Chimera

02|Two

The empty bed mocked him.

His body still remembered the trauma that had been done to it, still trembled when he saw the dried trail of blood his open throat had left on the floor, and yet his mind ached for company. Abel had been with him since his beginning. He had picked the newly born vampire off the floor and soothed his screams of agony as his body burned and tore itself apart. His flirting had been tolerable, even if it became skin-crawling after Dregan put his hands on Hemlock. Living in the cell deep below the ground felt less suffocating and lonely when someone else was with him to keep his sanity in check, no matter the kind of person.

Abel's absence left a void in Hemlock's life, and the empty bed made sure to mock him for the hypocrisy.

Hemlock paced the cell again and again until the stone beneath him started leaving a trail of red footprints in his wake. Time held no concept, even less without another's companionship to idle away the hours. Breathing counted the seconds. In—one—out—two. Repeat and repeat until minutes turned to hours turned to lost time and a need to restart. His fingers found themselves at his throat more than once and without conscious thought.

He should be dead. Abel had killed him, yet Hemlock still lived, still had enough running through his veins to leave stains on the floor. Abel had killed him, yet Hemlock could only look at the empty bed and wish he had the lesser of two evils at his side.

Dregan would be expecting Hemlock's life in exchange for saving it, and he feared for what else would be taken from him.

Hunger crept up on him; it slithered through his insides and constricted more and more as the presumed days went by. He'd need to feed soon—well, really, he should've already fed ages ago, but he could feel it eating away at his life the longer it went on. If Dregan wanted his repayment, he'd have no choice but to prevent Hemlock from starving. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if he did; he'd escape, just like Abel had.

That thought alone left a worm of forgiveness for the other newborn. Hemlock forced the thought away and went back to pacing. He needed to find a way out, needed to find a way to feed, then figure out his new life. Maybe perhaps not in that exact order, if the hunger pains debilitated him enough to prevent an escape, but it solidified itself as a half-assed plan in his mind and he clung to the hope of it. Anything to survive his own head.

The healing wound on his throat throbbed, and Hemlock mindlessly reached up to rub at it again. There would be no rest until he found a way out, but now would not be the time. He had to plan and play along—and hope that Dregan didn't break him before then.

A clang startled him out of his thoughts. His body locked up in fear before he fully registered who it was, and his hand automatically fell from his throat as he turned.

Dregan peered at Hemlock through the bars of the cell, head angled to look at him from beneath his brows in some kind of sensually dangerous gaze. It sent a frozen chill through Hemlock, and he dared not move a muscle as the vampire lord unlocked the cell and made his way inside. The bars screeched in protest of being moved, then swung shut the moment Dregan released the door. Flakes of rust skittered against the floor.

"My beloved pet," Dregan crooned. Hemlock stared and stared and forced himself to breathe. He could've been a corpse with how cold and still he had become, but Dregan cared not for his frozen state. He couldn't even feel himself enough to flinch as a hand found itself at his throat and forced his head back. Dregan squeezed, gently for him but still enough for Hemlock to swallow on instinct and check his breathing. That earned him a smile and a skin-crawling caress to his jaw. "You're healing quite nicely. Perfect. Come."

As much as he wanted to fight, his entire existence obeyed its master's word, and he lurched into action against his mind's screams. Dregan left the cell without a backwards glance, and Hemlock helplessly followed behind just a few steps back. Compelled. Forced. Each step had his mind slipping away piece by piece, back to a place of unthinking and unseeing. The hunger twisted and clawed, begged to be sated or else he'd be destroyed, and he could smell the trail he left behind himself from his walked-raw skin, but neither one of them paid anything mind. Around them, the corridor branched into even more corridors, each with walls full of nothing but cells called home to newborn vampires similar to Hemlock. They all watched with expressions devoid of pity or curiosity—they all knew what this meant. It would not be freedom. Jealousy couldn't exist when hope held no home in their hearts. And Dregan—he walked on as if he couldn't wait to get out of the evidence of his own cruelty. Like his own creations disgusted him by just existing.