Fang Brotherhood

by Clake Love

  FANG BROTHERHOOD

  By Clake Love

  Table Of Contents

  PART ONE

  PART TWO

  PART THREE

  PART ONE

  Matthew woke to a sense of heaviness and pain around his stomach. He blinked as he gazed down at his midriff which was swathed with stained bandages. He could tell that his injuries weren’t too serious but he winced at the thought of the gnawing pain that would accompany the healing.

  Matthew’s heart lurched and he quickly surveyed the room. He was lying on a modest but large bed. The walls around him were covered in pictures of seascapes; sun, sand, and deep blue ocean. The building’s warmth of the summer day only heightened the feeling of nostalgia. It would be morning soon. He could feel the first rays of sunlight seeping into his bones through the light lace curtains on the window by the bed. Matthew knew he had to leave soon but the pain made him want to lie in bed all day until his body mended itself. The stake that had been driven into his chest had certainly left its mark

  When nostalgia brought Matthew back to the shores of the continent, he never expected the entire place to be overrun by hunters who roamed the cities in search of his kind. Most of them had been novices, inexperienced enough to be glamored and disposed of. Matthew had had his fair share of battle wounds but none as serious as this one. A stake to the heart was lethal and this one had not been shy of its mark. He had fled and found a hiding spot, a deep calm washing over him as he prepared to meet his end. But now he was in an unfamiliar bedroom, patched up and still walking. How?

  Matthew sensed him first before he heard him: fresh and young and full of warm blood. But there was something there too, something different – a sharp edge – in the scent. It made Matthew’s hunger spike significantly; he felt his mouth water the nearer the scent got.

  The door opened a second later. A man walked in, about the same age as Matthew: tall and broad-shouldered, fine blond hair tumbling in waves. The guy’s face came into focus as he stepped into the light. “You’re awake,” he said. His voice was low and deep – a hint of an accent; Australian? – and Matthew watched him warily, tense as a bowstring and ready to retaliate in case the guy made any sudden movements.

  Matthew said nothing in reply and the guy thrust out a hand to introduce himself. “I’m Sam,” he said, expecting a courteous response to his gesture, and when Matthew didn’t take his proffered hand, pocketed it sheepishly. “What’s your name?”

  Matthew waited a moment before responding. “Matthew,” he said, eyes fixed on the stranger.

  Sam nodded. He sat on the edge of the bed at Matthew’s feet and leaned back on his palms, watching Matthew with an unreadable expression. He was either stupid or didn’t know Matthew was a vampire because after that he reached out and checked Matthew’s pulse, his large hand pursing over Matthew’s thin wrist, his thumb sweeping over the clammy skin. His hand ensconced Matthew’s wrist completely and made Matthew painfully aware of the last time he’d had a decent meal. Four days, maybe five? A college girl from a popular university, young and healthy who guttered out like a flame as he helped himself. He hated it when they struggled; finding sustenance was hard enough, he didn’t need food to start banging their fists against him. He could feel his fangs extend and sharpen underneath his lips. He could feel the thrum of blood under the man’s skin. The contact was deliciously warm and inviting.

  Sam pulled away in an annoyingly calm manner. “You’re dead,” he said. He quirked an eyebrow.

  “Technically,” said Matthew and pulled back his lips to show his teeth. He’d expected Sam to be impressed or at least vaguely disturbed but instead Sam continued to look at him with the same odd mix of fascination and bemusement. “Are you hungry?” he asked.

  “Why? Are you offering?”

  Sam shrugged. Matthew rolled his eyes and made himself comfortable against the pillows, rubbing his sore chest. He could feel threads of his strength leaking back into his muscles but it would take a while until he was fully recovered. He could hurt Sam with minimal effort but he simply wasn’t in the mood; Sam seemed harmless anyway and if he proved otherwise, Matthew could always use a snack. Besides, Sam’s bed was comfortable, and Matthew couldn’t remember the last time he’d been somewhere that wasn’t dank and depressing. London itself was, with the fog and rain and the terrifying traffic. He was glad that he was indoors at least instead of out there braving the temperamental weather.

