Chapter Text
He was cold. So freaking cold.
He used to be warm, but then there was pain and the warmth slowly was drained from his core. His heart slowed down and his breath grew shallow. He felt cold. So, so cold.
He was shivering. He felt pain in neck and pain on his inner thigh. It felt like something was drilling into his flesh and bone. He was cold and the pain was bright. Too bright, so bright that it made him blind. He couldn't open his eyes. He couldn't feel anything except the pain and bone deep cold. He was forever, eternally stuck in whatever freezing hell he stumbled in.
Then there was fire. It started at two points. His neck was in flames and his thigh felt like it was being roasted. It burned away the cold, consuming him and leaving him breathless. When was the last time he breathed? He tried, but all he could do was scream. Was he even screaming? Or was it all in his head? It felt like eternity. He was in hell. Deep in hell where the fire burns hotter than lava, because the lava in his veins felt like cool ice compared to the fires licking his skin.
He could hear his bones creak, splinter, and reform. A hush and a giggle filled his ears. It was dark. The fire faded, slowly. Finally, after a century or two it stopped. The fire was replaced by a numbing chill, except for his throat. His throat was burning and itchy. Like he had walked in the desert for years without a drop of water to wet his tongue. As if he walked through a burning building and there was smoke trapped in his throat.
His senses returned slowly. He took a breath. Deep, deep breath. Scents ravaged his senses. He coughs.
Blood. Pride. Earth. Human. Confusion. Wet. Cold. Fear. Piss. Female. Excitement. Male. Rock. Shit. Anticipation. Death.
“Welcome back, young’in.”
Sound ripped through his throat. A groan. “W-what.”
“Sit up.”
He sat up. Eyes still closed, senses on haywire. The smokey burn in his throat intensified with every movement.
“Burn. It burns.” He croaked shakily.
“Yes’em. Can help you stop it, ya know.”
“H-help.”
“Open those eyes.”
His honey eyes fluttered open. It was dark, but he could see. Vivid detail. So vivid and breathtaking, even if he was just staring at a rock wall. He could see the dips and curves on the ragged stone. The fine lines and marks from years of wear. He stared and stared, to the point where he could swear he could see the buzzing movements of the small minuscule organisms that live on the wall. It felt like there was electricity on his eyeballs. Everything was sharp, bright and fast.
The voice calls out to him. “Over here.”
He turned his head and saw a small woman . A woman who was one of most beautiful creature he had ever seen. She had chocolate skin that seemed soft to the touch. Covered in brown peach fuzz. She was short and thin, most likely around 5’2. Her natural brown afro was wild and was filled with twigs and leaves. She was nude, all she wore was blood and dirt. He realized that it should be alarming, but somehow it was expected.
He face was oval shaped, lips plump and painted red with blood, curved up in a toothy smile. She had a wide nose, three small golden studs pierced through the flesh of her nostrils on each side. When his gaze finally lands on her dark brown eyes, he felt a shock rip through his core. An instant connection. Instant bond. He could feel, smell, and surprisingly even taste the pride and contentment rolling off of the woman. Her smile grew wider and she took a step forward.
“Hungry ain’t ya?”
He pauses for a moment. Wondering if when he was feeling was hunger. He nods slowly and she nods in return. She turns from him, walking a few paces before grabbing a large bucket. She lifts it with ease and hands it to him. He instinctively grabs it. Looking at it with curious eyes.
“Open it and drink it up.”
He rips open the plastic top and instantly smells something delicious. He doesn't ever register stuffing his face into the bucket and drinking. Cool, thick, clumpy liquid rushes into his mouth, over his face, down his neck, into his hair. He doesn't care. The liquid tastes like stale heaven and it cools the burn in this throat.
Human. Male. Female. Roses. Dirt. Sea Salt. Orange Blossom. Peppermint. Chemicals. Fat. Burt Sugar. Grass. Paprika. Stale...
Each scent, each flavor, rushed at him like a pounding force. He couldn't put much thought into it since he was consumed with drinking the heavenly liquid. By time the bucket is empty, he feels warm, stated, and was buzzing with happiness. For a brief moment, he was happy. Happy the burn was gone. Happy that the woman watching him was seemingly proud of him. Happy that the rush of his senses seemed to fade, everything became clear and concise.
As he sets the bucket down, he sees red. So much red. On his hands, chest, groin and legs. He finally notices he is naked. He could feel cold liquid dripping of his face and neck. He looks at his hands, rolling his fingers around, trying to figure out what the hell was all over him. What the hell did he just drink?
