Chapter Text
It isn't a dark and stormy night when his master gives a party for his so-called friends and familiars. Scud hangs around in one of the dimly lit corners of the crowded room together with the other pets. Some of them are chained to the wall. Luckily Scud's master isn't into that, even though he is a sadistic bastard. He'd rather save his fantasies for the bedroom – or what room they were currently in when hunger strikes and Scud gets bent over a table or a couch quicker than he can say “hemoglobin”.
The room is full of vampires, most of them are non-pure bloods like his master. But there are some pure bloods too, quickly to be identified by their slightly disgusted expressions when a halfbreed or a familiar walks by. Scud is amused by this all too human behavior. Everything has to be tagged and put into a hierarchy – which ends with people like him, the human pets. They are toys with which their masters can satisfy their sexual needs and their Thirst.
Scud's master's name is Anton. Not the most charming name for a wild beast and surely not fitting in regards of his short-tempered, brutal nature.
Scud still remembers the day when he was cornered by a horde of vampires, every last one of them part of a gang of undead bastards who looked for human victims to sell them as voluntary pets on the black market. They say “voluntary” because no vampire, no matter how sadistic and cruel he or she might be, likes the thought of a pet that got picked off the street and maybe got “tried out” already.
They didn't try out Scud, but he had to watch when one of the other volunteers wasn't as lucky as him.
Anton bought him on the third day, tattooed his glyph right under his navel on the same night and almost drained him as soon as they got home. The only thing that saved Scud's lily white ass has been the taste of his blood.
“Disgusting!” Anton said and threw him down onto the hard wooden floor. “This will need some time.”
Scud chews on his bottom lip. He craves for a cigarette, but his master said he would get one only if he behaved well the whole evening – and up until now, everything went fine.
That was until the wide doors to the crowded room swing open. Everyone falls silent and turns their head to see what kind of ignorant intruder dared to show up this late to one of Anton MacHorvath's parties. And then he steps into Scud's sight.
The air in the room seems to freeze. Scud can practically taste the tension which wafts through the room. As he turns his head and looks for his master, he sees some vampires even draw out their fangs. Long, sharp and deadly and he knows in whose throat they would like to bury them.
He tugs at another pet's arm – a young girl, not older than sixteen – even though they aren't allowed to talk to each other, but he can't resist. A vampire who is able to silence a whole community of other vampires, even some pure bloods, is worth the risk of being talked about and getting caught.
“Who's that?”
The girl shoots him a sheepish look before she slightly leans over to him and whispers:
“That's Deacon Frost. He's the owner of several clubs in town and actually a non-pure blood. My master hates him, just like everyone else.”
Scud is about to ask why all the vampires despise this certain one when his master steps out of the group of quietly hissing and whispering guests. A few words are exchanged, some probably more sarcastic than the others, before Anton leads Deacon Frost away from the doors and further into the room, all the time a hand hovering over the other vampire's back like he didn't dare to actually touch him.
Scud can't help but be a little amazed by this. His master is usually a loud mouth who doesn't care over such things as personal space, inappropriate touching or other signs of respect, but this new guest seems to make him tense up a little and Scud makes sure to enjoy this sight to the last bit.
It is only when Anton and Deacon Frost vanish behind a thick crimson curtain which leads downstairs to the second living room and some small chambers for the pets that the first vampires start to rise their voices again.
Now it is even louder than before and Scud doesn't have to eavesdrop to know what the excited undead creatures are talking about.
They are talking about Deacon Frost. His name wafts through the air like angry ocean waves, again and again crushing against Scud's ears and sinking into his slightly dizzied brain. His master doesn't feed him before parties. He says the hungry feeling adds a sweet flavor to the human's blood. He would only get some shitty citrus fruit anyway.
Minutes pass which turn into hours and Scud constantly shifts his weight from one leg onto the other. His back hurts, his legs and arms are tired and the mood in the crowded room still hasn't settled yet.
Scud jumps when a large hands lands on his shoulder.
“Master Anton needs his pet.”
It's one of his master's bodyguards. He must have sent him upstairs for the human, even though that's normally not the duty of them. The bodyguards, all broad shouldered and at least two heads taller than Scud, are usually positioned outside around the house. Anton MacHorvath is a vampire with influence – of course an assault is not an uncommon thing. Next to him and the maids, the bodyguards are the only human beings in his master's household. Every one of them has a glyph and will probably never need to read the newspapers for a new job advertisement again.
The muscleman grabs him by his neck and drags him through the group of vampires towards the stairs behind the curtain. Scud tries his best to keep pace and stumbles ungracefully past hissing and licking vampires. He hates it when this happens.
Of course he knows why exactly his master asked for the pet's presence. They call it gift exchange.
