C H A P T E R  N I N E T E E N

{mother knows best...so why didn't I listen?}

...wake up.

It resonated, the ghostly whisper, in her ears.

She was floating. In a tenebrous, immeasurable vacuity of existence. So no, she wouldn't shake herself free of it. This was the most relief she'd gotten in days. Just her. Only her, held in the warm embrace of a void of barrenness.

Silly child, I told you to wake up. Now.

She didn't need to. How could she? This wasn't normal sleep, it was peace. True and utter peace.

So quiet, just nothing but a silent, stormless, restful emptiness. Entwined in it.

As long as she could, she would refuse to give it up for the turmoil that was her real life.

The ghost, one she struggled to remember in this state, had other plans. The whispering switched to full on yelling.

Wake up!

The phantom feeling of a hand pushing her and the spiralling sensation of falling did the trick. Harmony and rest, ripped from her clinging subconscious. Just like that.

Terror wrenched her eyes open and shooting up with a scream etched on parted lips, Hesperia gasped frightfully and flirted her narrowed stare around her.

Light. A serene amber and cadmium flickering glare from the candles, surrounding her as if she was immersed in the rays of a Sunset at dusk.

She was no longer blissfully trapped in the creeping, soothing black she'd been letting swallow her and steal her away.

She was back.

A jangle from an extravagant, ocean decorated wind chime as soft sea breeze sighed through cracks of stone.

The beating pitter–patter of wings as one of Marko's birds nestled in the twiggy rafters with its brethren.

A scratchy creek of the aged, rusted wheels of David's chair, moving under phantom weight. As if the leader of the Lost Boys had forever stamped his unforgettable impression into it.

The calming flutter of the sheer hanging drapery littered around her in every corner.

Realization set in. The cave. She was....home, as Marko had put it. Only she was alone on the couch she had laid across that first night, under the riveting charm of David. Where everything had changed.

It all rushed back. The escape, the punk bloodsucker, his death, the ripping of flesh, the comfort she'd sought in a monster for once willing to give it freely.

Shit.

There was no tricky, confusingly comforting man in sight though. No terrifying, looming versions of ghosts from her past in sight, either. So that was a plus, she supposed.

The memory of the dream had her on edge. She recalled the last moments, the sharp rejection of her mother's touch but the loving warning and acceptance of her labyrinthian words.

Her hand crept lethargically to her neck and collarbones and she hissed as soon as her fingers lightly pressed down on the skin. Looking for the pain, as far as she could see just edging into her sights, the reason was clear. A bruise. Sparse, not solid. It was...fingerprints. Mottled blue and mauve and angry red. Not pretty.

Fuck.

It was legit. Her dream had not been a dream, rather a crafted stage of semi realism for her mother's very genuine ghost to terrify the shit out of her.

Her body sagged with fatigued relief regardless that she was back in the place she'd tried to flee from. Regardless that she had evidence of the validity of all the times she'd seen people gone from her. Now she knew they weren't imaginative scare factors or hallucinations, that every encounter had been true.

She submerged that tidbit and the memory of that night in the vault in her mind where she hid everything unpleasant, until she'll be forced to remember it later, and instead focused on the bite on the junction of her shoulder and neck that was crusted with dried blood as she sat up.

She ran scrambling fingers over it, stomach churning like a washing machine and a hand fisting in the black fleece of the blanket someone had hastily thrown over her to feel the raised, corrugated puncture wounds still there.

She knew her hand would be clean when she pulled it away. Still, the lack of any thick and morbid red, a reminder of her near death experience coating her skin, was a welcomed sight.

Her heart jackrabbits, bursting into frightful rhythmic beating when she heard a loud assault of sounds, of shattering glass, but she relaxed with a lean and a sigh into the couch at the sight of Marko stumbling down the stairs in the corner after having tripped over a bong waywardly left to its own devices.

He comes now.

The wind like muttering was back, too. Super.

And shit was her mom one scary, dead, apparently clairvoyant bitch. Arcane in her precise knowledge of the coming events.

"Damn you and your fucking mess, Paul," He grumbled and kicked the offending item into the dark mass of shadows, her least favorite messy stoner the apparent cause for him nearly breaking his neck–but he smiled, a pretty thing with his grudge forgotten when he looked up and saw she was awake, the expression open and searching and ethereally charming in the crackling flames of barrel light.

He won no smile back. She just watched with the caution of a spooked deer ready to dart away when he jumped the last wide step of that grand, cracked staircase and skipped around the fountain toward her. Juggled in his hands, there was a bottle of water, a small flask...and a surprisingly clean rag.

He wrinkled his lip at it, unimpressed with his find, shrugging when he popped his head back up to meet her surprised and wide eyes. He was apologetic as he crouched down before her, choosing to ignore the way she naturally scooted away.

"Sorry I couldn't find anything better, dolly. Not a lot of options here. But that wound needs cleaning and this is all I could dig up." He reconsidered with a contemplative silence, sheepishly chuckling, passing her the bottle and watching with eagle eyed intent as she took some measured but greedy sips, "Well, actually, the only thing that's the most unlikely to give you tetanus or something just as gross."

Men and the pig sty they lived in being a fucking toxic wasteland? Huh, not news to her but still. Ew.

"It's, uh...okay, I guess." She said, distracted as he took the water back from her, screwing the lid back on. It was all very domestic. Well, would've been if she wasn't a captive and he wasn't a vampire and she hadn't nearly died earlier in the evening.

She was perhaps aware that it had to be instinct to avoid pain making her slouch back when he screwed open the small flagon and the striking overtones of Earthy, sugary, sickly sweetness from what she now identified as one of her least favorite drinks stung her nostrils.

It was worse, her sudden proclivity to flee, when he doused the supposed–to–be–white rag in the alcohol, put the whisky down and leaned up to press the cloth to the wound.

"No, Ria, come on..." He tutted as she shrank back, still emphatic as he copied her self pitying looks in spite of his frustration. "Doll, be good for me now. You know I've gotta see it. I've gotta make you all better."

"I...yeah, I know. I'm sorry," Her bottom lip wobbled and her meek muttering would've been missed if he had crappy human ears. "I'm just scared and sick and tired of pain."

He sighed sympathetically, nudging her head up with a finger under her chin and his thumb stroking the corner of her sadly pursed lips, "Hey, no, I'm sorry. I get it's not nice babe, don't apologize. I'll be gentle though. I promise."

He was serious in demeanor–curtly and stiffly holding the cloth closer at her refusal, the same persistence knitting those sharp little brows into a heavy attitude of contempt. But then he was tweaking her playfully on the cheek with those soft fingers, banishing a tear from settling that had spilled without her knowing.

Fuck was Marko an enigma of a man. She didn't understand him.

It was hard. She knew he was only being this way because he wanted her healthy, not dying from an infection he could have prevented. It needed to be done. That was indisputable, he wasn't going to budge until she let him do it.

Cries and protests and begs spent, she simply sniffled back any remaining pesky tears and prepared herself, accepting she would be in pain and misery forever. But she could at least accept his help, too.

"Hang on, wait–Ria!" He sputtered protests that were ignored when she picked the small flask of Jack up from the floor and gulped most of it down, loosening a hoarse cough and wiping the back of her hand over her mouth with a shiver.

"Ugh," Her face was pinched by unpleasantness and a growing frown, body progressively shuddering in response to the harsh tang lingering on her taste buds, burning her already sore throat from where she'd cried. "That was fucking rancid, dude. I think it's off."

He tried to wrestle it away from her, impressed at her stubborn strength but annoyed and shaking his head disapprovingly when he couldn't pry it from her fingers, a scowling contortion sliding over and tugging down the pretty features on his own befuddled face. "Yeah, obviously it's disgusting. It's David's and the shits as old as he is. Like, knock a vampire on his ass old. So less booze for the human lush, huh?"

"I'm not a lush!" She protested and grappled it back from him, but even then the alcohol was already rushing to her head and adding a childish lilt to her behavior.

"Uh–huh, sure..." He sarcastically agreed, letting that hand that he'd touched her so attentively with before move to pat her head, "I just don't want you chundering everywhere or somethin'. You're sick enough as it is. We're gonna have to fix that."

