Rules are Meant to be Broken
The Lines of Marsden were born into existence for a reason: to right the wrongs that had once taken place. Destiny fated that they must destroy the Eldren before evil wins.
Michael Marsden wants to die – for real this time. He wasn’t meant to lead the half-life that he does. He chooses to let it go and let death take what it had already claimed.
But Christian Risely isn’t about to let that happen. He is drawn to Michael and is willing to do anything to ensure that he lives, even if that means keeping him alive against his will.
So much to live for.
Michael's gaze slowly drifted around the crowded and smoky nightclub, watching the unsuspecting people go about their lives, not knowing things like him existed, walked among them. Here these people were, laughing and enjoying the lives they all took for granted.
Anger—or something very much like it—settled low in his stomach. He was pissed off; these people all had something that he had lost forever. Feelings like these scared him, knowing he was no longer one of them. Thanks to some fucked up twist of fate, he couldn't go back to the life he had always known. Everything was so confusing—he didn't even know if he was even fully human anymore. What had he done in his life that was so wrong he ended up with this destiny? He was a pacifist for crying out loud. Running away and letting Gypsy deal with the hard stuff had always been his way of coping.
A cigarette dangled loosely from his pale fingertips as the music pounded through his body in place of the heartbeat he no longer felt. This alone made him angrier still, because it showed just how fucked up his life had become. Why the hell had this happened to him? Especially when he had so much to live for. He had Gypsy! And he missed her so much. The thought made him smile sadly—he bet not many brothers would say such nice things about their sisters. But Gypsy was special—she was his twin. Gypsy knew him better then he knew himself. Their grandad had told him often enough, "Michael never walk away from your sister. No matter what happens to you both in life, remember she is your strength. Her job is to protect you in what is to come." It was bullshit memories such as this which made everything so damn hard. Why had his grandad told him lies? It only made him hurt a hundred times more.
Michael swiped at his angry tears and pushed away from the table. Not wanting to be around these people any longer, knowing they took for granted everything he wanted back, Michael walked outside and headed down the darkened street. He was finding it harder and harder not to give into his cravings. Even now it gnawed at his insides, demanding he take notice. He needed to work out if he was going to give into what his body wanted, or fight it, and more than likely die.
Blocking out the one voice behind him, her voice—Why did Gypsy haunt him so? Why couldn't she leave him alone?—Michael headed into the park, taking the least used paths so he wouldn't run into anyone. At the sound of murmuring voices he stopped, listened. Michael was glad neither were the same voice from earlier, yet they were ones he had heard before. Undoubtedly he was being followed again. Tonight he just wished they would just go away and leave him in peace. Didn't they know he found their constant surveillance annoying? He was twenty-two years old for crying out loud. Seriously he didn't need this shit. Not tonight. Trying to ignore them, he continued on his way, wondering what made him so fascinating to them.
As he tried to ignore their presence, he turned his thoughts inwards to his anger, all the things which pissed him off. At the top of the list was hearing Gypsy's voice calling out to him wherever he went. He missed his sister so much. There was no running from the memories of what they once shared. Her voice was slowly sending him insane. This was why Michael hadn't turned when he heard her. It wasn't real. She wasn't actually there, and turning to find it was all in his imagination would make him want to go and find her. Find her, to seek out what they had once shared. If his sister was here then he wouldn't be so lonely. This was the reason why he pressed his hands over his ears to block her out as he walked away. She had once promised him they would be together forever. What a crock of shit it had all turned out to be. Why had two people he cared about lied to him? First Grandad and now Gypsy?
Groaning, he pressed a hand to his throat. He hated knowing as his hunger grew his obsession with Gypsy escalated. How could he want to be with her when he was this way? Deep down he knew he wanted to make her the same, to be able to keep her with him for always like she had promised. If she were with him then he wouldn't have to spend the rest of his existence on his own. With Gypsy here he would be strong enough to survive and not be as scared as he felt. He knew his emotions jumping from pissed off to scared all the time wasn't good for him. But there was nothing he could do about. Or rather, nothing he was willing to do about it.
In reality it terrified him because he could imagine feeding from her, the taste of her blood filling his mouth, and it disgusted him because he knew if he truly wanted to do it she would let him.
How sick was that?