Anton and Deacon Frost sit in a dimly lit room together with some of muscleman's fellow companions and two of Deacon Frost's followers. One is a large man with filthy red hair and the other is a peroxide blonde chick with a mocking smile on her face. She hisses when Scud is pushed through the door and almost trips over.
His master takes no notice of him and so he bows his head and carefully steps past the silent vampire guest, trying not to look in the direction of the crazy blonde chick and glides down onto the carpet floor next to his master's legs.
Scud glances up to the vampire called Deacon Frost and investigates him carefully. His body looks young, not older than 28 maybe and his face is that of a businessman. There is no sign of any emotion or reaction to what his master says. Anton talks fast and in a foreign but familiar language which Scud can't and doesn't want to understand. It's the language of the vampires. Every last one of those bloodsucking sadists speaks it and they usually slip into it when they are discussing “mafia stuff”, as Scud calls it. Every time Anton has one of these "meetings," some vampire will knock three days later on his door to bring him a small wooden casket with Anton's emblems carved into it. And every time the casket contains a new pair of freshly torn out vampire fangs, bloody and still bound to the roots.
“You must be hungry, Deacon.”
The voice of his master shakes Scud awake from his daydreaming and every muscle in his body tenses up. He knows what happens next. It's like a sick imitation of human hospitality when people get invited to have a friendly dinner together.
Today's special menu is Scud.
Anton sits up on the couch he has placed his dead ass on and lets two cold fingers trail over Scud's bare throat.
“This one's particular tasty. He was only fed mandarins for the past two weeks. Please, help yourself.”
Scud crawls over to the silent vampire and settles between his open legs. His heart picked up the pace and he knows that every damn suckhead in the room noticed this. The blonde chick and the red muscleman quietly hiss. Sharp, white glistening fangs are exposed, ready to bury themselves in Scud's soft pale flesh.
He glances up to Deacon through long lashes, hands folded in his lap.
But the vampire doesn't even look at him.
“Thank you, Anton, but I refuse”, he says calmly, but Scud can still make out the disgust in his voice over the situation.
“Ah, right. I forgot. You don't approve of holding a human pet. Now, that's just too bad”, Anton replies. He doesn't even try to hide his disdain.
“Taking the Thirst as an excuse is mortifying for our superior race. They're just cattle after all.”
Deacon leans a little back on the other couch as to show Anton who has the upper hand in this tensed situation.
Even though Scud is afraid of the strange intruder, he'd like to give him a high five for that.
He doesn't care that his own race is getting insulted over and over again in this conversation, that's something he's been used to for a long time, but seeing his master so verbally slapped in the face is new and exciting.
An uncomfortable silence settles between the two vampires. Scud shifts nervously. Should he get up and leave Deacon Frost alone? Or should he stay, for his master hasn't said anything yet? He stills when Deacon Frost's gaze drops and lands on him. The “frost” in his name fits just perfectly, Scud realizes when those cold blue eyes settle on the small figure in front of him and seem to pierce right through him, leaving him shivering and breathless. There is no soul behind those eyes, just darkness and terror.
Scud whimpers.
“What's the matter, pet?” Deacon asks, spitting the last word out like an insult. “Have you forgotten how to move on your own accord – or do you need your master's permission first?”
He leans forward, just a little, but the move is enough to make Scud's heart stop for a beat. A cruel smile spreads on the vampire's face and the tips of his fangs show for a second.
“Pet,” Anton barks and Scud shakes awake from his paralyzed state.
Slowly, careful not to touch any part of Deacon Frost's cold body, he crawls back to his master. Scud can't remember ever being so happy to be called by the sadistic vampire bastard, but compared to Frost's icy cold hatred for humans he prefers the hotheaded nymphomaniac.
“I think we're done here”, Anton says, not able to keep the small growl off his voice. “Your problem will be solved by tomorrow, just as we said. Shall I show you the door then?”
“No, it's fine.”
With one fluid movement Deacon rises from the couch and turns toward the stairs, his two companions following him silently like shadows.
Just as the echo of their footsteps dies out, Anton grabs the nearest furniture – which happens to be the small table next to Scud. He yelps and ducks his head when the roaring vampire hurls it across the room like it weighs a feather. Scales of wood fly through the air and slide all over the floor as the table shatters on the wall.
The next thing he feels is the pair of strong cold hands which grab and hold him in an iron grip as his neck is brutally bend back, just before two razor-sharp fangs are rammed down and through the sensitive skin there. Scud screams when his blood splatters all over the carpet.
The last thought worming it's way through his dizzy brain is that maybe it would have been better for him if Deacon Frost liked pets.
And then the world around him turns black.
xXxXx
Deacon Frost is no gentleman. He doesn’t care about any correct vampire behavior, like respecting the pure bloods or holding himself a human pet, for that matter. When Anton put that pitiful creature in front of his feet to be drained by him, he had felt nothing but disgust. Humans are already at the end of the food chain, so why would some of them want to degrade themselves even more?