The last part was a distracted mumble that teetered off into thoughts of getting her proper food, water and Christ, humans needed like, vitamins and stuff didn't they? He didn't have a clue. He'd have to ask Dwayne.

But Hesperia didn't care for any of that.

She was a lightweight, she hadn't eaten properly in days, and she was already a little loopy from everything that had happened. It only took her finally letting the whiskey go with a crazed laugh at his flabbergasted reaction to feel the buzz kicking in.

Amusement quickly ran dry when he was back to waving the rag near her

"Don't be stubborn. Let me see what we got here, sweetie, come on. Lift your head for me." He murmured, knowing she needed a second to get her fear together and let him do what he had to. That came when he used the back of his finger under her jaw again, softly touching her and tipping her head to the side.

Such doting, considerately gentle affection coupled with the alcohol disabled her hesitation. It was as she relaxed her head into what became his palm cupping her neck to keep her steady did she grant him access to help her.

"Fine."

She regretted it two seconds later.

"I'm sorry, bambi." He crooned when she gritted a gasp through pressed together lips at the anticipated sting, his thumb swiping in a comfortable rhythm over the skin beneath it to ease her distress.

"Why are you calling me that?" It was hissed and impudent, her question. Wasn't meant to come across that nasty, she hadn't the power left in her weakness to actively try to be horrid, but it was naturally how she sounded as she withered in pain.

He stayed devotedly calm and nice, which was still tripping her out, and he aimed a little smirk at her to keep the atmosphere light, to distract her from the pain that became even more severe. "What, bambi?"

A sharp nod.

"'S not an insult, if that's what your thinking. It's only because you're constantly spooked, your pretty eyes always so wide and sparkly. You have a deer-trapped-in-headlights look and sometimes in this new world, you're endearingly unsure but still so curious that it overrides caution. I just think you're pretty cute, babe, to sum up. It fits you." He told her, and there wasn't a moment for her to focus on the pure look of admiration he was sending her that really showed he wasn't trying to hurt her feelings. Not a moment to acknowledge she actually kinda liked it.

The light back and forth finished when she winced and tearfully yelped, fingers white knuckling the blanket he'd laid over her as he accidentally pressed too hard to her wound in his distracted trance.

His scowl returned and dipped harshly that he'd caused that delightful little noise of pain he would usually joy at, but he was relieved beyond his worrying when the blood cleared and he could see the wound was cleanly made and not deep enough to leave a nasty scar. They'd caught that bastard in time.

"Fuck, I'm sorry." So much anger at himself. Did hurting her, even when necessary, really make him so scornful?

"It's okay. Not your fault." She repeated and slurred a little, the natural prickle of tears dug up from pain hurting her eyes. But a blink, and they were gone.

"Good news is that it's not that bad. It'll heal nicely in time, if you let me look after it now." He told her, raising his brows into a stern mien so she'd know he was being serious, but she was a little distracted.

She had a question, niggling in her mind, pushed to be asked over boundaries she normally kept by the alcohol that had demolished them. Talking would serve as a good distraction, too.

"Marko?"

He hummed, eyeing the side of her lax face for a short second because of how serious and sullen she sounded before focusing on his task. "Yeah, honeybun?"

Where the fuck was he pulling these names from? He was worse than Paul for the flirty little phrases and hell, he was kinda spinning her brain like a hurricane.

His sudden engagement, his lack of smug superiority that David and Paul and he had all possessed. He was...being so beautifully warm. Sunshine, is what he reminded her of and in fact, if he wanted to call her bambi, then she would call him that. It was late and it was missed, his change in moods, but weren't all graces of such pure wonder? Just like sunshine on a cloudy day.

God, where had he been this whole time?

"Will, um..." What she was asking, it petrified her. Enough for her voice to fail. But a thick swallow later, a sting of pain from another swipe steeling her nerves, and she stared at the fire lapping at the peeling, rusty red side of the barrel next to them as she asked, "This bite...i–it won't make me like you, will it?"

It hurt...and then it didn't to know she didn't want to be or like what he was. She might not have meant it, or said it outright, but she had sounded so disgustedly afraid at even the slight possibility of the facts she'd read in fiction being true: That a bite could transform her.

Then he remembered their bond. That metaphysical connection between them was probably telling her how wrong it was that there was another vampires bite on her, that the idea of that vampire being the one to turn her instead of one of them was a soul shattering thing—and there's also the knowledge they'd given her nothing to appreciate about vampires. Only things to fear.

Of course she didn't want to be one. Not yet. Not cursed by a stranger.

He licked his lips and caught the top one between his teeth, contemplating what to say as he recovered from the sting of her aversion. Like he was the one having alcohol doused on the grotesque, open wound that was his beaten and exposed heart ripe for more abuse.

He smiled reassuringly when she took his beat–too–long silence as an answer and owlishly blinked those frightened siren eyes at him, keeping the cloth held against her pink skin.

"No." He said at last. She heaved a short, solaced sigh, fear subsiding when he explained, "Its complicated. There's a lot more than that involved. Rest assured that just a bite won't turn you at all."

"Oh," She mellowed back into the couch, drowsy and smiling at him at the good knews.

He thought he'd melt into such relaxation too, then. Into a puddle of lovelorn Marko goo. That had been the first time in days she'd allowed herself to act and smile so beatifically, easily.

Genuinely.

Illusioning there was no bad blood between them when there were rivers of it.

"That's good then, at least."

The better outcome from all of this wicked shit, he knew she wanted to add to that miserable 'at least.'

Ruefully, he let his lips form a line supposed to be pleasant. The dream of possible acceptance crumbled around him just like that.

It was nice, that little blip of feeling like she didn't hate him. While it lasted, anyway.

"Sure is, Ri."

Curious as a child in her exhaustion, she dissolved even further into the old dusty cushions and angled her body toward him. It was an intimate, vulnerable position, as if they weren't two people with a tricky track record of deceit and mistrust and felons. It was innocent, pure. Personal. Just two friends at a sleepover, gossiping over something silly. Not like they were wrongly appointed 'enemies.'

Watching him soak the cloth for a second cleaning with droopy eyes aching and begging to slide closed for sleep, she questioned, "How do you make someone what you are? I mean, if we're really gonna go there."

"We were already there when you asked about biting, sweets." He said and stopped, idling his hands and his answer for a minute by wringing it out.

He didn't really want to tell her when David or Dwayne weren't there to proof check his admittedly lacking knowledge. They were so much better at this kind of stuff than him. Well rounded, too knowledgeable for their own goods, they wouldn't leave anything out.

Hell, Paul was better. He could make anything fun and engaging. He could probably break the news to someone that they had some terminal, life ending disease and still get them to laugh at the end of it. This would be as easy as a walk in the park on a late night for him.

They were all who she should have picked. So she wouldn't end up afraid because he couldn't remember to be kind and patient.

Marko hadn't the decisiveness in him to go through a long winded discussion...and it was a touchy subject for him. The turn. But there were going to be first steps for them all in this. He had to start at some point, and he couldn't find any power to deny her innocent, sleepy questioning.

"Like I said, it's a very long and tricky process to explain. Lot of it's boring, too." He divulged and got back to it, graciously winking when she tipped her head back for him. A bit too far for it to be comfortable and she twinged her lips and cheeks, distressed at the sting, but kept her head back on the couch's hard frame for him. He rewarded her with a squeeze, a brush of his thumb to her lower thigh he was using as a balancing pole. "You know for the full scoop, you should probably ask our mighty leader–"

"Hell no." Her vitriol in her denial left him shocked, and he stopped again, just watching her as she spoke so angrily about his brother, "I'm not going anywhere near that soulless bastard unless I'm forced to. I'm asking you, sunshine."She protested and flopped her neck so her chin pressed into her chest, peeking through her lashes and pouting. It had been a whine: from petulance or pain? Probably both.

