Young blood - Radioapple

Chapter 02

Lucifer walked in silence alongside his coach, the rhythmic sound of their boots tapping against the crosswalk filling the void between them. His mind was still reeling from the previous night, images of Alastor's bloodstained lips replaying in his head over and over. He hadn't seen Alastor at yesterday's match, which was unusual. He always made a point to watch Lucifer fight—he never missed a bout. But now, the gnawing realization that Alastor wasn't just absent because of some casual circumstance but rather due to his... status as a vampire... unsettled him deeply.

"Where the hell was he?" Lucifer muttered under his breath, his eyes darting ahead as they neared the storage facility where his training sessions took place.

"Did you say something?" his coach barked, snapping him back to the moment.

Lucifer quickly shook his head. "Nah, just thinking."

His coach shot him a sharp glare but didn't press further as they entered the facility, the dimly lit, echoing space filled with old equipment and the faint smell of dust. Lucifer followed closely behind, still lost in thought. Was Alastor avoiding him now? Had he been drinking human blood all this time without Lucifer knowing? And then, the question that haunted him the most: Did Alastor drink my blood?

Just as the thought crossed his mind, a swift kick slammed into the back of his knees, causing him to stumble forward, nearly collapsing. He managed to catch himself on his hands, but the shock was immediate.

"Down! Planking position!" his coach yelled, his voice laced with the usual impatience.

Lucifer gritted his teeth and obeyed, dropping into the required position, his muscles already tensing in preparation for what was coming next. He didn't have to wait long. The first strike from the stick landed hard across his back, sending a sharp pain rippling through his body.

Whack.

Another hit.

Whack.

And another.

Lucifer's arms trembled, but he refused to collapse fully. He held himself together, trying to focus, trying to block out the pain as his coach continued to beat him with the stick, barking instructions all the while.

"Hold it, kid! You think you're tough? You're gonna break before you break me!"

The strikes came faster now, each one pushing Lucifer closer to the edge. His vision blurred from the effort, sweat dripping from his brow. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, his body gave in, and he slumped to the ground, gasping for breath, the pain from the beating radiating through every inch of him.

His coach gave him one last sneer before storming off, muttering something about being "weak" and "soft."

Lucifer lay there for a moment, breathing heavily, his cheek pressed against the cold, concrete floor. The ache in his body was nothing compared to the turmoil in his mind. Did Alastor drink my blood? The thought wouldn't leave him, haunting him as he stared blankly ahead, wondering how deep Alastor's secret really went.

With a sigh, Lucifer rolled onto his back, staring up at the flickering light above, feeling both confused and strangely betrayed. He didn't know what to believe anymore. Was Alastor really the man—or vampire—he thought he knew?

Alastor lay on his back in his dimly lit apartment, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. The events of that day played over and over in his mind, a cycle of missteps and surprises he hadn't anticipated. The moment Lucifer stumbled in and caught him—it wasn't supposed to happen like that. Alastor prided himself on control, on maintaining the balance between his two worlds. But the sight of Lucifer's stunned face, the way the blood bag slipped from his fingers—it was an error, a crack in his carefully curated facade.

"What a mistake," he muttered to himself, his voice low, barely audible in the quiet of the apartment.

He had been too comfortable, too confident. Alastor rarely let his guard down, but something about Lucifer had disarmed him. Was it his youthful naïveté? His stubborn loyalty? He didn't know. And now, because of that slip, Lucifer knew more than he should.

Sighing heavily, Alastor swung his legs off the bed and rose to his feet. The faint hum of the city outside did little to break the silence that pressed down on him. He padded across the room, moving toward the kitchen with the ease of someone accustomed to the darkness.

Reaching the fridge, he opened it with a creak, squinting against the dim light that spilled out. His eyes scanned the shelves, but the sight that greeted him made him frown. He was running low. The few remaining blood packets sat there, barely enough to last the week.

"This won't do," he whispered, annoyance creeping into his tone.

Closing the fridge with a soft thud, Alastor straightened up, his mind already churning with a solution. Valentino. He would have what Alastor needed. Valentino always had his hands in the city's less savory dealings, and securing blood was no exception. Alastor had long avoided getting too involved with him, but there were times when necessity outweighed principle.

Alastor made his way over to his phone, pulling it from the counter and scrolling through his contacts. His thumb hovered over Valentino's name for a moment before he pressed it, bringing the phone to his ear. The dial tone rang out, each second dragging as Alastor braced himself for the inevitable conversation.

When Valentino finally picked up, his voice was smooth, dripping with the same sleazy charm Alastor had always found irritating. "Well, well, if it isn't Alastor. What's the occasion, darling?"

Alastor's jaw tightened slightly, but he kept his voice even. "I need to talk. It's a matter that concerns both of us."

Valentino let out a low chuckle on the other end. "Interesting. You don't usually call unless you're desperate. What's going on?"

Alastor glanced back toward the fridge, his eyes narrowing. "I'm running low. We need to meet."

There was a pause, and Alastor could practically hear the smirk in Valentino's voice as he responded. "Alright, alright. Meet me at the usual spot. Don't keep me waiting."

The call ended with a click, leaving Alastor staring at his phone for a moment longer. He placed it down, already feeling the weight of the conversation to come. Valentino wasn't someone he trusted, but for now, he had no choice.