs.
“Don’t ask me for shit,” he growled, “Don’t ask anyone for shit, just do what you’re told, and shut the fuck up.”
Simon nodded, gasping for air. The orderly held him there for a long, threatening moment, clearly enjoying the power trip. Then it was back to being dragged.
After a few more confusing turns, they passed through a heavy security door and into an open room with round tables and scattered chairs, occupied by a handful of other people in the same green outfits as Simon. Orderlies were dotted around the room, observing as patients drew in coloring books and played checkers. It reeked of mildew and sick. Cameras stared from every corner.
“Don’t make any friends,” the redhead whispered in his ear, and released his arm. Simon staggered a couple steps forward, clutching at his aching bicep. Some of the other patients turned in their seats to watch him with languid curiosity.
Simon hugged himself tightly, breathing fast. He didn’t know what the orderly’s warning meant. He didn’t know what to do. He looked around the room in desperation and his heart leapt when he saw the back of someone in pink scrubs - a nurse, not a patient or orderly. The pink reminded him of Tammy at the clinic, and how kind she’d been. He wove through the tables to where she was talking to another patient.
“Excuse me,” Simon tapped her on the shoulder, “I just got here, I don’t know what’s going on, can you help me?”
She turned around slowly, her thin eyebrows high.
“Okay, number one, do not touch the faculty or staff,” she lectured.
“Oh, sorry, I -”
She snapped her hand closed in front of his face.
“Ah-ah! I don’t want to hear it. Who did your intake?”
“I didn’t - I don’t know.”
“You don’t know? Do you know your room number?”
“N-no.”
She huffed.
“Fine, I’ll look everything up for you. What’s your name, do you at least know that?”
“Simon. McKenna.”
“Thank you.” She strode away, ponytail bouncing, and exited through a security door that she opened with a keycard. Simon watched her go, pressing his knuckles to his mouth.
“That’s Linda,” said the patient she had been talking with - a very tall, very skinny man hunched over a hand of cards. Two others sat opposite him, an older man with a significant tremor and a boy younger than Simon, barely an adult.
“You don’t want to mess with her. I’m Chett, you wanna play cards with us?” the skinny man twanged, and grinned black and yellow teeth in an eerily familiar way that made Simon shrink back.
“S-sorry, no thank you,” he stammered.
“C’mon, sweet little thing like you needs friends!” Chett cajoled, but Simon was already backing away. He found a mercifully empty table and slouched down in the slippery plastic chair to wait for Linda. His heart thrummed and his eyes darted around the room at the other patients still giving him sidelong glances. None of them looked particularly friendly. The orderlies, on the other hand, looked downright hostile. They were all large men, some even larger than Matthew, and they glowered down over the patients like a bank of storm clouds.
Matthew. Simon felt tears spring to his eyes again. Hopefully wherever Matthew was sent was better than this. He put his head down on the table, sheltering under his arms. His mind replayed his last moments with Matthew. Their last kiss.
I’ll come get you.
Only a little while.
It’ll be okay.
You fucking idiot.
Regret started to bubble up in his stomach.
Shouldn’t have gone to the clinic.
He winced at the thought. Matthew, the real Matthew, was back and alive, and he was regretting that?
Worthless.
You deserve to be here.
~~~
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Taglist: @flowersarefreetherapy, @pigeonwhumps, @sunshiline-writes, @seasaltandcopper
Sunless Lives Part 14: I Can’t Die Here
~2370 words
CW: aftermath of implied noncon, vampire whump, vampire feeding, offscreen fighting, carewhumper
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~~~
Ariella - which he was allowed to call her when they were alone - was kind.
She’d given him his own room in the main lodge of her sprawling ranch - home to more than three dozen vampires. She’d already bought him two books in the month that he’d been there, and the promise of more hung on his good behavior. She’d bought a whole wardrobe for him. Everything was soft and stretchy and skimpy for easy access, but she let him pick the colors.
