Blood & Grease

Prologo

Florence, Italy
1576

      Antonio hobbled through the streets, the world around him a haze of lights and sounds and feelings that he couldn't process. The pain in his system had dulled to a comfortable yet unsettling numbness. He could almost feel every nerve in his body on edge. The blood on his neck had dried and was now flaking off of his skin. When he reached up out of curiosity to cautiously touch his hand to his wound, he found that the puncture holes in his flesh had disappeared completely. But Antonio's mind was too cluttered and confused to even think twice about it.
      Far from the noise and commotion of the city streets, Antonio finally reached the small farm where he and his best friend Benito worked and lived. He stumbled into the small barn-turned-bedroom where they slept, and collapsed on the hay. Benito glanced up from his work and let out a small noise of annoyance.
      "Had a grand time at the pub again, I see?" he quipped, his voice full of disapproval and amusement.
      When his seemingly intoxicated friend didn't answer, Benito added, "You stayed out a lot later than usual, compagno. We have work to do in the morning, life's not all girls and liquore."
At this, Antonio sat up; mussing his hair and brushing the hay from his clothes. The blood on his neck had made its way to his shirt and dried there, leaving a crusted brown stain on the material. Benito took notice of the blood almost immediately. He sprang up from where he was sitting and made his way over to his friend, kneeling down next to him to inspect his shirt.
      "Quello che è successo?!" Benito exclaimed, gently touching his fingers to his friend's neck; searching for a wound.
      Antonio shied away from Benito's touch, shrinking into himself and looking up at the sandy-haired boy with slit eyes. There was a persistent pounding in his ears. He thought, for a moment, that it must be his own heartbeat, but soon came to realize that it was Benito's. The sound was deafening. He couldn't stand it.  Antonio lunged forward and pushed his friend away from him with a force he never knew he possessed. Benito slammed into the wall of the barn, then slid to the floor in a crumpled heap. He let out a weak groan, but made no attempt to get up.
      Antonio immediately felt disgust for his actions wash over him. "Benito, mi dispiace," he croaked. He rose from the floor and walked over towards his now injured friend, looming over him. Benito didn't even glance up at him. "I'm sorry, Benito. I'm sorry..." Antonio repeated.
      The smaller boy finally looked up; meeting Antonio's eyes with a look of fear that he had never seen before.  He observed a significant pool of blood growing larger by the second on the ground beneath Benito.  When Antonio had fully processed the situation, he came to realize, to his horror, that a large metal spike had impaled Benito through the stomach.  He gasped and coughed; blood bubbling up through the corners of his mouth.  His lightly freckled skin was quickly morphing into a shade of ashy grey. 
      "What happened to you?..." the dying boy managed to sputter as he sat trembling in the hay. 
      The sound of Benito's heart was once again deafening. But the warm, intoxicating smell of his blood invoked an even deeper lust in Antonio.  Memories of what had occurred earlier in the night suddenly flooded his mind. He remembered being cornered behind the pub, being attacked, and escaping before the strange man could finish him off. And in an instant, Antonio knew what he was.
      "Vampire," the word slipped out of his mouth before he even realized he had said it out loud.
      Benito did not reply.  He swayed a little, struggling to keep his eyes open. 
      Antonio crouched on the ground in front of his friend, reaching out and gently clasping Benito's chin in his palm; holding his head up.  Seeing his childhood friend on his deathbed sent a stab of burning grief through Antonio's gut.  His eyes prickled and a lump grew in his throat, but no tears would come.
      "Benito," he spoke slowly and softly, trying to appear as calm as possible.  "Do you want to stay young forever?"
      Benito tilted his head like a confused dog.  "What are you talking about, Antonio?..." his voice was barely more than a whisper. 
      Antonio was growing desperate now.  The drumming of Benito's heart was fading and the hunger inside of Antonio's belly was burning his insides.  He thought he might combust.  He needed to feed.  And he needed to save his friend - fast.
      "Benito, per favore," Antonio begged, his voice breaking. "I can make you live forever. It won't hurt. I promise. Just close your eyes."
      Benito was already weak. He was cornered and dying.  But he also wholly and completely trusted the raven-haired boy standing before him. They had no one but each other; that's how it had been all their lives, and that's how it would remain.  As Benito looked up into Antonio's eyes, the familiar chocolate-brown orbs were flecked with a vivid crimson. Antonio had changed. He wasn't lying. And he could make Benito change too.
      "Ok," he breathed. "Do it."