The pet had been pretty though, a young man with soft features. There had been nothing threatening about him and Deacon sadly knew that Anton favored those. It wouldn’t be the last time the vampire would offer him one of his pets in a derisive gesture, but it certainly would be the last time he saw this particular pet. The particular tasty one, as Anton had called him.
His taste wouldn’t save him that is for sure. Deacon ignores the screaming and begging as he reaches the top of the stairs and peevishly pushes the curtain aside. He keeps his sensible ears shut and focuses on the wide doors to his exit when the vampires he walks past hiss and whisper cheap insults at him.
“Half-breed.”
“A disgrace of the whole vampire race.”
“Someone should show him the light.”
To show someone the light means to simply let a vampire get burned away by the deathly sun. No one talks about it but this mafia like behavior happened from time to time, even though it is a betrayal of the own race. Deacon knows a lot of vampires he would like to see bristle and burst in the rising morning sun. Her light is most beautiful at dawn.
They reach the doors and Deacon holds in a sigh of relief when he finally escapes the waving whispers of his fellow vampires. Mercury snarls and throws one of the bodyguards a glare as she walks past them. As soon as they leave the mansion and sit back down in the waiting limousine, she crouches down next to him, brushes the hair on his neck aside and nibbles the spot where once his pulse beat steadily against his skin. Now the pulse was gone and his heart was cold and dead.
“I hate him”, she hisses and places a soft kiss on Deacon’s temple. He closes his eyes and slightly leans into the touch. “Why can’t we just kill him?”
“Yeah”, Quinn joined in and scratches his bulky head. “I mean he’s an annoying little fuck, Deac. We’d be better off without him.”
Deacon looks at him, unblinking and thinks if the broken knuckles are worth the hit. Sometimes he wondered why exactly he had turned Quinn back then. Maybe just to have a playfellow for Mercury, she gets bored quite easily.
“Don’t you think I feel the same way?” he growls and rather ruggedly pushes Mercury’s wandering hands aside. For this, he earns a pout that he would like to wipe off her face.
“Anton MacHorvath is the most spoiled vampire brat I have ever seen, but he enjoys a high affirmation from the pure bloods. I don’t even know why. Probably because he isn’t afraid to get his rotten claws dirty…”
Deacon rubs his temples and stares out of the blackened window. It is still night. It’s always night when he’s out for business. Sometimes he missed the sun but only for a brief moment before he reminds himself that she is now his enemy.
xXxXx
Scud can’t tell whether it’s day or night. There are no windows in the room and the only light comes from a small light bulb hanging from the ceiling that is slowly swinging back and forth in one of the corners. Scud’s condition isn’t any better: His arms are bound over his head and chained to a hook in the ceiling so his toes are barely touching the cold concrete floor. There is no feeling in his arms or legs anymore, which means he must have been here for some time now.
He carefully lifts his head and takes a look around. His vision is blurry, probably from the blood loss and his stomach is doing flip-flops, which would make him throw up if he wasn’t in this disadvantageous position.
Suddenly there is a cold hand on his lower back and Scud flinches which makes a sharp pain shoot up his arms.
“I see my pet is awake,” Anton says darkly and rests is hands on the small of Scud’s back. Elongated nails are lightly scraping over the soft skin there and draw thin bleeding lines. “You have disappointed me tonight, pet. Frost didn’t want you.”
“But,” Scud splutters and coughs. His throat is dry which makes his voice sound hoarse and pathetically helpless, “you said he doesn’t…”
The nails which were just lightly touching his flesh are now drawing into his skin and Scud yelps in surprise.
“That’s not the point!” Anton growls and grabs a fistful of the human’s dark tousled hair. Scud whimpers. Tears begin to collect in the corners of his eyes and he bites back a plea. If Anton were going to kill him he wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of begging for his life. That bastard could suck it, but he can’t hold back the tremble that slowly takes hold of his whole body. Anton notices this. A cruel smile spreads on his bearded face and he lets his hand wander over Scud’s neck down to his tailbone.
“Maybe I should have tattooed you there,” he muses and rubs at the beginning of Scud’s crack. “You were such a good little slut, it would have fitted you.”
Scud closes his eyes. He tries to regain some of his more comfortable memories while his master rants on with his dirty talk to get himself in the mood for the last joyride with his favorite pet. He remembers the face of his mother and how her eyes had shined when she had laughed or hugged him. As a child he had always shoved his hand through her thick blonde curls and enjoyed how soft they felt against his fingertips. The vampire who had raped and drained her had had his hand in her hair too, but he practically impaled her and suddenly the shining blond turned to a stinging red.
Scud’s eyes fly open when he hears the sound of a zipper pulled down and just seconds after, he gets impaled by his master’s hard cock.