He’d picked black, to hide the stains.
She still followed all of Lara’s old safety rules: no keeping the same wound open for too long, for fear of infection; and no bites near the ‘danger zones’ of major arteries.
She never made him scream. She never hurt him for no reason.
It could be worse.
That’s what he told himself as she got up from the bed, and he pressed a clean cloth to a fresh bite on his outer forearm. His bedroom was large, and ostentatious, all dark rustic woods and woven fabrics. A small window showed a glimpse of mountains, and a thickly starry night sky. A massive deer head loomed above him on the wall - another one of Ariella’s prizes.
It could be worse.
He reached down and pulled a sheet up to cover himself - but Ariella caught it and twitched it away.
“Leave it,” she said gently, “I want to look at you.” She smiled down at him, her face sweet and round. Unintimidating, if you didn’t know her, which is why she refused to show it around strangers. She preferred to radiate power; but she needed no veil around Simon for him to feel that. He was helpless in her possession.
It could be worse.
Simon lay back, exposed, closing his eyes to stifle the pinpricks of tears that were forming. He longed for Matthew. His smile. His laugh. His quiet acceptance of all the ways in which Simon was broken. The way he made Simon feel smart, and funny. Simon's heart felt like it was burning a hole in his chest. Matthew would be dead if Simon weren’t here right now - that had to be worth it.
It could be -
“What was that?”
Simon opened his eyes to see Ariella, posed with her flannel dressing gown half-pulled on and her head cocked, listening.
“I don’t hear -” Simon started. Ariella silenced him with a raised hand. After a second longer she sprung into action, tying her robe tightly and striding to the door.
“Something’s wrong,” she said, uncharacteristically serious, “Stay here.”
Simon sat up to watch her leave, not sure what to feel. Something being wrong on the ranch could be good for him - a distraction that would keep Ariella away from him for a night or two.
Or it could be very bad. He had yet to see her angry.
He tied the cloth around his bitten forearm and went to his wardrobe. He got dressed quickly, in flowy shorts and a wide-necked t-shirt, both black. He hoped that the problem was something silly she would laugh with him about later, like a horse escaping.
Then he heard the screams.
They came from the west wing, where the stables were, and ended quickly. They weren’t wordless screams - they were certainly frightened, but they sounded like they were trying to communicate something. From this distance, Simon couldn’t tell. Then there was a crash, and the unmistakable sounds of fighting. Shouts, gunshots.
Simon shrank back against the wardrobe, hope and fear fighting each other in his chest. It could be the VIU, they could be here for him - but that’s impossible. Yarl told Simon himself, before the trade: no one would come for him. Which left… an attack by another vampire family.
The fear won out, and Simon scrambled to open the wardrobe and hide inside. This muffled the sounds of battle, but he could still hear that they ended suddenly. A long minute passed where he could only hear his own quick breathing, then it started again, closer this time. Whoever they were, they were moving towards him.
What if they’re here for you.
Simon pressed himself further back into the wardrobe, his heart pounding.
What if it’s Mr Rhodes?
What if it’s Gloria?
What if it’s…
What if it’s him?
A single set of heavy footsteps passed the door to the room. Simon held his breath, and they continued on. Soon after, the sounds of fighting started up in the east wing. These defenders sounded more prepared, more organized, and it lasted longer. Simon couldn’t listen anymore, he pressed his hands over his ears. He had no idea who to root for, or which outcome would be better for him. Maybe they’d all kill each other, and he could escape.
He eventually lifted his hands from his ears to discover silence. He couldn’t hear a single sound coming from anywhere in the massive lodge. He eased the door open a crack. Still nothing. He emerged from the wardrobe, and moved silently to the door of the room. What if this was his chance? What if he could slip out in the aftermath?
Suddenly he heard the heavy footsteps, marching swiftly towards him. He stumbled back from the door, Hide! his brain screamed, but the footsteps had already stopped, they were already opening the door, and standing there was -
Was -
“Matthew?” Simon breathed.