  “Aren’t you wondering how you got here?” Sam asked, rising from the bed to stand in front of the window. He pulled the curtains shut and then walked back to the bed, his hands on his hips, his stare appraising and lingering somewhere near Matthew’s face.

  “I figure that could be a story for another time,” said Matthew.

  “I thought vampires didn’t bleed,” said Sam, gesturing to the bandages. “And were mostly, I don’t know, evil.”

  Matthew knew not to take it personally but he felt his lips curl in annoyance. “How do you know I’m not evil ?”

  “Just a feeling,” said Sam, smiling slightly.

  “You’re an idiot.”

  “I take it you’re feeling much better, then.” Sam glanced at his watch to check the time before grinning down at Matthew with evenly spaced near-perfect teeth. Matthew wanted to throw him out the window except it was going to be morning soon. And Sam had been generous enough or stupid enough to patch him up; it had been a while since he’d been on the receiving end of such kindness. The most he could hope for on a regular day was the opportunity of a swift painless death. Those slayers were getting younger and younger these days and admittedly their methods were getting kind of sloppy. Decapitation was a messy affair; too much blood and unnecessary violence. Not that Matthew missed the swift ruthless blows of the slayers who had come before them but they had been fewer back then and far less likely to cross paths with.

  Matthew made to stand but his ribs still hurt too much. He was lucky he didn’t have to breathe and only did it out of habit. Sometimes he liked to pretend he was still human. The rhythmic rising and falling of his chest was comforting but it was a mental exercise to remind himself to keep breathing.

  “You alright, mate?” asked Sam, stopping him with a hand curled around Matthew’s bicep. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Do you have any idea at all, what I am ?” Matthew asked him incredulously. The hand never left his arm. The veins were close beneath the skin, throbbing gently as the man’s grip tightened around Matthew’s wrist.

  “You could enlighten me,” Sam said, grip tightening a little more. “I mean, I know you’re a vampire. But what does that mean?”

  Matthew laughed without any real humor. “It means,” he hissed, and stepped forward to yank Sam by the front of his shirt. He pushed his face up to Sam’s neck, plunging ravenously, his mouth a wet curve that trembled with the effort it took to contain his hunger. His teeth grazed the tender skin of Sam’s neck enough to count as a warning. Sam’s blood smelled wonderful and undiluted, hot , and Matthew felt feverish just standing next to him like this, burning with a desire to feed . “This is what it means,” he said, and traced his tongue across the shell of Sam’s ear. But Sam didn’t seem afraid of him. He didn’t even flinch, the bastard.

  Instead he cupped the back of Matthew’s head and closed his hand around the stem of Matthew’s neck, hauling him a little closer, like he was daring him to continue. Had Matthew still been human, he’d have shivered from the intimacy of such a touch or swayed a little into Sam. He swore for a second that his vision swam.

  “See,” Sam said softly, looking searchingly into his face. “I knew you weren’t evil. Somewhat of a pervert with the ear-licking- ”

  Matthew bit him on the shoulder purely out of
spite. Sam yelped, and his grip went slack around Matthew's neck but didn't fall away. “Jesus,” he said and shuddered as Matthew lapped at the pinpricks of blood. He arched up a little, his fingers tightening against the base of Matthew’s neck. His blood tasted divine , like nothing Matthew had ever had before.

  "Am I turning yet?" asked Sam after a few seconds.

  Matthew raised an eyebrow at him, licking his teeth. He pulled back and Sam winced, then brushed a hand over where Matthew had bitten him. He breathed out through his mouth. “Okay,” he said, eyes comically wide. “All right.” He eyed Matthew with a faint smile. “Why’d you stop all of a sudden?” he asked.

  Matthew rolled his eyes and shoved him halfheartedly on the shoulder before sprawling back awkwardly on the bed. “You taste funny,” he said and gave Sam a quick once-over. His blood had been sweet with a tang of something Matthew couldn’t quite place. “You’re not sick are you?” he asked suspiciously, lifting his head from the pillows.