The answer was so obvious, but he shrieked and gripped his cheeks in shock at the realization. Blood. He was covered in blood. Not only was he covered in it, but he had just drank a fucking bucket full of the stuff. Why would he do that? Why did it taste good? Question after question filled his mind, working overtime to connect the dots. His memory was spotty at best, but he remembers the dark. The cold and fire. The pain. The burning in the throat. The relief as he drank.
He looked to the woman, she wore an expectant face. He answered the silent question.
“I'm a fucking vampire.”
“Yess’em.” Was her reply. He felt a wave of pride through the bond.
“Whaaaatt? Why me!?” He whines.
The woman laughs lightly. Clearly very amused by the reaction. “You caught my attention while back. A Spark Human runnin’ with shifters? So rare. What’s even more rare is for a human to be practically running a pack of supernaturals, even with the Alpha available. I just had to preserve you. It would be a waste to let you fade into the veil. Can tell you're meant for great things, you just needed a lil’ physical power to back you up.”
He nods, he can sorta understand where the woman is coming from. He doesn't really understand the whole spark human thing. Seems like all the big bads these days have something to say about it. Wait… What ‘big bads’? I ran with a pack? Why can't I remember anything? Why am I not pissed as hell that I'm a fucking vampire now? I feel so weird...
“Why am I not angry. I should be mad that I'm dead.” Stiles complains as his arms flail around rather gracefully.
The woman quirks a delicate eyebrow. “Your brain works different now. Acceptance will come easy, it’s instinct. Until our bond is satisfied, you will be cool headed. There would be no way to learn about our kind if you're fighting every second of the way. You may get angry after though. I was angry for a long time. Centuries in fact, but it fades. When it does all you will feel is grateful. Also, you're not quite dead… Just transformed. Vampire physiology is very different from a human. We are supernatural, magical beings. While we might seem dead, we are very much alive aren't we? You still have a human looking body, but the differences of your new species are very profound. No heart beat, cold, nearly unbreakable skin, fangs, claws and hundreds of other things you will soon learn about. You run on magic and blood now instead of life energy and oxygen.”
He nods after processing the words. He wasn't very happy to hear they had some type of bond, but it was sort of expected somehow. He was confused. Mostly about how he felt like he wasn't himself anymore and he couldn't figure out how. It took Stiles a few moments to return from his thoughts. When he did he asked, “What do I call you? Cause I'm sure as hell not calling you something weird like... Mistress or Sire. That's just too weird.”
“Call me Ramla. That is the name I was given when I was human. I have gone by many names, but you are my child. You have the honor of calling by the first.”
“I am-”
“I know you name, Mieczyslaw.”
“Call me Stiles, please. No one wants to hear or say that train wreck of a name.”
Ramla chuckles and grins. “Yes, I have chosen very well. Now, let’s get cleaned up and then we will have a chat yes?”
“Ok… Um…”
“Do you have a question?”
“Yeah… Why can’t I remember anything? Not really… Everything is a mess and I don't feel like myself.”
“It's a consequence of the transformation. It will get less hazy in time. You will be back with your pack soon enough. As for not feeling like yourself... Your a changed man, Stiles. You will never be exactly how you were as a human. You may feel more like yourself when your memories return.”
“Ok... Wait, Pack?”
“Yes. Your pack. Your family.”
“I… Ok.”
Ramla nods like she knows then motions him to follow her. He gets up off the floor with a quick, fluid motion. His own body startles him for a moment. He has the feeling he wasn't as graceful when he was human. Stiles follows his maker silently, deeper into the cave he found himself in. As they went lower, he could hear the sound of rushing water. After a few more minutes, they come into a large cut out, a pool of rushing water in the center.
“We wash here. Stay on the edges, there is a hole in the middle.”
Stiles nods and quickly gets into the pool of water. The water feels the tiniest bit warm, he can't help but wonder how cold it would feel if he was still human. He washes away the blood and dirt as best he can. He sees something white coming at him from the corner of his eye. With a flick of his arm, he snatches the object from the air. He looks at his hand and finds it to be a bar of soap. He turns around to see Ramla sitting on the edge of the pool, looking quite pleased.
“Good reflexes. I knew you were born for vampirism. Most would still be fumbling around.”
Stiles nods and smiles sheepishly. “Thank you.”
He makes quick work of washing himself. All the while trying to remember things about himself. He knows he's 18 years old. That his home town was called Beacon... Something. That he had a best friend... That he was filled with a longing that he didn't understand. That his life was messy and filled with monsters that he ran from almost on a daily basis.