Matthew, beaten bloody, with an oozing bullet wound in his upper left arm. He wore all black, as usual, a long sleeved t-shirt and jeans. His knuckles were raw and red, and he carried a dented and bloody metal baseball bat that slipped out of his fingers and clattered loudly to the floor as he stood there, looking at Simon.
“Matthew!” Simon rushed forward, throwing his arms around Matthew’s neck and sobbing. “Oh my god, Matthew, how are you here, are you okay? Matthew, Matthew, I can’t believe it -”
Matthew seized Simon’s waist and sank his teeth into his shoulder.
Simon gripped the back of Matthew’s shirt tightly, sucking in a little hiss of air. His eyes stared blankly, wide and tearful, as the vampire wrapped his arms around him and fed.
“Matthew?” he whispered. But he knew it wasn’t Matthew anymore. Simon twisted slightly, trying to pull away, to no avail.
“Matthew?” He didn’t know what else to say. He couldn’t think straight. His heart skipped a beat and he knew that much longer of this on top of what Ariella took would leave him unable to walk - or run.
“Okay, Matthew?” he tapped the vampire’s back rapidly, his voice shaking, “Mathew, it’s time to stop. You need to stop.”
To his surprise, Matthew - the vampire - Matthew - released Simon and stepped back, baring his new incisors as he ran his tongue over his bloody lips and teeth.
“Sorry,” he said, not sounding sorry in the least, “I haven’t fed from a human since I turned.”
Simon swayed on his feet, blood leaking from his shoulder. Old instincts kicked in: Keep him talking.
“Oh wow,” he said, his voice sounding like it belonged to someone else, “How long ago was that?”
“Three weeks. Listen,” the vampire clearly wasn't keen on conversation, “We have a long drive ahead of us. Pack for three nights.” He crossed his arms and looked at Simon expectantly.
Simon gulped.
“Where are we going?”
“I’m taking you home, to DC.”
“What about Mrs Peacock, and -”
“They’re all dead.”
“How -”
“Pack and put on your shoes or I’m taking you with nothing,” the vampire spat.
“I don’t…” Simon couldn’t process what was happening. There was no way Matthew could have killed nearly forty vampires all by himself. Many of them were grade As, too. And now he wanted to take Simon home? For what purpose?
“Am I… yours, now?” Simon asked.
The vampire laughed.
“I wish! No, human-me was smart. He put my smartphone, all of my IDs, bank cards, and stock information into a box and gave it to Gina for safekeeping until you were home safe. There’s no way I would have been able to torture the location out of her, you know how she is. Easier just to get you, and exchange you for my things.”
Simon’s eyes flitted over Matthew’s injuries, his bloody knuckles, and the metal bat.
“Easier?” he whispered.
“Pack,” the vampire ordered, suddenly stern again, “I'm going to shower. Clean yourself up too, I don’t want blood in my car.”
He brushed past Simon and went into the en-suite. He didn’t bother closing the door, but he was out of sight, leaving Simon alone in the bedroom.
Simon’s legs gave out, and he sat down hard on the braided wool rug beneath him.
Matthew. Matthew is a vampire. He… He set up a bribe, for himself, to rescue you.
Matthew turned himself into a vampire for you.
Simon began to sob uncontrollably. Matthew was gone. Matthew was dead. And it was Simon’s fault.
Matthew certainly had been smart about it - once the government confirms a person is a vampire, their accounts are frozen and Border Control is alerted to their identity. A top priority for a new vampire is draining their accounts, cashing in their assets, and - if they have no ‘family’ - possibly fleeing the country for somewhere with no organized agencies like the VIU. Whatever Gina has, Matthew - the vampire - must need it to start a new life.