He tries to keep his mouth shut, die with what was left of his grace and decency, but when Anton takes hold of his shaking hips and draws a clawed hand over his stomach, tearing flesh apart and spilling his blood over his thighs and onto the concrete floor, Scud begins to scream and tears mix with the dried blood on his cheek.
’Mom, I’m sorry,’ he thinks as he tears at his chains and screams as loud as his tired lungs would allow it.
xXxXx
The next night when Deacon returns to Anton MacHorvath’s mansion, his mood is ruined before he even climbs the steps towards the dark wooden entrance door, but then again, this kind of business is never combined with a good mood and he stopped caring about it long ago, so he just rearranges his plain white shirt and dark leather jacket and walks past a dozen bodyguards. Anton greets him with the usually cocky attitude of his, saying something sarcastic about his way of dressing and leads him down to the same room they sat in yesterday and discussed this particular job.
“It’s good you check on your requests yourself, Deacon,” Anton says cheerily as he slides down onto one of the expensive leather armchairs and gestures his guest to take a seat on the couch in front of him. There is no sign of the shattered table anymore.
“Well, you can’t trust anyone, right?” Frost replies and this time, it’s an open provocation from his side. Anton’s smile falters for a moment before his mug contorts into a big fake grin which exposes his long and thick fangs.
“You’re right and I’m glad you brought that up.”
Anton crosses his legs as Deacon sits down on the couch, his eyes never leaving those of the other vampire. Suddenly his fake grin turns into a downright smug smile. Deacon stills and waits for any sign of an assault, but nothing happens, no hunter with a silver knife or a bodyguard who tries to give him a garlic essence injection. It wouldn’t be the first time this happened and Deacon would make sure it wasn’t the last.
Instead the ugly bastard just sits there and smiles at Deacon like he is some goddamned naïve child whose about to get his head washed for something by his sadistic father.
His brows furrow in confusion and anger when a tensed silence settles between them and the flesh around his fangs starts to tingle in anticipation.
“What is it, Anton?” he snarls, not able to stand the silent smile of the vampire anymore. “Have you swallowed your damned tongue?”
Anton chuckles and folds his hands on his lap.
He had to be fucking kidding.
“Do you remember our little appointment from yesterday? Sure you do, I mean, you’re not here for the food, right? Well, it turned out that the vampire you wanted erased enjoys certain… amenities.” Anton stops and looks up from his own folded fingers. “He’s a pure blood, did you know that?”
Deacon clenches his jaw in frustration. Of course he knew about the vampire’s origin but he didn’t care. In fact, no one should care about whether a vampire is a pure blood or a non-pure blood. It doesn’t change a thing, it’s just the imitation of the human need to have a system, a hierarchy to rule a certain group of existences and give another group the feeling of being superior.
But this situation is more dangerous than he likes to admit and so he tilts his head, smiles and answers: “No, I didn’t know that. I’m sorry for the wasted effort then.”
Anton nods and rests his head against the armchair as if in deep thought.
“You know”, he starts to muse, “if someone found out that you wanted to have the fangs of a pure blood, it could get quite uncomfortable for you.”
He looks at Deacon and there it is again, that smug smile that tears at every urge in Deacon to just jump up and rip the skin off the vampire’s face.
“That’s right”, Deacon says calmly and fixates Anton’s gaze. “It would be a more than disadvantageous situation for me.”
“How about this?” Anton moves forward in his armchair until he sits on the edge and rubs his cold claw-like hands. “I won’t tell Dragonetti that it was you who gave me that request and you will stay the fuck away from me and my business. This way we both can use this… certain situation to our advantage.”
If Deacon were still a human, his heart would pound angrily in his chest, ready to burst out and splatter hot blood all over Anton and his puckered mug. But he is a vampire and for a vampire it is impossible to just vanish when times are getting too dicey. So he has to use all of his charm and false compliance to save his damned existence.
“Well,” he says and presents Anton his brightest and most teeth showing smile. “It’s a deal then.”
Anton nods in satisfaction and rises from his sitting place. He looks down on Deacon and his eyes speak pure, unhidden disdain.
“I will leave you for a moment, Deacon. There’s a call that needs to be done otherwise you might find your home covered in your companion’s guts.”
With that he leaves the vampire alone in the dimly lit room.
Deacon raises his hands, which he had kept as tight fists on his knees the whole time. The insides of his hands are bloody and torn where his elongated fingernails had burrowed themselves in the pale cold flesh. He stares at his blood and smears some of it between his fingertips. It’s cold but it doesn’t congeal, just one of the odd things of vampiric physics that can’t be explained by normal human science.
Most humans still don’t know about the actual existence of the hominess nocturne. Just like Deacon when he was on his way back late at night and had encountered this beautiful pale woman…
Suddenly a strange smell hits his nose. He tilts his head and sniffs. It isn’t as strange as it is weirdly familiar.