"Sunshine?" He muttered dultishly, dropping everything. His hands went flaccid, his body sagged downward and made him look small, in all aspects he was lifeless. Except his eyes. They lifted and bore intensely into hers. A creeping of hope under failed masking of dispassion, she recognized. He'd done the same earlier that night when he'd tried to keep her calm. "Is..." he halted to take a breath unneeded, one that told her all she needed to know about his sudden rush of inactivity. Disbelief. "Is that my nickname?"

Alcohol confident, as well as blinded to the wrongness of this she would feel if this was the normal her, she let a hand flop along her leg to reach his, squeezing his chilled fingers, "Mhm. 'Cause you're dormant most of the time. Specially in the dark, as we all find ourselves, but when you show yourself and let yourself be you, like you have now you're...brilliant, Marko. And I want you to be the one to help me in all of this like you said you would. To tell me things I know you won't hide like the others do, because like sunlight you uncover everything trying to be concealed in shadows."

Fuck, did his heart he so despised for its futility just flutter?

He heard what he'd wanted to. He heard, 'you matter.' It was sure to be short lasting, of course. She was tipsy, but he had hope it was making her a little more truthful and a little less frosty.

She was asking him. She'd left with him and hadn't asked for the silent support of her favorite, Dwayne, in his stead. Seemed to trust him—or so Marko thought—more to be kind in his abrupt willingness to also be truthful. More than she did David and Paul, even that stoic man she'd seemed to find at least somewhat acceptable.

Maybe because here, Marko was being so different to what she expected of him. Not cold. Or quiet. Or observant. Now he was engaged, and calm in the face of the storm. Funny. She almost couldn't believe it.

He himself wondered if this purposeful change in behavior, maybe, had let her see he had the capacity, for her, to be someone even he hadn't thought he could be anymore.

"Alright then, little bambi. Sit up and let me shine the light." He patiently soothed and assumed the role of teacher, done with cleaning her wound for now.

Throwing the stained rag away to the side, he slipped back to sit with his legs crossed on the ground, making a show of ruffling up her dress as she focused her attention on him, the blanket falling to the floor—all so he'd have access to and could stroke calloused fingers from hours of drawing against the soft flesh of her knee. She remained oblivious to how affectionate this was and giggled at the tickle.

He scrunched his nose at her cuteness, resting his chin on her other knee. Still, she didn't seem to care and was too hellbent on sitting straight as he'd wished, so he stayed there and drank in this physical contact sure to be ended soon. "What do you wanna know, pretty?"

"The change." So curious, was her airy pondering with her head in the clouds. Her slow attention was a little concerning to them both, but the room was fuzzy in her eyes and it was only talking to him that was making her mental instability bearable. It was so easy to feel relaxed around him like this. Or maybe that was the alcohols doing.

It was then she remembered, this was kind of the first moment she'd spoken to him properly. Just them. Alone.

Given the night she'd had, this was the nicest part of it. She felt better, to revel in it. Just this short unshattered bout of peace.

Tipsy, almost drunk Ria had no restraints, so as they conversed she lifted a hand and played with a coiled ringlet dangling in his face, not noticing the ecstatic light of joy in the form of a flash of amber through his irises that passed quickly. "How do you turn someone, Marko? If it's not a bite?"

"Vampire blood."

"That's...that's it?" She tripped over her words, eyes bulging.

Don't drink, echoed spectrally in her mind.

The pieces were starting to slot together. And then they were gone, as if something was fighting what she'd learned in her slumber.

Did she...she had to remember, something in those warnings...fuck what was it? Marko was making her forget.

He nodded, lazy lids fluttering so his eyes were nearly closed when her fingers moved into his hair, scratching his scalp. He was, god she swore, she'd heard a purr before he remembered he was a big bad vampire and silently scolded himself.

He blinked up at her, caught in the act.

"Mhm. You drink some blood, then you're pretty much fucked. You can try and throw it up, bleed yourself to purge your body of any trace of it–don't matter. There's no reversing it once you've ingested some...but it doesn't fully turn you. Even then."

Now that interested her, because she had an inkling about what someone would have to do to fully turn. Pushing her foreboding worrying aside, she voiced it, morbidly curious. "Do you have to feed from someone? A human, I mean."

Her grave inquisitiveness broke the spell her caresses had on him that had him unable to keep his eyes open, that had him wanting to sleep even though the moon was still high in the sky.

He stayed put and just peeled a lid open to squint at her. "How'd you know that?"

She laughed, wiggling to slouch more on the couch when her back began to hurt from sitting up.

Nope. Still uncomfy.

She huffed and puffed and grumbled, just not able to stay still, and Marko's already naturally wide eyes rivaled that beaming moon when she parted her knees, her modesty protected by the way her dress fell, and patted her thigh. Embarrassingly keen, he crawled so he could be between her legs with his cheek where she'd ushered him and her hand still embedded in his hair.

"Better." She beamed, the epitome of innocence even with him licentiously nestled between her parted legs, and carried on like nothing happened.

"Anyway, I read a book or something where the vampires had to die with vampire blood in their system. That was how they turned, though–" She cocked her head at him, apparently blind as a bat that she couldn't see how statuesque he was. He wasn't even fucking breathing, but now he was wide awake. "They would die in a matter of hours if they didn't drink blood. Does that happen to your kind of vampire?"

Understandably out of it and distracted by where he was, Marko had to pinch himself to snap himself free of the thoughts whirling around in his nasty little brain and shook his head, looking squarely up at her face and nowhere else. He was better than he thought he was. He had to be. He could do this.

"Nah. If you don't feed, you just stay a half until you do. But it's not easy to complete the change. It's a little different, for our kind of vampire," He wasn't looking at her, again amazingly and for the first time
in decades, ashamed by the ease with which he stated this next part, "You have to kill someone to complete it. Not just have a dainty little sip. Wish it was as easy as a snatch, eat, erase situation." He chuckled, and she really believed him at the lack of joking or humor in it, "But our kind has to have it all. We're insatiable with everything, drugs and sex and living the high life but... blood and the hunger that's never satiated: those are the bane of our existence. More is more and then we want more."

He was overstrung with anxiety, revealing this. For good reason. He saw the minute way her lips peaked down, could practically imagine and feel the way her belly turned and her mind filled with rightfully averse damning thoughts against that which came naturally to him in the way her brows pulled together.

The lust for the kill, the lack of humanity with who he picked. The urge to feed every fucking night. That was just how it was. Who he was...and the first step was the first kill.

Normally he wouldn't care what anyone thought of him. Not when he enjoyed everything he'd just said. Not when any who got to see the monster he really was were quick to be slaughtered by it.

She was the only one on the fucking planet able to make him feel some remorse, but then isn't that something fate wanted from this union?

He was speedy to pick back up so she couldn't focus on the facts that molded and made him into a monster. "If you resist, try to retain your humanity, the urges just...get stronger and stronger and eventually it's, uh, it's undeniable to concede. Even if you don't want to hurt someone. If you don't want to be a murderer. You kinda don't have a choice." There was something, there. Some integrity–like he was speaking from experience. The pain, hidden beneath that boyishly playful ruse, hinted at something deeper than she could ever know when it came to Marko.

She was always more sympathetic and easily saddened when drunk, so she scratched her nails against his scalp and elated in the little hum he let out, melancholia nowhere to be seen.

He was better happy. Sweet, as his appearance belied. Even though, most times and just in his maniacally discomforting silence when she'd endured the worst from his brothers, he was anything but.

He sneakily let his hand that had been stroking her knee this whole time slip past it, just a little further up her thigh, distracting her from noticing and focusing on any personal demons he might have let slip with a strong thirst of intrigue for knowledge. For all he could discover about her. "What else did this book say? 'Cause you can't trust fiction. Doesn't get everything right."

She squealed faintly, a sound that had the biggest, cheek splitting and sharp smirk falling over his lips. Happy for the distraction from her imminent doom, because she severely doubted the others would let it go like Marko had, she sat up a little and brightly asked, "Can we do trivia?"

He snorted with a nod, kissing her wrist when her hand dropped to play with the longer hair around his shoulders. "Sure, sweets. Lay it on me."

"Okay, ummm...." She squinted, then tapped...well, slapped him on the forehead harshly, ignorant to his disgruntled mutterings at the pain that died out when her hand returned to its playing and tangling his beachy waves around her fingers. "I know! This one's easy. Sunlight?"