Simon wasn’t thinking about any of that, though. The blinding grief had abated just enough to make him realize that he had to go with Matthew. There was no other option; if the vampire left without him, Simon would be stranded on the ranch in the middle of God-knows-where. Based on the mountains and forests he could see from the windows, Simon guessed somewhere in the northwest - he’d never been good at geography, and no one had ever informed him of their location. There were a few cars on the premises, but Simon didn’t know how to drive. And since he was never let outside, he didn’t even have shoes.
I don’t even have shoes.
“What the fuck are you sitting here crying for? Let’s go.”
Matthew stood over him, glowering down, his hair dripping. Simon hadn’t heard him get out of the shower over his own crying. He lifted his tear-streaked face. Now that Matthew was clean, it was revealed that most of the blood on him hadn’t been his. The various scrapes and bruises he did have, and the bullet wound, were already healing. Unusually fast, even for a vampire.
“I don’t have shoes,” Simon said, his voice high and strained.
“Ugh,” Matthew strode to the door - and left. Simon stared after him, his heart rate rising.
Did he just leave? Is he leaving me behind? What if I starve here? Me, and the horses, and -
The others in the basement.
He’d never seen them, but he knew from Ariella talking with her lackeys that all the other vampires on the ranch were sustained by blood drawn from a handful of humans kept in the basement. And… Simon didn’t like to think about it, but the few times Ariella had overfed from him, he’d been given real blood to recover. From somewhere.
He struggled to his feet, intent on chasing after Matthew as best he could, but there the vampire was, in the doorway. He held a pair of boots, and an empty backpack.
“Try these,” he ordered, tossing the boots at Simon’s feet.
Simon quickly pulled them on as he talked, doing his best to ignore that they were warm.
“There are other humans trapped here, in the basement, if we don’t let them out they’ll starve down there,” he babbled, “And the horses too, please, I don’t want the horses to die -”
“Stop,” Matthew interrupted, “Someone here’s gotta have a cell phone, right? We’ll call 911 on our way out.”
For a moment Simon was stunned that Matthew agreed to do something.
“Thank you Matthew, thank you so much -”
“Don’t tie yourself in knots, I just figure you’ll be easier to deal with if I’m nice to you. Now would you fucking pack already.” His voice grew harsh and he threw the backpack at Simon.
“Yes!” Simon yelped, “Yes sir, sorry sir!” His face immediately heated as he realized he’d fallen into old habits. He turned his back on Matthew’s delighted smirk and went to the wardrobe, but he had to grab the handle to steady himself. He cautiously turned back to the vampire.
“I need to take care of my shoulder first.”
Matthew huffed.
“Fine. Make it quick.”
Simon went to a bedside cabinet where all his medical supplies were stored. Matthew had left a clean pair of punctures; Simon pulled off his bloodied shirt and made quick work of cleaning and bandaging them, and the bite on his arm for good measure. He also stuffed handfuls of bandages and antiseptic wipes into the backpack, anticipating the worst. He felt Matthew’s eyes wandering over his body, and he went to the wardrobe and put on a new, identical top. Then he grabbed handfuls of clothes and stuffed them into the backpack.
“I like your new style,” Matthew commented.
“It’s not mine,” Simon replied. He didn’t want to sound argumentative, but he couldn’t let anyone think he was dressed like this by choice.
“It should be. I always hated how stuffy you dressed, all slacks and button-downs 24-7.”
Simon stilled. He knew how the psychological change into vampirism worked - contrary to popular belief, a vampire is not the same person as before but with no filter or moral compass. No, becoming a vampire changes you into an entirely different person.
But they keep all their human memories.
“You didn’t like it?” He couldn’t help his curiosity.
“No. Human me thought you were repressing yourself or something. I just think it’s lame. Let’s go.”
Simon pulled the backpack onto his good shoulder and jogged to keep up with Matthew. He’d have to be careful what he asked - he didn’t want to learn something that would ruin his memory of Matthew.
Having to hang out with what is essentially your boyfriend’s possessed corpse is pretty memory-ruining already.
~~~
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