Love Bites

Chapter 16: Revelation 19:20

warnings: heavy violence, manipulation

"Stay still."

The guard shoves Dream into a horse wagon by his head, causing him to fall on his side, thanks to the silver restraints on his hands.

The wagon's door is shut with a loud clang, multiple locks falling into place.

Everything is blurry, everything hurts, god, it hurts so much. Since when was pain this bad?

Why can't I just shove it off like I usually do when I'm attacked, why did these stupid officers have to have silver everything?

I have to get to George.

They're treating me like this because they know I'm a vampire. It's just because I'm a vampire, right?

They won't do anything more to George, right?

The mere thought makes his muscles strain with fury.

He struggles against the restraints on his arms, but it's no use. Despite his inhuman strength, the silver handcuffs only burn more against his skin as he fights them.

His stomach pangs in an awful reminder.

I'm hungry.

I'm weak.

If I can just get some blood, I'll be alright.

I can heal.

For the first time in his life, he finds no hesitation at the thought of killing a human.

I don't care.

They don't deserve to be called human.

I don't know what they want, but I know they hurt George.

Human or not, they hurt George.

George doesn't deserve this.

George did nothing wrong.

It's not fair.

His head swirls, senses muffled with throbbing pains all over his body. In his head, his back, his hands, his knees, everywhere.

Every time he makes a movement too quick, it feels like an avalanche collapses onto him.

Is this what dying feels like? Is that what's happening? Am I slowly dying?

He slumps over in the back of the wagon as it begins to wheel away, and allows himself to stop straining and give into the fatigue from his wounds.

It's insanity.

He's never been around this many humans for this long, let alone when he's so hurt he could die in a matter of a couple hours.

His stomach growls loudly with displeasure, pleading for some kind of salvation. He can feel the blood dripping down his neck and legs, staining the dirty floor of the wagon.

He sighs audibly, tipping his head back.

I'm useless.

The ride is short, but it feels infinite with every shaking pound of his heart. The discomfort of his restraints and untreated wounds is constant, but still doesn't manage to be enough of a distraction to bring his mind away from George. He's worried sick, as if his condition couldn't be worse.

It would be bearable if George wasn't roped into all this, but now, because of him, George could be dead right now.

Please. Please say he's safe. Hang on for me, George.