With a sigh, he pushed his thoughts a side and when he’s finished, he hands the bar back to Ramla. She starts to wash herself and he sits on the edge of the pool of water as he waits, thinking about all the new information he has received. Also trying to remember his past, his friends, his family. All he can see are bits and pieces. Splashes of places, people without names, or things… Lots of scary things... Monsters to be exact.
I’m a monster now too. It should not be easy to accept, but he does it without a hint of doubt or regret. What would Dad think? Wait… Dad… Is he… I can’t remember… I had a Mom too right?
“Ramla?”
“Yes, Young’in.”
“Are my father and mother alive?”
Ramla raises an eyebrow and nods. “Your father is, but your mother went to the veil when you were a child. Do you remember your father?”
Stiles shakes his head. “No. I just knew I had one. He’s probably worried… I think.”
Ramla shoots him a small smile as she plucks leaves from her wild hair. “I’m sure he is. You and your father are… were very close. As much as it pains me to take you away from him, in a month's time, you will be back home. Maybe even less, you are quite the quick learner.”
“Wait. So I won't stay with you?”
“Of course not young’in. You have much to do at home. A father who needs you and a pack that dose too, even if recent events have made things complicated. While Makers usually spend a few decades with their children, there is an alternative. Now come, let us get dressed and we will talk more.”
Stiles nods and stands up. He holds out a hand for Ramla to grab as she climbs out of the pool. He could feel the proud and happy feelings through the bond and he wonders why she reacted that way. He was only being polite.
She leads him through the rocky hallways and leads him into another open space. He sees boxes and trunks overflowing with clothing, books, and other random items. He stands at the entry way before she motions him inside.
“Pick anything you like. I don't have much men’s wear, but I'm sure you will find something.” Ramla says as she makes her way over to a rack of dresses. They all seems to be 40’s style clothing, and he can't help but wonder how old his Maker is.
As he shifts through some boxes, then he comes across a billowy white shirt . It was mostly plain in design, long sleeves and a deep v-neck with strings to tighten the collar and sleeves. He can’t help but think of pirates as he checks it out. He grins as he puts it on. If he was going to be a vampire, might as well look like he stepped out of a time machine.
“Hey, Ramla.”
“Yes.”
“How old are you?”
“Now now, you know it's rude to ask a woman her age!”
Stiles chuckles. “Really though. Some of this stuff looks like it belongs in a museum. Like this awesome pirate shirt I found.
“A pirate shirt?” She turns to her child and laughs brightly. “That is not a pirate shirt. I do believe that was my 6th husbands night shirt. I was living in the isle at the time. It was the funniest thing, everyone thought I was fey, I never told them otherwise since its sort of the truth in a way. It was quite amusing when my husband gave me an offering of milk and honey when he asked for my hand. I didn't have the heart to tell him I'd rather be offered his blood, but...”
“6th husband? I haven't even gotten my first yet.” Stiles says with playful grin. He returns to shifting through the clothing and is almost tempted to give up and walk around pants less. He hears something fluttering behind him and he whips around and grabs at the red blur in front of him.
“Were those breeches . Red is your color.”
“Thanks, that’s what I keep telling everyone.” He says with a nod, quickly pulling up the tight, knee length pants. Stiles pauses for a moment, trying to remember who 'everyone' was, but he just couldn't remember. He quickly tucked some of his shirt into the pants before buttoning them up and holding his arms out in a ‘look-at-this’ fashion.
“Not bad.” Ramla says with a small smile. She is dressed in a simple emerald keyhole pencil dress that hugged her curves tightly.
“You're not too bad yourself. We look like a couple of time travelers. All we're missing is the Tardis.”
“Tardis?”
“Yes, it’s from… Huh… I can’t remember. All I can remember is this hot guy wearing chuck taylors and a blue box?”
“It will come back to you in time. Now, we have things to go over. Our first training session starts now. Come along young’in, we will go to the living area.”
Stiles follows his maker quickly, asking her all sorts of questions on the way.
“How old were you when you turned? Have you seen any wars? Seen any famous people? Can we only drink blood, or can we still eat other stuff? Why is everything so bright? I can see so much. Will I always be able to smell so much? I smell a human, is there one here?”
Each question was shot out in rapid fire procession, and each question was answered with a simple yes, no, I’ll explain later.