"That ones sadly true. Ever seen us at any other time than night?"

"No." She hadn't. They always came for her at night time. Even on the boardwalk, the daylight hours had been scarce of them. Even Max's. Even now.

A sad realization burst past her lips, mouth to brain filter obliterated, "So you haven't seen the sunrise in, like, forever?"

If the question upset him, he didn't show it all too much. Just shook his head, the only sign of any sadness, a nostalgic stare at nothing in particular. "Not in a very long time, no. Not unless I wanna be sizzled like a slice of fucking bacon."

A pang went through him. Sunrise...fuck, how long had it been? He didn't even remember what it looked like to witness golden hues in the sky instead of midnight clouds and stars.

"...Garlic?" She proposed quickly so he couldn't dwell too long, wanting to rid him of the sad aura suddenly silencing him and encompassing him like a dark cloud of grief.

He scoffed, moving on from that sad little glitch, letting funnier memories push it aside. "No way. Ridiculous myth. Paul loves garlic."

"Really?" She could get behind that idea. Paul seemed like a guy who loved everything about life. Drugs, drink, money...the sexual conquest of women and men alike. He probably had a revolving door of regular hedonistic exploits. That stung her, deep down for some disillusioning reason, but she focused on the now.

Food must have been a main hobby for him, with how much green he ingested. The munchies could be a killer and he was always puffing away at a smoke.

"Oh sure," Marko enthusiastically nodded, losing himself and his promise to be a little guarded in the delightful tickle of her messing up his hair. "If you gave him a fucking free for all buffet of garlic bread he'd eat it all and ask for more. Then more, and more—insatiable, remember?"

"Ew." She giggled, mirroring his grossed out sneer back at him when he did so and snickered his sentiments.

"Ew is right. He's a fucking pig with food."

There was no dwelling on the fact Paul being gluttonous with his food also must have meant...no. She wasn't thinking about that.

Cycling through common vampire myths, she started with the most basic. "Well, what about stakes?"

"True. One shove through the heart and we're dead. For good. Kinda lame you could kill us with a 2B pencil, but wood is deadly."

"That is a little lame. 'Murdered by stationary.' You gonna geek out like Jerry Dandridge if I shove one through your hand?" She bemused meanly, giggling when he poked her in the ribs with a pout that was all too sweet on that seraphic façade.

"I'm much better than that poser. This is the real deal, babes." Prideful, he puffed his chest and scoped a hand at all of himself.

"Yeah, yeah hotshot. You're a regular undead Casanova." She rolled her eyes when he started giggling like a naughty schoolboy.

She moved on so he wouldn't throw anymore of a hissy fit. "Crosses and crucifixes?"

"Myth. David used to use them as fucking jewellery pieces."

"Are you, uh..." Fucking Christ, how did she say this question she had and not sound stupid?

He made a motion, a 'go on,' wave of his hand and she just rushed it out, "Are you like, impotent, or can you make little freaky vampire babies?" She grimaced at the idea.

He was just as grossed out, children something he hated with a passion. Long story. To cut it short, he thought they were snotty and gross and stinky and he always wanted to rip his ears off when they wouldn't shut the hell up.

"Ugh, fuck no. We're dead. We can't reproduce, thank the Devil." Then he took amusement in her squeal when he playfully nipped his sneakily elongating fangs at her leg, a little too close to somewhere she didn't appreciate him being. Even drunk. "Though we love to give it a shot."

Blushing a fire hydrant red at his lustful stare and raspy voice that shot it's effect straight through her and left her squirming, she resisted the need to fan herself and looked anywhere but at him. "You're not giving it a shot with me, sunshine."

He groaned, a sulky whine. "Now ain't that just too fucking bad."

"Yep." Smug and watching him pout, she felt shame all of a sudden hit her that she was flirting with him. Oh, she really was losing her mind, wasn't she?

"D-Does fire do anything?" She was quick to veer off their joking course, silently scolding that she'd let herself get this comfortable around him.

"We're not indestructible." Disappointed, he changed the subject, picking up on her disdain and tugging at a thread loosened on the hem of her skirt to drive himself to distraction. It hurt too much, like there was a hole in his chest that burrowed deeper to his heart anytime he witnessed her disgust with herself for even considering accepting them, "You can still spit roast the hell out of us. There's only a real slim chance we'll come back from that."

"Right..." He didn't miss that pause of her clearly storing that information away. The invisible gaping wound of emotional agony leaving his vulnerability exposed grew and stabbed deeper.

But he didn't take her seriously. Not when she clicked her fingers and was back to grinning, "Oh! Can't believe I'm such an airhead that I nearly forgot. Holy water?"

This had him hiding a smile in the bunched skirt he'd been messing with, a bark of laughter shaking his shoulders. "So true. Wanna know how we know?"

"How?" She indulged him, finding it easy to join in on his light humor. She didn't see him lose his sly curl of his lips for a more genuine, tender little half crooked smile.

"Dwayne lost a dare once and David, the conniving bastard, let Paul use this crappy little water gun he found to test the theory as the punishment. The manic prick broke into that church on California street, filled his shitty pistol very carefully with holy water, and then attacked Dwayne out of the blue when he was least expecting it. He had burn marks on his face for weeks afterwords, like Krueger or something."

"Shit." She breathed while Marko lost his shit like it was the funniest thing ever, imagining something horrific like third degree burns, but that just made another question pop up.

She dazedly smiled, feeling the alcohol hit a little too much to the point her hearing was muffled like she had cotton balls stuffed in her ears, shuddering a little when she just noticed him skirting his fingers over her inner thigh.

Everything felt heightened, his fingertips sparking magic little tingles wherever they touched, and she tried to hide how nice it felt to have such calloused skin play along and contrast with her own smooth flesh. She tried to mask the way she quivered, the way her thighs twitched closed slightly, the way she worried her lip between her teeth to hide a moan. "You guys, u–um, can you heal from stuff like that?"

"Yeah. We can heal from most injuries and near death experiences. Stab wounds, gunshots, drowning, large falls, getting beat the fuck up. You name it. The whole shebang. Burning and decapitation and dismemberment, though, may do the trick. Never experienced any of the last three myself to say."

So he was saying he'd experienced being stabbed and shot and beat and whatever the fuck, then? Jesus.

He watched her face closely as she thought of all of those things happening to him, grinning and wickedly pleased at how the Jack had dropped some of her limits. She was worried about him.

Now don't mistake him. It wasn't intended to get her drunk, and he wasn't some lecherous creep looking to take advantage. She'd met one of those already. He hadn't started with this goal in mind, and in fact it'd been her who'd drank of her own decision.

He wouldn't have been smug at all, except she didn't realize just how much he could tell she was really, truly enjoying what he was doing. The alcohol was just showing it to him more blatantly. She had nowhere left in her hazy subconscious to hide now.

He had no doubt, with the way she was fidgeting around and the sudden strong hit of jasmine and citrus that told him all he needed to know about why she was, that if his hand wasn't there she'd be rubbing her legs together to try and stave off the way she was feeling.

That just made his normal lust for her become unbearable...and that was when an idea came to him.

He played it up, all pure and sweet when she peered down at him from where she'd been watching the candle flame from one of the bottles blow in the sneaking sea breeze as a useless distraction.

He let her get nice and relaxed, and calmly said, "I can show you."

That had her attention.

He'll do something.

Her eyes cut to meet his, aware now of the amber glow in them.

She swallowed around the dry lump caught in her throat, inspired by the cryptic warnings swirling like a whirlpool in her head, and the juxtaposing effect of his words, voice thick with an emotion she couldn't place and hadn't felt before but one he knew all too well as he rubbed his hand up and down her thigh, always edging closer.

"Show me?"

"The magical healing powers that vampires possess." He amended, and she wasn't stupid enough to miss the way he was looking straight at the aching bite.

Oh.

"Well, I'm not a vampire." She uselessly reminded him, a flood of warmth washing welcomely over her body when he grinned at her like she was something adorable for telling him that obvious fact.