Slowing his pace, Michael concentrated. Someone was still watching him—actually there were two of them. They smelt the same yet completely different, and strangely the scent of each of them called to him. This wasn't the first time he had sensed them following him, but tonight it felt different. Usually they kept their distance. Tonight Michael could feel his watchers' curiosity, and it overrode his hunger. He didn't know how he was able to do this; it seemed to be something new which had come to him with his change of circumstances. The thought alone made him almost burst out laughing.
Change of circumstances. What a crock.
Inhaling, he found the watchers' scents were strange, intoxicating—sweet with just a little touch of spice. It made his mouth water. Both called to him, pulling at him as much as his thoughts of Gypsy did. He shook his head as if to clear it. He really didn't need this crap. Michael pulled out a cigarette and placed it between his trembling lips. His hands shook so much as he struck the first match it went out before he could get it anywhere near the tip of his smoke. With a sigh, he tried again and grimaced sadly when he succeeded. In that brief instant when the flame flickered in front of his face he heard the watchers' breaths catch and wondered why. What did the watchers see? What was making them react the way they were? It seemed strange all the crap filtering through his head nowadays, making him think and wonder "why" all the time. Michael's lips twitched as he once again he heard a sigh, or sighs. There were two of them.
With a wince, he inhaled on his cigarette. It was funny how quickly a habit could form. He had only taken up smoking so he wouldn't give in to the hunger his body craved so badly. Yet the hunger was an itch deep down inside, one he couldn't relieve no matter how much he scratched. He was growing weaker; he could feel it with every passing day. Even now it hurt just to smoke. It was almost too hard to raise his hand to his face. Breathing, which had once come so easily to him, felt as though he had swallowed hot coals. It burned badly and he needed it to stop.
Pain shot through his head. He stumbled, falling to the ground. Michael watched the glowing tip of his cigarette—it had fallen mere inches from his face. Tonight he would have to give in or die, he knew it. A slow maniacal laughter echoed into the surrounding darkness, cut short by the effort it took as he rolled onto his back. Staring at the dark sky above him he realised his choice was made. His eyes fluttered before closing.
If he died then all of this could end. No more fear. No more anger. No more pain. Just peace.
"Please God! Please don't let me wake up again. Please?"
Christian stood with Doyle in the shadows and watched as Michael seemed to struggle with himself. Michael was the newest member of their family, whether he wanted to be or not.
Pain had such a tantalising way about it, Christian thought as he closed his eyes. Breathing deeply, he savoured the experience of it. It reminded him of something, but he couldn't quite remember what, and he knew it would drive him crazy until he worked it all out. He wanted so much to bite and taste Michael just a little bit, but it wasn't allowed. His instructions were to watch.
Pulling out his phone, he tossed it to Doyle and listened as he dialled, his gaze never leaving Michael. Christian studied Michael as he lay on the ground laughing as he stared up into the darkness. What so funny? Something about Michael pulled Christian to him, and he didn't know what it was, or why the urge to be near Michael was so strong. He loved the fact he was the one who was going to help Michael survive. Okay, so he wasn't alone, but Doyle didn't seem as fascinated as he did. Doyle seemed almost angry, and tense.
Christian realised he could do whatever he wanted to Michael and no one would be any wiser. Well, except for Doyle. The thought of Doyle watching made him chuckle. What would Doyle think if I started making out with Michael?
"Charm, he's down." Doyle told her where they were before he put the phone away and then walked toward the unconscious form lying on the ground. It would take about forty-five minutes for the others to get here. Forty-five minutes where he and Christian would be alone with Michael.
Picking up Michael's cigarette, Doyle took a drag before flicking it away into the darkness. It tasted of peppermint and roses. Doyle had the urge to find out what Michael's mouth would taste like. The craving shocked and mildly repulsed him - he had never had this kind of reaction before to anyone, much less a guy. As he sat on the grass beside Michael, his fingertips itched to reach out and stroke the stranger's face. Michael's face. Charm had told them earlier when she had found out his name, and it was such a beautiful name. His fingertips tingled at the touch as he gave in to his desire. He couldn't help but notice Christian was just as equally, if not more fascinated by him.
As he studied Michael lying there, Christian wanted desperately to be able to hear his thoughts. He wanted to know everything in Michael's mind. Maybe then he could work out why he was pulled toward Michael as he was. Glancing over at Doyle, Christian frowned, feeling jealous because Doyle had been the first to touch Michael.
They both knew Michael was dying; he needed to feed. Christian wanted to ease his pain. Rather, he needed to ease his pain. Somewhere deep inside him something was telling him Michael belonged to him and was his to protect.