Stiles couldn't help but feel grateful. He got the sense that most people would be annoyed by his questions, but he could feel his makers pride thought the bond. He was hopeful that she was happy that he wanted as much information as impossible. He had a curious, inquisitive mind. Obviously being turned into a Vampire hasn't changed that.
The finally made it to a small cave. Inside there was a large mattress on the floor, covered in quilts, pillows, and random items, in the middle of the cave. Pushed to the left side of the wall was a small table with two chairs on either side. On the right wall, there were stacks upon stacks of books. Some looked so old that they were yellow with age. He could smell the decay and mold on the papers. The back wall was filled with art and photos. Portrait paintings and family photos to be exact.
From what Stiles could see, most of them were of his maker. A few had random men standing next to her, other times it looked like a family. He counted the men he saw and noticed at least 9 different ones. He laughs lightly and turns to Ramla.
“Nine husbands?”
“A few more than 9, but who’s counting anyway? Have a seat on the bed and let’s chat.”
Stiles’ nods and goes over to the bed and crawls on it. He sets himself in the middle of the nest of pillows and quilts and waits silently. Ramla gets on the bed next, her movements graceful and full of poise.
She sends him a small smile before speaking, “I’m sure you have a million questions, but I hope to be able to answer them without much fuss.”
“How?”
“Memory sharing.”
“That’s possible? Can I do that too?”
“Yes, but only with those you are bonded to.”
“Bonded?”
“Yes, there are a few different kinds. We have a parent-child bond. I created you, therefore we are connected. There is a Pack bond or Nest bond you would call it for a group of vampires. It's a familial bond for close friends and family. A bond for those who you trust with your life and they trust you with the same. Of course that can be a little flexible. Your Pack is made of werewolf's and a few other supernatural creatures. Do you remember this?”
Stiles shrugs. “Everything is too vague. I remember werewolf's but not who this Pack is.”
“That’s ok. There is also a Mate bond. A Mate is your spouse. Mate bonds are a bit different for all supernatural species. Some when mated are mated for life, others like us, can be mated as many times as we want, but that doesn't mean were not as committed. It’s just the way things are since we live such long lives. It would be cruel to be bound to one person for hundreds of years after their death. Don't you agree?”
Stiles nods.
“There is also a temp bond you can create for allies or other people you want or need to keep an eye on. It doesn't need to be consensual, but it works better if it is. To create such a bond, all you need is to taste a drop of there blood. Anyone your bonded to, you can share your memories with them. It will take you time and practice, but I am sure you will learn quickly. This is how I will teach you all what you need to know. I will use our bond to give you memories of our history, our ways of life, lessons all vampires need to know and learn. Some will be pleasant, others not so much, but you must learn and understand. You life may depend on it. Now this will be draining, but you have fed enough for a few sessions. Don't fight against it, let it in, let it wash over you like a wave. It will happen fast, but you will retain everything. Are you ready?”
“Famous last words.” Stiles snarks with a sharp nod.
Ramla grins widely, teeth sharpening. She brings her own wrist to her mouth and rips her flesh. Before the wound can heal she shoved she wrist to Stiles’ lips. He needs no hint for what to do, he latched onto her arm and sucks the blood offered.
As soon as his maker's blood touches his tongue, his body locks in place, muscles coiled like a steel spring. Memory after memory flickers to life in his brain. He sees hills of green. Red eyes staring at him in the dark. He hears the whispered conversations, the screams and yells of the fights he watches and participates in. Feels flesh between his teeth and under his claws. The hypnotic pull he has on others. The flexing of muscles during a fight. Blue eyes, green eyes, brown eyes, hazel eyes of victim after victim. He hears stories retold. He feels the rage, the fury, the hunger, the satisfaction. He feels the lack of control. The primal instinct to drain someone dry. The first wave of memories is full of blood, pain, rage, and chaos.
The next wave starts with the feeling of peace. The feeling of love and self-acceptance. It's so overwhelming, he could cry. He sees a man. They make love. The hunger feels less intense. He hears laughter and sees children running around a glade. He sees trees whizzing by as he runs at speeds never humanly possible. He smells fresh milk and he coos at the small babe in his arms. He watches a group of men and women call for peace, agree to peace, and then decades of celebrations. Memories fill his head. What seems like three lifetimes was only a few minutes. Ramla rips her wrists from Stiles’ mouth and he flops backwards onto the bed.
His head is spinning, eyes open but unseeing. He groans as his eyes flutter shut.
“Rest now. We’ll go again in a few hours…”
‘Shit. That sucked.’, was the last thing he thought before falling into oblivion.