Maeve liked the city at night. She liked how it throbbed with life, like a massive heart pumping people through clogged veins instead of blood. It was a hotbed of paranormal activity. A chaotic explosion of modern technology and strange magical beings. Like the half fae woman Maeve passed on her way home every night, with her iridescent blue skin and glowing eyes. The dancing shapes of wolfmen and women as they flowed from one shape to the other, howling and laughing as they celebrated each night beneath the moon, and deep in a forest of steel and concrete buildings. The terrifying robed creatures who patrolled the supernatural and slipped unseen through shadows and moonlight. Those creatures who hungered most of all for human blood.
It was a far cry from the little town she had grown up in, where the strangest family was her own. Her family of witches who could barely access the supposed magic in their blood. Maeve much preferred the pulsing city of Bright which seemed made of magic.
Sure sometimes the night scared her, like when a particularly nasty being cleaved itself from the shadows panting after her with hot violent eyes. But she could typically lose the refuse in her twisting paths through the streets of Bright. Scent was not an easy way to hunt when the filth of city sewage lay beneath the concrete pathways, and so it was not something a city vampire could typically use to track its prey.
And she was pretty sure it was a vampire tracking her. She could hear the silvery whisper of his clothes, the harsh ragged pant of his breath. Which wouldn't be a problem if she had her gauntlet. If she could use the magic locked inside her. A warning her grandmother had taught her wound through her brain like smoke.
"Don' go gettin' too comfortable in tha' city, Mae. Jus' cause them bloodsuckers say they ain' killin' no more don' mean a rabbid won' risk it all jus' to have the feel of a hot throat between they teeth." Witches and vampires don't get along. It was some old blood feud that went back before vampires had become daywalkers.
She fucking hated it when Gran Hartly was right.
The rabbid behind her leaped suddenly, the scraping sound of its clawed feet gouging the pavement alerted her. She whirled around gasping as the monster struck her square in the chest and roared in her face. It broke her clavicle like it was a wishbone beneath its ivory hand. But she was too terrified to scream. Its eyes were unlike anything she had ever seen. They were pitch black, a pulsing red pinprick of light glowing from the depths, like its eyes were a bottomless pit straight to hell.
She didn't scream until it bit her. It burned like fire, the hot poison of its fangs seeping deep into her blood, flowing into every corner of her body as she thrashed in the vampires grasp. A cold feeling pricked her fingertips and she knew with a sudden frightening clarity that she was dying.
"Fuck..please.." she gasped. And then the world was drowned in rushing shadows.
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Hunger.
It cleaved through her. It woke her from the dead. She jerked up right with a guttural cry, gasping as the breath rushed through her. She was in a darkened room, though as she glanced around, the shadows fell back like dispersing smoke. There was a mural of a woman on the wall. Oil on canvas. Her blonde hair seemed like sunlight pouring from the coffee hues of her face. She stared for several minutes, enraptured.
Maeve looked away quickly, placing a hand on her throbbing skull and shoving the blanket off her body.
"You have awoken." a voice tumbled from the doorway, and she jerked towards it. A tall man stood, outlined by pale light and cast in darkness. Maeve growled, the sound rumbling from deep within her as she fought to push away the memories of the night.
She knew what had happened. It was something many humans had spent thousands of dollars and years trying to become. Something other. She had been bitten. Turned. She was a vampire now. Maeve scowled and rubbed her eyes furiously as tears pricked their corners. She couldn't help but think of her sister. Sheema, who desired to be a vampire more than anything in the world. Sheema, who was buried deep in the catacombs of Romance serving a Royal who was more likely to turn her into a living bloodbag than an immortal undead.
How jealous she would be if she knew.
"You are upset." the man murmured. He didn't sound concerned, merely observant. Maeve made a frustrated noise and swallowed her tears,
"Of course I am! I was supposed to become my family's Shaman! But that can't happen when I am no longer human! No longer a witch!" The man was silent and unflinching.
"A witch." He whispered. And something about the way he said it sent tremors of electric warning through her body. She narrowed her eyes as he stepped forward, "Tell me, is tomorrow your twenty-first birthday?" She swallowed nervously,
"How could you know that?" He flinched, as if the words had sent a bolt of fear straight through him.