He stands up from the couch and closes his eyes, trying to make out the direction the smell comes from. It leads him out of the room and down the darkened corridor which leads to a couple of metal doors, all having a small Judas hole which shows him the inside of the small chambers. Most of them seem to be empty, but the last one to his left is definitely the source of the strong smell. He leans his temple against the cool metal and inhales deeply. It’s a mixture of blood, sweat and something indefinable… something peculiar.
His hands wander over the surface, feeling for a knob or a lock. Deacon frowns. Back in his head something tells him this was wrong and that Anton already had him on his shitlist but the curiosity quickly takes over and he wraps his long fingers around the small round doorknob and turns it slowly.
xXxXx
Scud’s eyelids flutter but keep shut when the creaky sound of the opening door reaches them and makes his dulled senses tingle. His mouth is dry and his lips have small cuts that had previously bled. Now they are pale and cold from the blood loss and match the rest of his stiff body.
Scud doesn’t feel the cold of the concrete floor; in fact he doesn’t feel anything. His body is as cold as his surroundings and his mind clouded and slow. The slow steps that approach him don’t even awake any fear in him. Everything is numb and dull and Scud is tired, so tired.
xXxXx
Deacon slowly steps to the quiescent pet. He’s already half-dead. There is only a small pulse and Deacon knows the unstable rhythm all too well. His heart had pounded the same way before his creator had drained and turned him, but this pet won’t turn. Deacon smells nothing besides Death on this human. As he bends down to sniff and inhale the familiar smell he stills and frowns. He knows this pet; it’s the same from the previous night: the particular tasty one who had been offered to him by his master.
Deacon smiles without feeling any joy. It’s a knowing smile; he had known this would happen. Poor thing, he looks like Anton had decided to have fun before he almost drained him.
His arms lay uselessly to his sides and the cuts and scratches match those on his thighs and his chest. The worst part is his stomach. Chunks of flesh hang around deep scratches and his whole lower body is covered in clotted blood.
He reaches down to brush some of the dirty strands of hair aside. They feel soft between his fingertips even though some of them stick together by dried sweat and something Deacon doesn’t want to think of too closely.
The pet’s eyes are closed but slightly flutter when Deacon moves or lets his fingertips dance over the cold body’s surface. They had been of a full clear blue he remembers. Very pretty, for a human of course.
As his gaze wanders down the pet’s body he makes out several bite wounds, some small and punctuated, other larger and torn. Deacon had met some coldhearted bastards in his life as a human and even more since he became a vampire but Anton MacHorvath is truly the most forbidding one.
He decided to kill his pet because Deacon had refused to drink from him out of his own belief. The human had to suffer for Deacon’s decision.
He investigates the pet with utter callousness. Why should he feel bad for it? It had been the pet’s decision in the very first place to become a vampire’s slave. Everyone knows that a glyph doesn’t protect them, even though it was meant to.
The glyph.
Deacon leaves the human’s hair and searches for the small tattoo under the navel. It is the only part on his stomach which hadn’t been completely torn apart. Deacon smiles and this time it’s a smug smile caused by a sudden idea.
xXxXx
When his body is carefully lifted from the cold concrete floor Scud muses if this is his soul leaving his body. His mother had always told him that he would join his father in heaven when he died. Of course that was before Scud stabbed one of the watchdogs in the orphanage. That bastard had been a child molester and Scud almost had been one of his victims. Back then he had still cared who touched his body and took advantage of him and so he had fought and screamed until he was able to free himself and get help, leaving the freak to choke on his own blood.
But Scud wouldn’t go to heaven. Not today.
xXxXx
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Frost?” Anton barks as he runs up the stairs to the upper floor and is at Deacon’s side in three long strides. The vampire carries the limp body of the pet in his arms, his leather jacket draped around the bony shoulders.
“You put that back right where you got it from,” he hisses and brings his face dangerously close to Deacon’s. But the other one just smiles, one corner of his thin lips pulling up in a mocking way before he tilts his head and fixates Anton’s furious stare.
“Why? It seems you don’t want him anymore,” he says and shifts the pet’s weight in his arms. “And it would be a waste of some tasty blood. What did you feed him with? Mandarins, you said?”
Anton growls and waves two of his bodyguards near.
“You want to steal my pet, Frost? That’s forbidden! I will stake you for this.”
“He’s not your pet anymore,” Deacon snarls and his fangs draw out to the fullest. Anton backs away immediately.
“What-… of course he is.”
Deacon huffs and looks down on the in dark blood covered glyph. The black ink still shines through the layers of clotted body liquid.
“This glyph means protection, not only from other vampires but also from the master,” he says. His gaze wanders up until he meets the disbelieving look of Anton. “And you clearly failed at protecting him. As you know the respectful treating of humans is one of the pure bloods’ spleens, so I’m sure they wouldn’t be too happy to hear how Anton MacHorvath’s kills his humans just for fun on a regular basis.”