That happiness of that wide smile was now brightened into adoration. She could hear the fond amusement in his voice, "I know."

"So how would you heal me?" It would've been wise not to ask, not to basically invite him to show her. Because he jumped at the chance.

Dragging his hand from under her dress, he stayed between her thighs and used her to push himself so he was on his knees. She gasped softly when he leaned forward, slithered a hand through her hair, cupping it around the back of her neck to pull her towards him, flush against his body.

"Marko, what are you-mh!"

He cut her off, because he couldn't wait anymore, when she was so pretty and radiant and angelic in that blood stained white dress. When she'd taken the time to sit and listen and laugh and not view him for what he was.

The only thing missing in his seraphic image of her was a halo circling her glorious crown of night colored locks. He kissed her, deeply, ravenously, like he hoped he could steal some of that loveliness and wash away his sins.

All the while, Ria could only stare wide eyed and try to deny the butterfly's he let loose inside her as he showed her, abruptly, just how rampant with gluttony she made him.

Marko had never kissed her before, not like with Paul where she was trapped and in a horrible situation. They had bonded, a little, they'd spoken and he'd saved her and he had been a dark Angel to her when he'd swooped down and scooped her up and kept her safe...and he was anything but it, now.

Where Marko wished to steal and covet her innocence, his kiss was frantic and greedy and consuming every last bit of her in flame. He was unknowingly giving her a taste of the evil within, as an exchange. She felt she was drowning in pure darkness. Burning and brilliant...and she liked it. Craved it.

She stared and blinked and remained frozen until he pulled away, until he sheepishly bit his lip, until she realized in horror she wanted him to kiss her again. And again. And again. She'd be fine if he kissed her forever. She'd live off of them.

"I'm sorry, beautiful." He gasped and fought for breath he didn't need but grappled for to save him from the dizziness she inspired in him, but he wasn't truly apologetic. He was already zeroing back in on all the places on her he wanted to ruin, intense gaze burning her skin. "I'm gonna help you, don't you worry. You're just too lovely to resist...I'm sorry. I can't help it, I can't stop it."

More like he didn't want to.

It was shallow. The apologies, because they weren't for what he'd done already. They were for what he would do. What she'd unleashed by asking such a simple question.

He was soon too needy to let her just sit there unresponsive, expression steady though her skin was warm with the corrupting hellfire he'd gifted her and her desirable lips were trembling and her heart was going wild and he knew that deep down, this electric energy between them was driving her just as insane with longing.

This time he was tentative and ready to pull away as he kissed her again, as he brushed his lips so delicately against those ones that had him enamored that he even surprised himself.

And then he thought, no. It wouldn't do. He needed more of her, he needed everything. Her fear, her joy, her adrenaline, her trust, her love. He needed her or he'd never be right again. But most of all, he needed her understanding that he'd always be this. Dark and selfish and tinted with malice even when he tried his best to utilize some of her light.

Her mistake was not pushing him away. Not even wanting to. She was surprised her heart didn't implode, because he finally surrendered to the wave of unarguable ruin and let the vampire in him out, a hand shooting to grasp the back of her neck to yank her closer and slam their lips together with more passion, sharpened teeth teasing her untarnished skin he'd sooner see littered with his marks.

Her exclamation of shock from a particularly sharp nip was swallowed by his eager mouth, thumb nudging at her jaw to tilt her head back so his tongue could plunge deeper and eat up more of her delicious noises.

...She returned it all and lost herself to the spell, let her eyes flutter closed, pulling a delighted, wicked groan from him for it as she bashfully kissed him back, pulse rocketing. So unsure, but so full of disgusting acceptance for this.

Her thighs finally clenched around his torso for that relief she sought, embarrassingly aroused, and her balled fists braced against his shoulders when he used his other hand to trace her hair away to fall down her back, fingers wrapping the long strands around them to have an anchor so she couldn't move. So he could tilt her head back...so he could demonstrate exactly how he'd help her.

It was a bite. A bite she'd asked for.

And oh, how his motives she'd stupidly agreed to terrified her, but left her on some level eagerly waiting like the deer in the sights of the wolf. Filled with adrenaline, one wrong move away from the killing bite, from devastation. Only for her, there was nowhere to run. Not anymore. Not when she'd willingly wandered into the monsters arms, back into its den. There was nowhere else to go but here.

He'll make you want him.

It was more than true. He no longer kissed her, struggling so badly to separate from her you'd think he was glued to her, or that the invisible link between them she had no idea existed connected them mercilessly like magnets. Begging to be drawn to together.

There was no denying such chemistry, such raw and unyielding need. Not for him anyway. So he wouldn't, couldn't, leave her space. Instead he occupied himself with memorizing every beautiful feature of her face, more drawn to her sinfully ravaged neck then anywhere else just waiting for his mark...all the while she tried to gather her bearings. But he'd left her stunned.

"I d-don't understand, Marko," She said when she finally could force her brain back into gear and out of the polluting trance he'd placed upon it to keep her there, trapped in his claws, while he mapped out the freckles dusting her cheeks like they were magnificent constellations.

He tilted his head in such an animal way it was almost as if he was gone. She feared it was so, and she knew she was screwed.

She was struggling, too. In a different way then he was now, because her wants weren't so strong, so debilitating. They were there, but not potent enough to have her spaced out and numbed like Marko.

Her struggling was to create space as he released her, in his curiosity, from that poisonous affection infecting her mind. Reality set back in and she clung to it like a lifeline. Because she knew if she didn't get away from him, if she lost it again, there was no telling how far things could go.

He'd already kissed her. Twice. And now 'nice Marko' who'd laughed with her and cared for her and had finally been on the track of revealing all of the secrets about why she was apparently 'special'...he was dying. He'd had a taster of her just like his brother and was deciding, right then, that he wanted the whole damn meal.

Want...it was too fickle a word, because fucking hell she was starting to just like he was her.

She wasn't forcing him away, she realized with suddenness like a slap to the cheek. She was pulling him closer, indecision in every tug, a raged war going on in her brain while he grinned with malevolence to rival the devil, enjoying the conflict in her soul. It was all just proof of their connection to a monster like him.

"I don't know, I...please—"

"Shush now, dollface. Don't worry that pretty little head so much." He soothed, injected with that horrible magic they always seemed to use on her that left her only with base instincts she didn't understand. He wanted her free enough to think, but not so much willpower as to leave him, voice almost a purr in his satisfaction as she stilled and blinked dazedly up at him, "There. No need to fear me, not when you don't understand. I said I'd help you, yeah?"

She managed a sluggish nod. His smirk was conniving and yet, confusingly full of adoration that left him unfocused and switching between smug satisfaction and genuine care. The fight went on long enough that she managed to escape his mind clouding appeal.

"So I will." He promised, a knowing gleam to those eyes. He was no fool. It was clear with Ria their powers only worked for so long...but that was the fun to him, and he had only some regret for the wickedness he wielded as he watched her start wriggling around again, like a worm caught on a hook with no where to go. She froze as he pouted, the picture of innocence. "But there's no harm indulging first, is there? If it's what we both want."

"Stop."

He recoiled at the tremble in her voice. Equal parts stung and pleased by it.

There was only so long a villain could go on pretending he was a man, after all. Even for her.

"You...you said you'd help me, Marko. Please. I'm not some game." She whimpered, distressed by his fluctuating moods. One moment he desired her so avidly he couldn't contain himself, the next she was back to being the mouse and he the cat.

His remorse grew, the barbarian in him that strived for misery and struggled to distinguish between prey and love was leashed back within for the fraction of time it took for him to coo, "No...oh, no, sweet girl. Of course you're not. You don't understand us yet, that's all. Part demon, part man. That's what we are. That's what I know. That's what wins, Ria."

Mainly demon, she wanted to snark. But he'd already said it himself. She kept her mouth shut.

"You don't understand how difficult it is with you. You're...fuck," He let out a small laugh, "I can't even incapsulate it. I mean, you're special and perfect and kind. You're a saint. A star. A treasure, when all I know are things that are unpleasant and foul and I..." He was a stammering mess and he only stopped to consider something. Consider her as she eyed him like he was bat shit crazy. He didn't care, suddenly smiling. In that moment, she thought he was the gem. It could've blinded her.