  Sam snorted. “No, and I’m not doing drugs either. I’m clean.”

  “Right,” said Matthew disbelievingly.

  Sam’s mobile went off in his pocket, beeping loudly in the otherwise silent room. Matthew hated the twenty first century: all this newfangled technology either too loud or too bright or too fast. All of if obnoxious.

  Sam frowned as he tapped the screen. “My shift at the hospital starts in twenty minutes. I’m afraid I’m going to have to leave you now.”

  “I think I’ll manage without you,” replied Matthew. He touched the posters on the wall and ran his fingers over Sam’s things: the framed accolades on the desk, the aquarium which bubbled with artificial blue lighting. Sam’s wallet bulged with a multitude of receipts on the table but before Matthew could take a better look at his ID, Sam swiped it clean from under his hand with surprising speed.

  “I wouldn’t leave here if I were you,” said Sam, pocketing his wallet.

  Matthew crossed his arms. “I’m a vampire, not a stray cat you just brought in from the street.”

  “I know,” Sam said. “Though that last one would have been more preferable.” He flashed Matthew a charming smile that the other man didn’t return.

  Matthew followed Sam down the hall where he shrugged into a jacket and tugged on a beanie, tucking his hair under the brim. Then Sam turned to face Matthew who stood leaning against the wall, watching him openly, hardly blinking at all.

  “It’s not safe out there,” said Sam.

  “And you know this how?”

  “I just do. Gut feeling, I guess.” Sam shrugged, something sheepish and young about the gesture before leaning forward to touch Matthew’s chest. Matthew caught his wrist before he could, however, but rather than pull away, Sam simply met his gaze and raised an eyebrow.

  “You’re not properly healed yet,” he said when Matthew let his wrist go a second later. He tapped the crusty spot of blood over Matthew’s breastbone with the pad of a finger and then pressed his lips into a thin line, like he was relieving a particularly bad memory. “So I wouldn’t do anything strenuous if I were you. Stay. Make yourself comfortable. Leave when your ribs stop feeling sore.”

  “How do you know my- ”

  Sam gave him a lopsided smile as he reached for the door behind him. “I’m a doctor,” he said with a laugh. “I know these things. Now be good.” That was the last thing Sam said to him before stepping out into the street.

  ***

  Matthew was bored. He watched TV for a while but that got old pretty quickly. He went through Sam’s DVD collection, raided his fridge. He poured himself a bowl of cereal and ate it dry as he walked from room to room. Eating human food was an unshakeable habit of his; it made him feel normal as opposed to something that didn’t belong in this world anymore. Pretending he was still a man gave him comfort and made him feel set apart from other creatures like him: they weren’t exactly a friendly bunch and most preferred to hunt for food alone.

  Matthew hadn’t been inside a person’s house in a long time. A roof over his head was nice but he still didn’t trust Sam. His story seemed to check out though: Matthew found a diploma in medicine from an Australian university dated two years ago. So, Australia. That did little to explain Sam’s eagerness to help him or why he’d invited Matthew into his home. Or why the guy was living in London of all places.

  The good thing was that Sam’s flat was comfortable, far from a pigsty with huge chairs and soft carpeting and windows that, while Matthew probably slept, he shuttered and covered in newspapers. Matthew felt himself getting sleepy before noon and staggered back into Sam’s bed, where he pulled the blankets over his head even though the curtains were drawn shut.

  When he woke again, the sun had already gone, and his ribs felt much better, still a little tight under the swaddle of dressings but better . He put on his shirt, still crusty with blood and popped the crick in his neck as walked to the kitchen. His senses kicked into overdrive the second the door creaked open.

  Sam stumbled in, carrying a cooler. He deposited his keys on the table and gave Matthew a sheepish grin as he dropped the cooler onto the counter. “Got you something,” he said. “Figured you’d be hungry. These are courtesy of the hospital. I kind of borrowed them without asking.” Sam popped open the lid: four bags of blood lay cooling in a mountain of ice. Matthew felt his stomach rumble in hunger. He grabbed a bag and curled it desperately against his cheek. He probably looked like a simpleton but there were times when the animal part of him just couldn’t help itself and acted on pure instinct. Right now he was hungry.