Leaning over him, Christian spoke softly in Michael's ear. "I will help you. I will make it so you can live. I will make it so you can stay with me, with us for all eternity." Christian wanted to devour Michael's mouth in a deep and lingering kiss. He wanted so much just to push his tongue into Michael's mouth so he could taste him more thoroughly. In his mind his lips began kissing Michael's face over and over as they lay there tasting every inch of skin. It was a pity Michael wasn't aware of what he was thinking. If he were, would Michael enjoy those thoughts? He wondered about Doyle. What would he think if he knew Christian had a crush on the new guy? At least in his own mind he could do what he wanted.
Oh well, as long as one of us is having fun. And boy would I have had fun.
While he waited for what he needed to come along, he told Doyle all about what he planned to do. "It's simple, I just kill some poor unsuspecting person who happens past our way and then I will drink all their nice delicious blood and spit it into his mouth so he can get better."
Doyle rolled his eyes. "Chris, there are easier ways to do it."
"Yes, but will it be as fun as my way? Well, fun for me." Though really, he should get Michael's permission before doing the deed.
Turning his attention back to Michael, Christian asked, "So do you want me to save you?" Michael stared at him with glazed over eyes, as if he was only half aware of what was going on. When he didn't answer, Christian made Michael's head nod, and kissed him on the forehead. "Good boy, love. I thought you would see it my way."
Doyle saw Michael try to shake his head in the negative. "Chris, he doesn't want this. You can't change him against his wishes." It killed a little part of Doyle to say it.
"He's already changed. I am just giving him a little boost," Christian said. He jumped to his feet as they heard someone approaching. Christian's whole demeanour seemed to alter and Doyle knew the hunt was on.
Doyle watched as Christian took off through the park before turning his attention back to Michael, who still lay on the ground. His gaze locked onto Doyle's as if pleading.
"What do you want me to do, Michael?" Doyle had to lean down close to listen for the other man's answer.
Michael rasped softly, "Please."
Doyle didn't hesitate as he bit his own wrist and placed it over Michael's mouth. As he felt the pull of Michael's feeding, he hoped he wasn't making the biggest mistake of his life. Something about Michael drew him, yet he wasn't comfortable acknowledging how it made him feel. He wasn't gay and he didn't ever want to be gay. He must only be feeling this way because Michael was helpless. Who wouldn't feel sorry for someone desperately needing help?
Michael whimpered as Doyle removed his arm.
"Shh, Chris is bringing you more. I promise."
* * *
Christian stalked his prey through the park for perhaps five minutes, just waiting for his moment. It amazed him how stupid people really were. Why would they walk all by themselves though a darkened park at this time of night? Not even caring there were dangerous things out there in the night, not all of which were animals? He gave a low growl and let the demon within run free.
The woman never had a chance. She didn't even realise she was about to die until she turned and saw him there, and she was dead before she had time to scream. The hardest part was carrying her back to Michael when he was tempted to drain her himself.
"Still here? Excellent! For a moment I thought you may have gotten bored and wandered off with Doyle," Christian said to Michael's inert form, and then winked in Doyle's direction. He laid the girl on the ground beside Michael. Christian drank deeply and her salty warmth flowed readily into his mouth. Moving toward Michael, Christian gently lowered his lips until they pressed against Michael's. He used his tongue to once again part Michael's lips, but this time it was just enough to let the warmth he held trickle into the other's mouth. His fingertips gently held the side of Michael's face to keep it steady. It felt strange but nice as Michael's tongue flicked into his mouth seeking what he had to offer. He heard Doyle growl behind him.
Christian's eyes snapped to Doyle in confusion. "Why does he taste like you?"
When Doyle shrugged, Christian turned back to feeding Michael. He repeated the action of feeding Michael many times until he thought Michael would survive the journey home. The last time, it felt more as if Michael was responding to one of his kisses and it made him groan. He wanted so much to explore the sensation, but instead he jerked back when he heard Kerr and Charm approaching. What would they say if they found him on the ground kissing Michael beside a dead body? It was bad enough Doyle had witnessed it all.
Now it was time to take Michael home so he could join his family.
"See love," Christian spoke casually to Michael's inert form, "now that you have fed, we are going home." Christian moved to the side as he watched Kerr pick Michael up and start to carry him toward Ambrose Street. Charm and Doyle stayed behind to dispose of the young woman's remains while Christian followed Kerr. He wasn't going to let Michael get too far out of his sight. Not now. Not ever.