With renewed vigor, he seemed to suddenly aim to make her get it, muttering while he showered her in a look of wide eyed reverence, "I'll show you how good we can be, how I'll help you, like I promised to before we got...distracted."

Still, for all his baffling talk that only really had her convinced vampires were mental, she was frightened. Petrified. Even more so when he lowered his head toward her neck.

She dithered in his embrace like a poor animal in a trap and mewled a scared, broken cry when he bent down to skim his nose along the bite she hadn't wanted, snarling firmly at her as she fought to escape.

He didn't mean to frighten her. He didn't mean any of the nasty shit they'd done. But he'd spent so long being bad that it was hard to remember how to be good, even for her. He was trying to help, but her struggling only roused his less than favorable instincts.

She stayed her resentment, suspended in fear, and he rewarded her by stopping his beastly noises of complaint. To calm her pitter pattering heart, he nuzzled into her and dotted sweet pecks up the column of her neck where she'd probably expected him to bite and feed, the tickle of his soft honey kissed curls against her skin calming her fright.

For whatever reason–though she suspected on some level, like an addictive narcotic, it was being close enough to want to suffocate in him until she didn't even remember her name–she felt sensitive. Too sensitive. Too exposed.

It left her paralayzed, waiting and waiting as he used the hand supporting her neck and the one tangled in her hair to yank her head back further.

She was glad he was holding her up, in spite of the subtle roughness. She'd have cowered back into the cushions to escape that powerful display of blatant desire on her own.

"Don't be scared of me." He whispered when she wouldn't stop shaking, kissing around the broken fang marks so gently. That was what let her calm a little, tensed arms resisting him buckling to let her sink fully into his chest. If he'd lost control, he wouldn't be touching her or treating her so nicely.

"It's simple, Ria. I can get rid of this..."

...Something you'll both regret.

The ghost was trying its best to be loud, trying to make its reminder stronger than Marko's dark promises. It was failing.

Simultaneous, clashing in their decisions, her mother's warning was lost against the blatant and selfish want he had to taste her. To cleanse her. She could hear it, his greed, as plainly as she could hear her own pulse deafening most other sounds around her.

"I should get rid of this fucking stain on you." His disgust wasn't aimed at her, but at the subtle smell of the other male. On his girl.

He twitched his lip as his eyes burned into every dent and marr of her skin, his fangs eager to replace the wrongly given bite, to mark her up as his in its place. "It doesn't belong on you. Does it, pretty baby?" His warm, silky lips touched over it with each utterance worshipped into her where he'd have rather spurned it from her all together.

But it wasn't her fault. She deserved slow devotion, not him rushing to right the wrong.

"...No. I...It doesn't." She admitted and it stung, now he'd said that. Now he'd brought up how irregular it was to have it violating her. On her.

But Hesperia felt like she was in a trance, of sorts, combatting all rational motions of thinking and feeling. It was so sudden, and not one from the liquor.

Why did Marko, being there, 'fixing it,' do this to her? She should be able, even tipsy, to deny him.

She couldn't.

Her whimper was unidentifiable as she pushed at sturdy shoulders, if it was a sign of fear or something more when she felt him move closer to commit the act she didn't know if she wanted him to. "Wait, don't...don't hurt me, Marko. W–what are you going to do?"

"Oh, hush now, little bambi. Shhh," He cooed and rocked her slightly, practically salivating at the heat of her blood teasing him below the easily breakable surface already scarred. He soothed, hushing his comfort directly into her ear, "I know, it's frightening when you have only the worst to compare it to, but I've no intention of hurting you like he did. Let me show you how right it can be. How good it can be instead of letting you grow to fear it."

She was shivering jitteringly now in her anxiety, to the point her jaw had started to do the same. Her fingers, grasping at him though her body curved away, had his hard edged want softening for a moment into the love she'd deign to push aside. He could show her it now, when she was like this.

"Poor thing. So much fear and so much hurt, all of your life. Ria, baby," He implored, subtly manipulating her head to be fully tipped back, to expose more of her beautiful neck, his dark stare drawn to every vein and beauty mark he wished to taste, "Trust me. Let it rest now."

Things started to change and she clung to him, a sob wrenched forth. Ripped from her chest, souring her plea, "I can't..."

"Yes, you can." He promised, struggling to refrain from the want pushing him to act immediately. He snapped his eyes shut, shredding his lips as he bit at them purposefully to stop himself.

She heard it anyway. He was losing a battle to resist, and she flinched when he nosed at the bite, "I can make it end. For a little while, if you let yourself give in and let yourself surrender to it, you'll never get enough of the feeling I'll give you. You won't have to be scared anymore." He coaxed her to trust him at her naivety and her endearing nerves.

He'll worship you with freedom...

No. She wanted her to go away. Why, why couldn't the ghost go away?

In turn it will make you want him...

Oh god, her head was spinning. She felt nauseas. She didn't know.

She shouldn't do this, shouldn't bow down. Whatever he was going to do would create an imitation, an illusion of lust and peace all for him, at least that's how she perceived it.

So why wasn't she listening to the ghosts she knew to be real? Why wasn't she fighting harder?

That matronly apparition had left marks on her proving her authenticity, and yet her manifestation had been pointless. Hesperia couldn't listen. Something deep, something inside, festering like a living thing was preening at this. Prevailing over the rational things she should be remembering.

She heard Marko, now, instead. Suffered blissfully in his voice magnified all around her, caressing in whispers against her, curling her nails into his jacket when his trembling breaths of excitement tickled the bite.

His grip around her neck was frighteningly tight, and she was scared. Scared he would lose control, that he'd hurt her like that other man had, scared of the impeding regret bound for them that she couldn't convey to him to make him stop. That she was beginning to lose focus and memory of.

"One brief moment. That's all. Of pain, but of so much more..." It was blackened with ill things, his subdued and malevolent purr of a voice, and she flinched from his lies. She thought them to be, the searing sting of the other vampires bite still raw and aching and the truth she needed...

But he was speaking so softly, so reverently, and then he smiled against torn skin at the almost imperceivable, hopeful tenseness to her body, of the guilty relief for her being the exception to the pain they made others experience that had her subconsciously pulling him closer.

She felt the blooming grin that spread at her unspoken surrender, jolting at the kiss he grazed over her pulse, at the pleased bellow of his unearthly voice shifting as his fangs fully descended. She'd given in, he knew. And now so had he. "That's it, Ria, good girl. Just one small second, babydoll. Then I'll take away all of your fear. Shield you from all of your sadness. Allow me to free you."

That was it. She had finally decided, in this bubble of malefic promises, to say fuck the consequences.

A beat of uncertainty, of indecision...and then he struck while she waited nervously, only able to stare up at the cavern surrounding them as tears of equal relief and defeat rolled seamlessly from her drooping eyes.

She whined a small, musical cry of surprise and delight when he did. Digging his fangs into taut flesh with a wanton, guttural moan, he'd made it so his stinging yet sensually horrible bite overlapped the other vampire's mark.

She heaved for breath, body naturally resisting the rush of pain, attempting to control her panicky hyperventilating to diminish and focus not on the hurt, but on her pushing at him fruitlessly, weakly.

"No, Marko...n-no..." Her denial ceased. She stilled for a second in shock, and then she closed her eyes and yielded her denial. She collapsed into the suddenness of the pain transforming, keening softly as he groaned against her, the vibrations making it evolve into something unnatural...

This couldn't be normal, that it felt...good. No. That it was intoxicating.

He wondered if she was scolding him or begging for more? That crackly sigh of his name had been equal parts betrayed and needy, as was the way she still tugged him closer and then, as if realizing in her swoon of distraction that she was giving in, would try to fight him off again.

He grunted and dug his fangs in deeper to stop her, nearly letting go to croon praises to her how cute her whining at him and being on the cusp of tears was, but he was too engrossed in the gushing, fruity sweetness of the blood blessed to him. Convinced this was a fever dream.