  “Best heat them first though,” said Sam, trying not to smile. He turned on the microwave, then set another bag inside before pressing a button and patting the side of the contraption.

  “I’m not an idiot,” Matthew said, watching as the bag rotated through the glass. He hadn’t had to use a microwave in his life but he knew how they worked, in theory.

  “I wasn’t saying you were . I just.” Sam made vague gestures in the air. “Never mind. Knock yourself out.” He headed straight to his bedroom making more noise than was strictly necessary. Matthew waited for the bag to finish heating before tearing open a corner and suckling greedily. He hollowed his cheeks and lapped up the trickle that ran down his fingers all the way to his wrist. He heard the water running from across the flat – Sam in the shower, singing off-key, his strength was nearly back now – and then Sam sliding the curtain aside and shaving with an electric razor. Matthew waited impatiently for him to finish so he could have someone operate the microwave but he was taking too long and he decided to take matters into his own hands. The door to Sam’s room was unlocked anyway: when Matthew peeked through the crack, Sam had already thankfully worn trousers and was toweling his hair. Water slid off his wide back in perfect rivulets. There was a painful gash on his left shoulder, about an inch or two long, as if someone had come at him with a knife.

  “You want anything?” Sam asked without turning.

  “What happened to your shoulder?”

  Sam paused for a second before replying. “Got mugged.”

  “Looks fresh,” Matthew said, not believing him for a minute. Muggers aimed for the weakest spots: soft flesh. This looked deliberate.

  “Two days ago,” Sam continued. He faced Matthew with a wry smile. “You know how it is in this city.”

  “I don’t, actually,” Matthew said. “It’s not my city anymore. The last time I lived here the war had just finished.”

  “So that makes you what, fifty, sixty?” Sam counted his fingers.

  “Thereabouts, but I was twenty eight when I was bitten.” Why was he telling Sam this?

  Sam nodded. Finally, he put on a shirt and slicked back the hair from his face. “You need help with the microwave?” he asked.

  ***

  Matthew spent the night watching Sam eat curry takeaway in the living room. He liked the spicy smell of it and wished he could enjoy regular food. When he’d been bitten all those years ago, he though
t he could condition himself to live on poultry, but he’d found out the hard way that only blood kept him functioning. Anything other than that that passed his lips lacked flavor and nourishment. And sometimes the urge to feed was just too strong.

  “Why did you bring me here?” Matthew asked as Sam set his plate under the water. Sam shrugged and ran a sponge across it in slow circles.

  “Not everyone is out to get you, you know.”

  “I am out to get you,” said Matthew. “I mean, I am a vampire after all. What do you think my diet consists of? Popcorn and candy?”

  “But you haven’t killed me yet.” Sam sounded far too amused by this fact.

  “Maybe I’m just bidding my time,” Matthew said haltingly.

  “Maybe,” said Sam, like he wasn’t even listening.

  “You’re an idiot,” Matthew said, because he had to have the last word. He hated feeling like this. He wasn’t even sure what to call it.

  Sam wiped his hands on the front of his trousers, leaving a stain in the shape of fingers. “Yeah,” he said. “I think we’ve established that.”

  ***

  Matthew left in the middle of the night while Sam was heavily asleep. He could’ve bitten Sam while he lay in bed but that would’ve been too easy, and such a cliché that he dismissed the idea as soon as it surfaced. He stood by the bedside though and watched the rise and fall of Sam’s chest enviously. He coveted Sam’s life, the friends whose pictures he kept under magnets on the fridge. He wanted all of it, mortality, and normalness, taxes and a nine-to-five job, not this second-rate existence that consisted of skulking around in the shadows and living in fear of the sun. The slayers were hot on his trail after he’d killed one of their own, purely out of necessity. You do what you have to in order to survive. And a man, vampire or human, had to eat.

  Matthew leaned over Sam and touched his finger to the fluttering pulse at his neck. So easy , he thought. Just one bite. Matthew left before he could do anything.