He takes a step back and throws the stunned vampire his most disgusted look. “And that’s why he’s not yours anymore. He’s fair game and I will take him with me.”
Deacon doesn’t wait for a response, he turns around and paces out of the suddenly quiet room and heads straight for the exit. He needs to get home as quickly as possible and warn Mercury and Quinn to be more careful for the next couple of days.
And he needs to make a call himself. Maybe a certain person can save the dying man in his arms.
xXxXx
“Josh?”
The boy turns his head at the familiar voice of the nurse. He stares at the officer standing next to her. His face is blank, no sign of sympathy for the child on the white hospital bed. The dying sun sends strange shadows dance over his wrinkled face and his eyes are almost covered by the large policeman cap on his head. Josh can still make out their color: a bright green with a small dark ring around the iris.
“This is Officer Lennon. He will ask you some question about what happened.”
With a tender brush over his small shoulders the nurse leaves the man and the boy alone in the room. Josh watches the officer take off his cap and draw a hand through his maroon hair. He has very thin hair with thick strands of gray in between. He carefully sits down next to the small figure of the child. Josh's eyes never leave his unmoving face.
“Tell me what happened to your mother, Josh.”
Josh snuffles and starts to draw thin scratches over his small pale arms with tiny fingernails.
“She's dead,” he says. The eyes of the officer investigate his eyes but they seem to go right through him. He doesn't see him.
“Who did that to her?”
Josh stares at the white blanket he sits on. The last beams of sun fall onto his naked legs. The nurse had taken his clothes when she washed off the blood on his skin. She then gave him a white shirt with blue dots ornamenting the surface. Josh picks at the thin fabric.
“Josh?” the officer asks and slightly leans closer to the silent child. “Who was it?”
Josh looks up, directly into those hard green eyes with the small dark ring around the iris. The wrinkled face is blank.
xXxXx
“What the fuck happened?“
Mercury is at his side as soon as Deacon steps through the heavy metal door. She sees the limp body of the pet in his arms and hisses.
“What the fuck is this?” she yells and paces after him.
Deacon heads straight to his bedroom, ignoring her furious attitude, and lays the unconscious human down on the red mattress. He turns to search his pockets for his mobile phone. The pet is barely breathing and from what Deacon can tell, the wounds on his stomach ripped open again, as thick blood starts to ooze out.
“Did you get my call?” he asks. Missouri's number is on speed dial and he curses as his bloody finger slips over the smooth buttons.
“Yes,” Mercury snaps and throws him a furious glare. “The guards are positioned around the building. Quinn checks the clubs and I locked all shutters – just in case.”
“That's not enough,” Deacon mumbles. He clenches and unclenches his fingers as he waits for someone to pick up.
“Missouri, get your fucking phone already.”
He is just about to throw the little black thing away in frustration when he hears a crack and a snarling voice appear on the other end.
“Missouri here. What case of dying bastard have we this time?”
xXxXx
Missouri leans over the pale body in front of her. The bloodless complexion of the pet creates a hard contrast to the deep red of the mattress underneath. She wrinkles her small nose at this; Frost's taste of furniture hadn't changed in 40 years.
“So, where'd you pick up this poor bastard?” she asks as she shoves her glasses back onto her nose in a habitual move and inspects the bite wounds on the arms of the human.
Deacon paces around the room, strained and throws her an annoyed look. If this damn pet died he would lose his only advantage against Anton and probably be dead himself by midnight. But, no, of course Missouri had to satisfy her fucking curiosity first.
“He was Anton MacHorvath's pet. I took him with me,” he answers tersely.
Missouri turns her head and raises an accurately plucked brow. Deacon growls, which earns him a warning finger wave in his direction.
“Don't you growl at me, mister! I'm not here to be fucked with. Do you even know what bad condition he is in? Who do you think I am? Some stupid show doctor from ER?”
“Oh, you mean like George Clooney?” Quinn asks excitedly, standing next to a still furious and pouting Mercury.
“Shut up, Quinn!” Deacon and Missouri bark at the same time.
Missouri turns back to the unconscious pet. That poor bastard probably doesn’t even take notice of any of this hysteria around him. With a deep sigh she opens her medical bag made of the finest of snakeskin and pulls out a small syringe.
“I'll give him some garlic, just in case,” she mumbles and fills it with the for vampires deathly liquid. Deacon wrinkles his nose at the smell of it.
“Garlic? That's it, I'm out!” Mercury throws her hands up in the air as she stomps out of the room, Quinn quickly following her. Deacon looks after them and clenches his jaw in frustration. Mercury meant the world to him, but sometimes she annoyed the fuck out of him with her way too short-tempered nature.
“Frost, move your glory ass over here and help me, will you?”