"Fucking spectacular." He growled, reaching forward to grab her by the jaw. "You came at the perfect time, princess. I was about to go rabid."
And that's when she saw his eyes. They were the same as the vampire from the alley. Eyes straight to hell. He bit her like a striking cobra, fast and quick. Releasing her almost before she even felt it. But she still felt it. A lightning bolt straight to her soul. It felt the way her gauntlet, Red Stinger, felt when she used it to channel magic. It felt like power. The vampire staggered back, groaning in pain, before chuckling darkly and looking up at her. His eyes were normal, or as normal as they could get. They were like glittering rubies with gold shot through, a shattered painting gleaming from his face.
"What did you do?" She gasped, touching her neck to feel that the wound had already closed. A dizzying wave of hunger washed over her and she swayed back, falling to the floor with a painful thump. The man chuckled darkly.
"You look hungry." She flinched at the words, baring her teeth in a grimace as the implications of her transformation struck her. She was going to have to drink blood in order to survive. Living blood. It was a disturbing thought, almost unreal. She could remember when she was a child, playing games with her twin. She remembered pretending to be a vampire, drinking kool aid and hissing at each other. What she wouldn't give to be craving kool aid right now.
"I can't be a vampire. I can't do that. I'm supposed to be…" She choked suddenly, her tongue so dry it felt like sandpaper in her mouth. A horrible itch lodged itself in her throat and she coughed obnoxiously. The vampire sighed and leaned down.
"Do you want to drink my blood, princess?" he asked. The question was strangely sincere though there was a mocking glint in his glowing eyes, "It's only fair." He taunted. She narrowed her eyes,
"Doesn't it have to be human?" She rasped. He tilted his head like a feral animal, observing her with those inhuman eyes,
"Human's spread that misconception. The truth is sustenance can be taken from any living person. Vampires, shapeshifters, witches. They all possess the same element of life in their blood. The element we need to survive." He smirked, "Humans love to tell themselves we are undead and therefore have no soul, but we are more alike than either of our races would like to admit." Maeve blinked at him suspiciously. Then scowled as he held out his arm like a bone for her to chew on.
"Ugh." He rolled his eyes,
"Stupid girl. I don't have a donor lying around for you to bite. Beggars can't be choosers." She closed her eyes and pursed her lips before saying in a rather high pitched tone of voice,
"Okay, but there's no way I can watch. It's just too weird." he muttered something unkind under his breath and then pressed his wrist to her mouth. A hysterical burst of amusement erupted in her and she had to pinch her arm to keep it contained. The vampire sighed as several uncomfortable moments passed.
Finally, with a disgusted whine Maeve opened her mouth and bit. She felt his flesh between her teeth, but she didn't break through.
"Fuck, use your fangs. Animal." He hissed. She opened her eyes and glared at him letting go of his wrist to snap,
"Oh, I'm sorry. This is all just a little new to me!" He stared at her, an expression of distaste on his face before he jerked his wrist to his own mouth and bit it violently. She flinched at the action.
"Quick, before the wound heals." He shoved it against her face, and she latched on before she even realized what was happening. A painful feeling burst through her gums as the teeth hiding within finally unsheathed and slid into the closing wound with a slick noise. Maeve grabbed his shoulder and pulled him closer as a sudden desperation cleaved through her.
Her mind seemed cloudy as hunger consumed her. Blood rushed down her throat like water in a dry ravine. It bloomed in her chest, spreading heat through the cold empty caverns of her body. She released his wrist and yanked him forward, snapping her teeth into the soft flesh at his throat with a satisfied cry. He didn't fight it, relaxing his body into the demanding struggle of her own, his arms resting on either side of her as he waited for her to finish. She was glad he wasn't touching her. Glad he wasn't making the experience something she definitely did not want it to be. Even though the taste of his blood, the feel of it spreading through her made her thighs ache and her belly twist, the last thing she wanted was him making a move on her.
She released him and fell back against the bed, wiping the blood from her lips as she panted for breath. The vampire didn't move and when she looked at him his eyes were closed. He sat back, peering at her through narrowed eyes, a catlike expression on his face.
"Feel better?" he purred. She scowled.
"No." She hissed for spite. He stared at her for a long moment before rolling his eyes and drawing himself gracefully to his feet.
"Get up, witch. You can't stay here."