There was no way she wished for him to get off, her fighting weak–a natural response to being held so closely to a predator, in a position he used to kill. He knew the bite, when done out of love or affection, when the vampire cared...it could be something addictive. He'd made sure it was so.

He was right, not that she could hear his cocky, smug thoughts. She didn't want him off, she wanted to pull him closer so he'd bury his fangs deeper until he reached the rich undercurrent of her soul that felt like it was restlessly shifting inside of her, until he made it blossom.

He had not lied to her, or misled her, or coerced her down that path of false security he did to all his victims. It hadn't hurt. There was a little sting as she instinctively jumped and mistakenly pulled, and then it just felt soothing...made her drowsy and tired and comforted as he drank and let himself have a little taste.

Her hesitation to enjoy it stopped. Naturally, though unknown to her, her now limp body cherished it far before her muddled mine could catch up.

Slow as the dawn, a sensation...an instinctive reaction crept up on her: the ease of that tranquillity she'd gotten a taste of earlier in the blackness, now mixed with a growing crest of pleasure.

She surrendered to the trance, the feeling of memories it drew forth where everything had been right and there was no fear–as there was in her adult life–of things always going wrong. When there had been nothing to worry for but her young life and the scary phenomena of growing up.

It took hold of her then, that easy feeling of bliss and the sudden attack of desire as he bit down even harder, but she was too enraptured by how relaxed and carefree he was making her feel for the first time in days to be lost to the lulling pull of slumber.

She didn't want to miss a single second of this, when knowing it would be a long time before such a pure and dreamy state held her safe in its embrace again.

He had saved her, for this short instant...and she would savor all she could get of such redemption.

He leaned her back, her breathy moans she quietly, unknowingly sung puncturing right through him. They built in their intensity until he had to rip his tightly wound bite away from her unless he bit her too hard at the encouragement.

She carried on, each noise of euphoria pushing him further away from waking from this, and she all but convulsed when he bent to lick up the blood that'd dripped down her chest, following the rich and sweet trail from the swell of her breasts all the way back to his mark.

She wasn't disappointed when he pulled his face away that was coated in her blood. The flow of gratification and pleasure kept on, and she wasn't scared anymore when he smiled down at her in her dreary eyed, lullabied oblivion after swiping his tongue slowly over his bloodstained fangs.

"That's how exquisite it can be. Something you don't have to fear. That doesn't have to hurt. It's like nothing you've ever felt before, like nothing you'll ever feel again...and I can give it to you whenever you need me to, Hesperia. All we want is to give that sort of peace to you." She closed her eyes with a shallow hum when he inched closer, whispering like they were in a room full of people and this was an intimate, sacred secret. He nuzzled his nose against hers so she'd open her eyes, and he looked so beautiful, grinning happily down at her with that monstrous face she'd only ever feared.

It was as she was looking up at him, held so close so dear that she felt she was all he cared about, that the world tilted on its axis. The edges of her vision pulsed, blurred, seeing through hazy eyes that everything was warping and misted in the background. Everything that wasn't him. There was a base impulse that emerged and tarnished her innocent wonderment, left it in ruins; from unknown depths she hadn't known laid within, untouched like a vein of rich gold in the Earth, this urge she'd never felt before was incessant...an itch needing to be scratched.

And he, meaningful in doing it or just oblivious, had unearthed it.

She supposed he had made true on his promise. He'd freed something.

"Marko..." She uncaged an astounded little noise at the way she felt each syllable of his name trickle dotingly like a prayer past her lips, sweet and rich as a summer wine on her taste buds. She'd never tasted words before. Fuck, what was in that whiskey?

She wanted to tell him something was wrong...but her mouth to mind connection was severed. Out of service. Trying to string together a cohesive sentence left her feeling all fuzzy and uncomfortable, and she couldn't make herself vocalize anything that wasn't some moaned variation of his name.

Then her focus was on him when he leaned closer to better hear her, head crooked to the left adorably. It had to be, because anything else she looked at shook and vibrated and swirled with unclarity into colorful blurs. He was the only thing solid and...pleasant to look at, to have her attention focused on. Or more specifically, his mouth had caught her eye.

She watched him lick the corner of it to wet the drying blood...blood she wanted to lap off of him. Watched how some dripped, how he opened those blush pink lips and how they moved as he spoke.

"Yeah, bambi?"

His adams apple bobbed. Her eyes strayed, gaze sharpening. He had a pretty neck, pretty skin, pretty everything. A pale tan that glowed when covered in her blood. Sunshine...yes, how right she had been. Her muscles jumped, eager to lap at it, to taste it, to tear at it. To have a chance at flavoring everything he had, even his words as they formed on his tongue. To hungrily ravage them off.

Starved, her heart was just as so, slowing so much she feared she'd die if she didn't act on the strange wants filtering into her mind as if they belonged to some outside source. If she didn't feed it with the only nourishing thing it required: him.

He'd tapped into a thing she didn't understand with his bite, something they weren't supposed to go through yet, when she didn't know who she was to them...and now she wouldn't be left alone until something was done about it.

He sensed the change in her, saw it in the look she was shooting him, her pupils having swallowed all of the amber, ochre flecks of her irises. All that was left was a dark, ravenous, piercing promise of devastation.

Their roles were now reversed, as if she wanted to devour him.

Too slow to pull away, he could only choke on a grunt of surprise when she did just that, slamming their lips together, sinking unrelenting fingers into his hair.

That was when the heat started, burning to a crisp any of that lingering, freeing euphoria she'd adored him so much for gifting her.

She was flushed, head to toe, clammy with a thin sheen of sweat that trickled drops down the divots in her spine when she arched her back and molded her body to his, taking advantage of the gasp that opened his mouth to sneak her tongue inside. She was Icarus, too close to the sun, readily willing to melt into nothing but this moment. Them.

Hypersensitive to every nerve lightening thing about him, she groaned at the taste of herself that she'd craved to experience, her own blood smearing from his lips to hers, coaxing his unsure lips to dance with hers.

It made her stomach knot with longing, insatiable and fierce as he returned her advances. This wasn't enough. This need forcing her on him, it was a part of her soul. Undeniable. She could feel, a part of her as her own heart was pounding away in her chest, it wouldn't be sated if she let him go.

Even though it was agonizing and the burn running like acid through her veins returned full force because of it, she laughed when he came to his senses and stopped kissing her to push her off, and all Marko did was stare as he scuttled back from her and fell on his ass.

This wasn't the shy, demure, untrusting Ria. There was an odd confidence, a surety melting and bubbling away behind that suddenly sultry gaze.

"Jesus H. Christ–" He gasped, trying to catch any air so he could think, but each inhale was laced with the smell of her. A poisonous perfume that now left his mind numb. There was no escape...and it made him gulp heady pulls of it in all the more, "Ria, babydoll, what the fuck was that?" His question was as bewildered as he was stunned, with a little remorse even though she'd initiated it.

She hated him, didn't she? What had gotten into her? Though he could admit, it was karma. Their roles were reversed now.

She left it hanging, unanswered, and rolled off the couch away from him, scrabbling onto wobbly legs and swaying on the spot, the heels of her palms digging into her temples. It did nothing to clear the blur from her eyes and...fuck, she was so dizzy...what was wrong with her all of a sudden? Why had she kissed him? Why...no, why did she want to do it again?

"Not right..." She fumbled out, blinking in slow motion, eyes sticky with tears, arms drawn to her chest and hands bunched by her chin, biting nervously at a nail and unsure now he'd broken their touch practically tethering her to him and increasing the...well, the carnal desire that had governed her. That was the only way to think of it. As something primal, with the way it had sprung on her out of nowhere.

She felt like a goddamn animal, growing wilder by the second.

"Yeah, Ria? I need you to talk to me, tell me you're okay." He was talking to her as he foisted himself up, approaching her, his hand falling on her shoulder nearly knocking her over. "Oh, fuck!" He wrapped hands around her waist, pitchy yell frantic, and pushed and straightened his body to be a solid wall to save her from a bruising appointment with the floor when she collapsed back into him. A deadweight.

He battled the urge to steal her away and fuss over her when her head languished and flopped weakly against his shoulder.