Missouri steps to one side of the bed and flips the tip of the syringe. Small drops of garlic pour to the surface and drop down on Deacon’s expensive bedding.
He decides to burn them later.
“Hold him down in case he begins to thrash around. Otherwise he'll decorate your terrible white walls with his guts.”
The small woman bends down, brushes some of the sticky hair aside and with a familiar move draws the tip of the syringe through the sensitive skin right over the weakly beating pulse. Deacon holds the pet’s bony shoulders down and watches his face closely. When the human stays still, fear starts to gnaw on the inside of his chest.
“Will he die?” he asks anxiously.
Missouri shoots him a downright judging glare over the edge of her frameless glasses.
“Course not, you fucking idiot. I don't kill my patients; I repair them. And now get out, I need space and your vampire mug pisses me off.”
Deacon carefully lets go of the human's shoulders, his hands hovering for a moment over the soft skin before he slowly steps away from the messy scene. Missouri already turned her back on him and searches her medical bag for some gauze and disinfectant.
xXxXx
There is fire all around him. Hot flames licking at the skin at his arms and legs and his stomach feels like it’s going to burst. Scud winces and clutches with weak fingers at the soft fabric under his stiff body. It feels like acid runs through his veins and angrily gnaws on his very essence. His eyes fly open as his hearts wrenches like its torn out of his chest by invisible hands and he is blinded by white glistening light.
His mouth opens to scream, but no sound fills his ears. The fast rush of hot blood through his head covers any other sound. Scud panics and tears at the thin fabric between his trembling fingers.
Suddenly a dark figure breaks through the bright light; its shadow covers his eyes and takes the sight. Then there are hands all over him that press him down onto the ground.
Scud screams, at least he thinks he’s screaming because the grip loosens for a second. He sees his chance and releases a hand from the cold claw around his wrist. As his knuckles hit a hard cool surface Scud groans. He writhes in pain and thrashes his head around as strands of brown fly into his vision and brush over the numb surface of his face.
There are hands again but this time they didn’t let go when Scud screamed in sheer panic and confusion. Instead a heavy weight settles next to him and there is the light again. It shines so bright, just like the sun.
Scud falls silent and stares into the pure white. He hears something like a whisper, a row of voices all around him. He can’t make out from which direction they come from for they seem to be everywhere.
His head falls to the side as strength leaves him again. Darkness crawls over his body, which takes hold of his mind and blackens his vision. Before Scud sinks back into the dark he can make out a pair of light blue eyes, staring at him through the clouds of fading consciousness whilst the whirl of voices around him calms and dies out completely.
xXxXx
“This pet is thoroughly damaged. Have you even seen the wounds? And don’t get me started on his mental condition. What would you want with him, Frost?”
Deacon looks up and investigates the small woman in front of him. Missouri is old, wizen and not the most charming person, but who is he to complain about discourtesy? She always did her job well and already saved a couple of his more loyal followers who deserved to stay in his circle of confidants and familiars.
“Missouri, I am surprised. You are usually not that chatty.”
A slight grin crosses his features when the woman snorts and closes her medical bag. She immediately had packed her things after anesthetizing the screaming and fighting human.
“I’m just doing my job, Frost and I would like to stay alive while doing so. I am not looking forward to a revenge act by his former master,” she says and again looks at him over the edge of her round glasses.
“Don’t worry, when I took him he wasn’t MacHorvath’s pet anymore. If he should choose to assault me for my actions, he will have to suffer the consequences.”
Her body may be old but her spirit and mind are young, this Deacon knows when she searches his face for any sign of peradventure, but no one reads Deacon Frost that easily, not even Missouri.
She sighs heavily and shoulders her bag.
“Well, if you are sure about this, Frost, so be it. Now, will you move your honey body and open the door, please or do I, the old lady, have to do this by myself?”
As hard as it is to admit, he has something like respect left for Missouri and her work. As much respect as he could have for a human, of course.
He leads her to the door, winks her goodbye – for which he gets some mumbled insult – and finds himself moments later standing awkwardly in the living room, not sure of what to do now.
It’s not like he doesn’t have anything to do. Deacon Frost is always busy and now that Anton refused to get his fucking job done, Deacon has to find an alternative solution.
With a defeated sigh he searches his pockets for the familiar feeling of a cigarette pack. Smoking doesn’t really calm him, the nicotine has no effect on his metabolism but he likes the feeling when the smoke floods his lungs and he can pretend like he needed to breathe again.
Deacon doesn’t miss being human, this he tells himself every time.
He looks down at his shirt. What has been a clear white is now covered in dark red. The stench of that pet is all over him. Deacon inhales deeply and the tip of his cigarette burns up.
xXxXx
The glass hits the kitchen floor and shatters into a thousand little pieces.
“Don’t move, sweetie!”
Josh watches the little crystals slide over the floor as his mother quickly picks him up and carries him out of the room.
