Chosen

8

   You sat in what you had come to know as the common room after Wanda had shown you around. The parlor was off the limits to you she explained, it was the room you had ran into upon first coming here. That was the feeding room Steve had warned you about, she explained that even though it was cleaned it still would be best if you didn't tempt fate and travel into there. That when they fed, sometimes they loose themselves and could become violent.
She sat at the piano playing an old song, most likely Beethoven. Her fingers dancing with ease across the black and white keys, never looking at them but holding conversations with you. She was the youngest of the family, only a hundred and still had much of her human qualities about her.
    Wanda reminded you of a teenager, her zest for life and love still there. Her bright eyes and warm nature comforted you, and you couldn't help but feel that pull of friendship while she giggled and told you stories of her family. She explained the Bucky was very much like an older brother almost father figure. Then it was Steve, the oldest of the created. Centuries old, and Bucky's closest friend, almost a brother to him.
   Next in the pecking order was Tony, a recluse of sorts though she described him as short spoken and had a dramatic flare about him. He had been an inventor before he had been turned and continued to do so well after. Then there was Clint and Sam, having both been turned during a bloody war. And they would follow Steve and Bucky into the the depths of hell and back at a moments notice. Then there was Natasha, a Russian spy, a girl who had devoted her life to her country, she was set to die at the hands of the family cause she had taken countless lives in a horrific manner. It was Clint who had stepped in and saved her.
    She told you Vision was created to keep her company since there was such a large age gap between the rest of her siblings as she called them. Though not all of them considered each other brothers or sisters. You pressed her on the process of how they were created. She explained that only Bucky could create another, they couldn't because their blood was to muddled to try. That he alone was the only one among them that could turn someone.
Then it hit you, the reason the decline in their type you had seen, with him being the only ancient, the only pure, if he were destroyed then their breed of humanoid would cease to exist. You had been so focused on killing them you never stopped to think about them as species, that they were endanger of being wiped out by hunters like you. Deep within you that settle like sour milk, on one hand you were still disgusted with what they were but at the same time, you couldnt help but feel bad. Maybe they did have some right to live out their unnatural lives, that maybe what James had told you rang some truth to it.
    "What about reproduction?" You asked, she bit her lip as her fingers slowly came to a stop on the piano keys.
    "I don't know about that." She sighed, looking over at you as the front door creaked open. You turned your head toward the opening to the common room, your heart skipping a beat. 
    James walked in, his family trailing in behind him. His hair was slightly disheveled, and his shirt ripped, blue eyes landed on you as you stood. It was the first time you had gotten a look at his family. You recognized Steve and Vision, Clint you had briefly seen earlier. Natasha glared at you as she stood just behind James, the last man to enter must of been Sam. These were the people he called his family, the ones he had chosen for himself as his life never ended.
     It was in that moment you realized that he wasn't that much different from yourself. Your own family consisted of people that weren't bound to you by blood, but rather people that claimed you as their own and raised you in a world of monsters. What you would of given to have had a normal childhood one where you didn't attempt to kill creatures of the night, or have them try and kill you. When it came down to it the mission and the work was more important then the individual. With this family, the individual was more important as proven by leaving Wanda behind.
    Slowly you stepped forward and walked to James, he raised an eyebrow at you as you crossed the room. It was quiet and no one said a word, you stopped just before him, your eyes meeting his. He tilted his head at you, a curiosity in his eyes as he looked you over.
   "I don't want to kill you, or your kind but I don't want to stay here." You told him, your words earnest. You could hear Natasha grumble and stalk away as James shook his head, a coy smile crossing his features.
    "I have told you, you will not be leaving." He replied calmly, the others behind him slowly disbanded, Wanda skipped over to Vision and headed to the parlor room.
   "Why do you insist on keeping me here against my will? If you wanted to turn me you have had plenty of opportunities." You stated, walking away from him, your dress gliding effortless across the floor as you made your way to the stairs.
    "That I have, but that's not what I want from you." He murmured softly, following behind you, his eyes traveling up the split in the back of the dress watching the way you moved in it.
   "And what is it you want from me?" You asked, trying to keep your breathing even.
"For you to see past the monster you've been trained to hate, for you to see who I am. That I am no different then you, that my family deserves to live, not die at the hands of people like you." He replied as you entered his room. You heard the door shut softly behind him as you stopped walking keeping your back to him.
"Your kind." You started but he cut you off by gently caressing the exposed skin of your shoulder, the sweet smell of spices slowly pulling you into him.
"My kind, that's all you ever call us, never what we truly are. It's as if your scared to say the word, doll." He whispered into your ear. "Movies romanticize us, fear us, fetishized ones like me, tell me, call me what I am."
"James." You sighed heavily, the warmth of his palm sliding forward over your collarbone as you felt his breath fan out over your shoulder. His loose hair brushing against your skin softly, you closed your eyes, wanting to pull away still but instead you relished the feeling of him touching you.
"Mmm, that's my name, not what I am." He murmured placing a lingering kiss on that soft spot where your neck met your shoulder. "Say it."
You sighed, allowing your body to lean back into his, his left hand snaked around your front, the tip of his metal finger gently tilting your chin toward his face. His lips brushed against yours, feather light, he pulled away and looked at your face. He smiled to himself, your lips lightly part, the heavy beat of your heart in your chest.
"Say it!" He commanded. "What is my kind?"
"A.." Your eyes shot open meeting his, those bright blues almost glowing again as you met them. "A vampire."