She wouldn't like the way he wished to care for her, because she didn't like him–he'd thought she didn't. That was proving, in this respite of them alone from the others and suddenly thrust into dangerous waters where he feared he'd do something that would change everything, to be untrue.

Instead, he shook her lightly, desperate fingers splaying along her jaw to tilt her face towards his, "Hey, hey." Tapping on her cheek didn't help, and anxiety bled into his trying–to–remain–calm–but–miserably–failing wobbly pitch. "You still with me?"

When her knees buckled and he was the only thing keeping her up, there was no stopping his harsher taps, the clicking in her face, or the firm use of her full name. "Hey? Hesperia?"

No answer.

Nothing except the result of her shuffling closer at the cool of his skin seeping through her clothes to soothe her burning flesh. She nuzzled her face snuggly into the crook of his neck at the gentle encouragement from him, her nose following his scent, trailing along his dead pulse point up to his ear, the skull of his earring swinging.

"Oh," He chuckled breathily, nervously because what the fuck was happening? He didn't have the willpower to push her away, even as his hand dropped back down to hold her at the waist, muscles prone to do so. He didn't. He couldn't. "Okay. Wha...What are you doing, dollface?"

He had to be dreaming. Nothing this good, this heavenly could happen for a creature like him. He'd accepted he'd never have her but, here she was, laying back on him as if he was all she needed to survive, starting to kiss and place little kitten licks at his neck.

Maybe he'd died...and he'd been allowed heaven. Even after all of the heinous shit he'd done.

"I'm sorry, I-I don't know...I'm weak." She whimpered, needy, mouthing at his jaw and grabbing at his hands around her that flexed when she sucked at that spot, below his ear, that always made him shiver, pinpointing it straight away...like it was some cosmic foresight that she knew where his weaknesses were.

He gulped, biting his cheek to the point it bled so he remained calm. Collected, kind when she was making him want to be the bad guy she thought he was. To do bad things. He rolled his jaw, the wound healed, and he was unwilling to acknowledge that he leaned into her touch. That he was fucking loving this. "Right...well, you gonna let me take care of you? Let me sit you down?"

"I can't. No!" She wailed, whipping around to lock her arms around his neck, twitching body and shaky breathing and the frantic staccato of her poor frightened heart alerting him that she was near having a panic attack.

"No..." She sniffled, no idea why she was crying, except knowing he couldn't stop touching her. It would hurt. It would tear her in two. Rip her apart as easily as confetti paper. Unmendable. "I can't. Please, just hold me. Don't leave me, Marko."

He bumbled at her snuggling her warm little face back into his neck, patting her awkwardly on the back, elbows pointed out in the most ridiculous positions. He probably looked stupid, but if he touched her too long, there was the worry she'd try to start something she couldn't finish.

"Alright." He eased his arms down and stopped embarrassingly imitating a chicken to envelope her fully when he felt the cool drops of tears fall on his skin, finding it easier to hush and be there for her when she was upset...when she wasn't acting like a completely different person. He rubbed consoling hands up and down her back, "Alright, doll. I'm not going anywhere. Let's calm down, yeah? Let me help you. Can you tell me what's wrong?"

He shouldn't have asked in that patient tone. That soothing tone–god, that voice that made her want to melt into him. That only made her tug at his jacket, teeth clenched with an audible clink as she resisted the horrid impulses this strange phenomena were forcing over her: to kiss, meld her scolding skin to his. To bite and tear and feed as if she were the bloodsucker. It was the only way her agony would perish.

She shuddered at the mere thought of the ambrosia that was his blood filling her mouth, but she resisted it all...until with his hands under her jaw, he pulled her away from her nestled hiding spot and made her look at that pretty face that devastatingly beautiful statues been crafted from as inspiration.

He wasn't uneasy anymore, at seeing her head on. He was momentarily entranced, admiring his bite on her, not bleeding but flaring an angry red, her heartbeat below her skin pulsing frantically now he was touching her.

She denied it no longer. Shooting up to desperately kiss him again, he tried to move back but was a second too late. Brows contracting down a little, hands hovering in the air, he eased into it, tense lips relaxing, beginning to return it when...

"Fuck, no Ria!" Feeling guilty for it, he shoved her away, a feat nearly impossible, her despondent sobs heartbreaking and each catch of her breath a hook yanking at his soul and playing with his heart strings. He rounded the back of the couch so it separated them, saved but fearing for her wellbeing when she doubled over, shakily whining, falling on the sofa and laying miserably on the cushions.

She just felt so...hollow, so painfully empty when he wasn't near. Hungry for something she couldn't put her finger on.

Cautiously, as she became still, he bent over the hard back and stroked the hair from her face, complacent and given a bright clear clarity of a second when she didn't move but leaned into his palm.

He shushed her, allowing some of his commonly used abilities to make it a lure that would truly settle her, "Shhh. Stay there, Ri. You're alright. I think I know what's wrong now."

"What?" She wriggled as she asked him this, blood boiling like magma in her own skin, a freezing yet hot burn, melting that fiery ice and repeating all over again. She was yanking at the material of her silky dress. Suffocating, choking. It was claustrophobic.

And then he touched over her frantic heart...and it all stopped. Cooled her pleasantly, pandered to her qualms her body had with her for a little bit. Allowing her to think.

And she knew then, in some form, what was wrong with her. She wanted him in ways she hadn't wanted anyone before, in ways that were so foreign it had taken her this long to see...and she felt herself practically go white in shock. Felt, in her sickened disbelief with herself and where this curse had taken her thoughts, that she'd rather be consumed by the fire raging war than willingly give in.

But there was no willingness. With each passing second, something–both out of her world and entirely her–was pushing at the boundaries of her mind to assume control.

She blinked up at him when he cooed, and she'd have taken offense–been sure she was being mocked or made fun of for this horrid spell at that tone if his face wasn't scrunched with worry and immense guilt pulling at every muscle. "I shouldn't have done that. It's my fault, baby, It's all my fault. Forgive me."

It was a blessing and a curse. His caresses. The longer his skin lingered on her, the more the horrible, sexual thoughts rose to the surface but the burn left her alone. They almost felt like they weren't her own. Because while she had to acknowledge they were obviously attractive men–kidnapping, murdering and menacing soulless behavior aside–she'd never thought she felt like this about them. But the primal desire she shouldn't hold for him was showing her things about herself she hadn't even known were there.

"I wasn't thinking. I'm so sorry." Now she was afraid, because he looked afraid, knowing consequences were inbound. As if he'd done something irreversible. Something life changing, something fucked up.

The teary crack that splintered through her questions made him wince, "W–why, what did you do? What've you done?"

"Yes, Marko, that is something I'm wondering myself." A voice called, interspersed with the last clinging notes of savagery.

"Ya know, I think we've interrupted something naughty, David."Another chorused. Paul, playing around with a terribly fake innocent air, a clear sharpish grin adding to the nastiness of his taunt.

It was the last two people Marko wanted to hear, and David was daunting as a storm for him to see in his episode of manic confusion, dropping gracefully through the entrance, Paul hot on his heels looking just as full of himself as Marko had thought he would.

They were covered in blood. Coated in the stuff.

It was David stopping dead in his tracks, lifting his head with dangerous curiosity did Marko begin to fear for his undead life.

He took a deep breath and Marko winced.

His leader scoped the sickly Hesperia with precise eyes that searched and searched, scented a guilty looking Marko's overpowering smell on her and spied the fresh blood layering around the bite on her neck, as well as her mouth.

He had an incomplete picture as to what had happened, and it was sudden jealousy that had him choose to be the Devil over Marko's possible saving Angel.

"What have you done, Marko? What have you done." The poor man felt the warning in that tut, the reprimand, wanting to quiver in his boots. He did so when David shot an unhappy, leadened leer at him, starting to stride over with purpose belying the possibility of a swiftly inbound punishment.

Paul hung back, sneaking around the fountain to be closer to an antsy Hesperia who had already been watching him. Practically beckoning him closer as she twisted a little onto her side to face him.

Marko nor David saw him, all the trickster knew was that he had fucked up. Massively. And David, now, was past even being incensed.

He was murderous.