ḾṎᕍ⁅ᖇṈ ℄Ṏv⁅ | The Lost Boys

ᏨᏲᾀᑬt⁅ᖇ tᏔ⁅Ṉtẙ-tᏲᖇ⁅⁅

⚠️Warnings: gore, blood consumption, manipulation, horror aspects⚠️

They park their bikes at the base of a dune. The six of us had ridden for a good fifteen minutes until we were in the midst of a less popular beach. It was practically a ghost town. A handful of people were on the beach, but they were spread far enough apart to make it more private than Santa Carla.

All night, the boys had been practically vibrating with excitement. Now that you were here, they were worse—half-mad with anticipation.

Dwayne helps me off his bike, wearing one of his dopy grins. He hoists me over his shoulder, spins me around once for good measure, then puts me down to run off with the others. They climb a dead tree, each claiming a branch of their own.

I stand at the base of the tree, taking refuge behind the branches. Across the dune, Aerosmith's 'Walk This Way' blares through a set of speakers. A group of Surf Nazis dance around a bonfire.

The sand is strewn with empty beer bottles, their Rockbox propped up on a nearby log.

The scent hits me hard.

At the boardwalk, I was far enough away from everyone that I hadn't really been exposed to anyone. But here ... Here, the thirst hit me like a sucker punch.

My throat burned like someone had stuck a white-hot poker in it. My tongue was dry and heavy in my mouth. Their drunken, sweaty bodied bobbed around the fire pit, stupidly unaware of the predators that loomed mere feet away.

"Michael," David calls, "Over here."

Michael hesitates a moment, eyes flicking towards mine as if to say, We can still get out of this. I turn away, gripping the branch so hard it threatened to snap. There's no getting out of this. No turning back.

He slipped off of his bike and took his place on one of the lower branches. "What are we doing here?"

"Initiations over, Michael." David can barely contain his eagerness—but he's fairing better than the others. "Time to join the club."

The boys, half-covered by shadows, suddenly leaned forward. Their faces warped into something demonic. Eyes a sickly shade of yellow, encircled by a ring of blood red. They have fangs. Big, horrifying teeth so sharp they could slice bone.

Michael shrieks, falling back, but the boys only laugh. They launch themselves from the tree and descent upon the party. Cheers of joy turn to screams of terror.

Everything happens at once, the screams and tearing of flesh—the blood-soaked sand gleaming like rubies in the firelight.

The rational, human part of me wants to throw up. This is a massacre—the kind of scene I never thought I'd see outside of a movie. But there is a deep, primal part of me—awoken by the vampiric blood coursing through my veins—sends me into overdrive.

I'm moving before I can stop yourself, snapping the branch off the tree like it was a toothpick. I half-fly across the dune, landing in the middle of the bloodbath.

"Rowan!" Michael screams, ragged. "What are you doing?! Get back here!"

David greets me with open arms. He holds out a Surf Nazi—not quite dead, clinging to the life inside. He won't be around for long. The gash in his throat is deep, an entire chunk of his flesh missing.

His chest is heaving, chin dripping with blood. "Feed."

Michael's voice is distant in my ears, "No!"

It was like Dwayne said: it was easy. My instincts took over, drowning out the puny human part of me, and I grabbed the Surf Nazi. The shift ripples through me, and my jaw unhinges. The first speck of blood coats my tongue and--

Michael tackles me to the ground. The two of us roll a little too close to the bonfire, pieces of my hair catching the flames. Michael hoists me up, half-throwing me out of the bloodbath. Immediately, I lunge for him. I don't care that I'm potentially hurting my brother; hell, I don't even care that he's my brother. I'm pissed.

That was my meal.

He just stole my meal from me.

I scratch his face, shredding the skin under his eye. An unearthly growl escapes me. I'm so mad I could kill him.

"This isn't you!" he shouts.

I launch yourself at him, but Michael swiftly dodges. He grabs me by the back of my shirt and drags me, kicking and screaming, over the dune back to his bike.

"Let me go! Let me go, Michael!" My limbs flail, reaching for any piece of him that I can get and tear into. "I'll fucking kill you; let me go!"

He dumps me hard, shoving my face in the sand. "Listen to me! You don't want to do this! You're not a killer."

Hot tears fell down my cheeks. I didn't want to listen to Michael. Over and over again, I cry, "Let me go, Mikey, please. Let me go."

My throat is so dry it hurts. It doesn't help that every time I speak, I'm eating mouthfuls of sand, but I can't stop. I don't know what else to do but beg. Didn't Michael understand how much pain he was causing me? Didn't he care?

"Please, Mikey, please. Just lemme go."

"Not until you're better." Michael holds my middle down, and no matter how hard I struggle, I can't get up. Even as a half-vampire, he's stronger than me.

The boys stalk up over the dunes, faces bloody and scowling at Michael. He ruined the night--in more ways than one.

"Now you know what we are, Michael. What you are. You'll never grow old, and you'll never die." David's scowl deepens. "But you must feed."

Michael stiffens. There's no way he isn't struggling. He was turned almost a week before me. It's a wonder he went this long without going batshit insane.

But his protective instinct outweighs his hunger. He grips me under the arms and hoists me out of the sand. He stands in front of me and shouts, "You stay away from us, do you hear me? Just stay away."

For a moment, David's scowl seems demonic, much like the horrid face he had displayed earlier. "You can't escape this, Michael. You're only delaying the inevitable."

"I don't care." His voice was hardly louder than a whisper. He sniffs, grip tight on my wrist, and pushes me back. "If I see you around again—"

"You'll what?" David cocks his head. "Kill us? I'd like to see you try. Besides, Michael, you're not calling the shots." His eyes fall onto my pathetic form. "If she wants to stay, then you can't make her go."

Sweat clung to the back of my neck. Michael shook his head. "She doesn't want to be with you."

"Why don't we ask her?" David reaches out, gloved palm inviting.

It was a tempting offer. I knew what awaited me if I accepted—an eternity of love and happiness. They wouldn't judge me or forget about me. They wouldn't hold me back from what I truly wanted.

But part of that happiness involves my family. Michael. Sammy. Mom. Eternity without them would be hell.

"Rowan," David calls.

Everything is so confusing. I can't think straight. The scent of blood is clouding my judgment. The small, human part of me was clawing its way back to the surface, fighting tooth and nail to overcome my new urges. I'm confident that if I don't leave now, the war inside of me will drive me insane.

I wince. "I don't know, David. I need time to think about this—to talk with my family."

His confidence falters ever so slightly.

"I'm sorry." I looked at all of them, each word a knife to the heart. "I can't—not right now. I need space. I'm so sorry."

I squeeze Michael's hand. He needs no further encouragement and takes me to his bike. This time, I don't worry about him wrecking or the fact that we're both too shaken up to be driving state. No, the need to get as far away as possible is an unspoken agreement between me.

His bike roars to life, and he wastes no time peeling out in a spray of sand.

I look back at them as Michael drives off and don't look away until they're nothing but specks in the distance. The look of utter betrayal on their faces sticks with me the whole night.