“Are you mad?” he asks and sheepishly looks up at the woman through his dark lashes, but she just smiles and pinches his round cheek.
“I’m not mad with you, Josh, it’s just a glass after all, but let’s not tell Daddy about this, okay?”
The child nods. His mother smiles and heads back into the kitchen, leaving him with a not completely calmed conscience sitting on the small, smelly couch of their living room. Josh looks out the dusty window as his mother collects the little crystals.
Suddenly she yelps and clutches her hand as red streams down her wrist.
“Mom?” Josh calls out worriedly.
“No, it’s nothing!”
She looks up at him and shakes her head, the blonde curls swinging with every move she makes. They glister in the light of the late sun.
“Stupid me, I cut my skin with the glass…”
Josh watches her get up and carefully step over the shattered mess to the sink. A line of red dots follows her feet.
“It’s just blood, darling.”
The woman turns around and smiles at the silent child.
Everything is red.
xXxXx
His eyes open to the sight of a plain white ceiling.
Scud blinks a few times against the blur confusing his vision. His body feels heavy and a little numb, but he can still make out the soft mattress he lays on. There’s a tingle in his fingertips and as he tries to wriggle with his toes he can hear the slight creak of bones. When he was younger one of his roommates in the orphanage had dropped a big fairy tale book right onto his toes and since then, they creak when he bends and curls them. Scud wonders why he remembers this now.
With a careful move he turns his head and sees a wall, which is just as white as the ceiling. The whole room is painted in a spotless bright white.
He pushes his body up from the soft mattress and ignores the sudden feeling of dizziness. His limbs feel heavy like he had slept too long. When he sits up a sharp pain shoots up from his lower body. His gaze drops down.
Where once had been the smooth soft skin of his stomach is now a thick bandage wrapped around his waist. Scud frowns and tugs at the gauze. It smells strangely familiar, like it is bathed in some spice.
“You’re awake.”
He looks up from his bandaged body and takes sight of the man standing in the doorway. Scud blinks and rubs over his eyes. His mind is too clouded to get a hold of the situation.
“Where… wher-“
What comes out of his mouth doesn’t sound like his voice at all. It is just a raspy slur, slow words formed by chapped lips.
“You are at my house, the house of Deacon Frost.”
Scud stills. His vision blurs and sharpens steadily like he got one shot of booze too many. When he looks up again, the man hasn’t made a move. He just stands there and watches him closely.
Scud covers his stinging eyes with the palm of his hands.
“Deacon Frost?” he repeats. The name sounds familiar but he has no connection to it. Or maybe his brain just wouldn’t let him. Everything feels so numb, like it doesn’t belong to him.
He just wants to go back to sleep.
“You slept two days through. No wonder, your former master almost killed you. It took several of my saved blood bags to catch up with your loss of blood.”
There is a growl in the voice, like Scud did something incredibly stupid, but if he did, he can’t remember.
“I feel dizzy…” he mumbles and his arms fall limply into his lap. He stares intensely at the man in the door way or what he could make out of his form.
“The doctor who saved your pitiful existence is a genius, but your wounds will take some more time to heal. Sleep, human, you have a purpose to fulfill.”
The man turns around and leaves the room and a confused Scud alone with his dazing thoughts and blurry mind. Scud stares at the closed door for a little while before he slowly sinks back into the pillows, a deep sigh leaving his tired body, too tired and numb to even notice the painful straining of his stomach’s skin.
His eyes fall shut and this time Scud doesn’t dream.
xXxXx
When he wakes everything around him is dark. Scud’s breath quickens as his heart beats painfully hard against his ribcage. He doesn’t like darkness; it wakes unpleasant memories in him.
He stretches his arms out to feel for his surroundings. The tips of shaky fingers knock against a cool surface. He lets his flat hand wander over it. It is smooth, no sign of a button or a crack.
‘Stay calm,’ he tells himself repeatedly but panic rises and presses down on his lungs. Where is he? How big is this thing anyway? Is he buried in a coffin again like that one time when Anton wanted to punish him for… for…
Scud whimpers.
“Master?” he calls out but his voice is shaken by desperation. “Please, let me out. I’m begging you, whatever I did… I will do anything… anything-“
His voice dies, the sound of it covered by the loud thudding of his own heart beat in his ears. Scud bites his lip and clutches the fabric wrapped around his naked body.
“Master Anton?” he calls again, quieter this time because tiny sobs began to take hold of his tensed up body.
Suddenly he hears something unlock and the top of the strange room around him lifts up with a mechanical sigh. Bright light falls into his eyes and forces his pupils to narrow.
He blinks up at the tall shadow hovering over his form. Scud’s heart skips a beat, as he makes out a pair of cold light blue eyes staring down at him, investigating him callously.
“No,” the man says and tilts his head at the human. “It’s Master Deacon now.”