To Die For

Blood in the Water

Lucille's eyes peeled open, and the man let out a groan as his head began to pound with pain. His vision was a blur, but he could just barely manage to make out the vague shape of the room, recognizing it to be the guest bedroom he'd used to stay in before he and Torrey were dating. He furrowed his brows, glancing down at himself to find that he was curled up in his boyfriend's blankets on the guest bed beneath the covers. A frown donned his face, and he pressed the back of his hand against his forehead, biting his lip and wincing. He sure had one hell of a migraine.

He hadn't remembered falling asleep, nor had he remembered going up to the bedroom—let alone the guest bedroom. Better yet, what was he doing in Victor's house?

The brunet crawled out of bed, his limbs heavy, nearly tripping over his own feet on his way to the door before deciding to hug onto the wall to steady himself. It felt like someone had chained two weights to his ankles, his body shaking from the effort it was taking him to move. However, before he could reach out towards the knob, the door creaked open, revealing Vaughn standing in the doorway, his face filled with a mixture of surprise and concern.

"Mister Bathory? Do you... do you know what time it is? I can't... um, I can't really see the clock without my glasses, and I'm not too sure when, or... how I got up here."

"I just came to check on you, dear," Vaughn tousled Lucille's hair with a gentle hand, nearly knocking him over with how much the man teetered and swayed on his feet. "You've been out for the past few hours, Lucille. It's really early in the morning." He eased the back of his hand against Lucille's forehead, biting his lip when he felt heat seep into his skin. "Are you feeling alright? You're awfully warm."

"Yeah—yeah, I'm pretty sure. I'm a little tired, though. Everything's all... fuzzy—ah!" Lucille stumbled to the floor as a wave of dizziness overcame him, quickly attended by Vaughn, who bent down by his side to help him up.

"Are you alright?" The latter asked softly. "That was quite the fall."

"I think so," Lucille murmured in reply. "Ugh... god, that felt awful. I didn't... drink anything, did I? I think I have a migraine. Something's wrong with my..." the brunet paused, his breath hitching at the sight of a round, dried splatter of blood on the underside of Vaughn's wrist. His eyes widened, the memories from the previous night flooding through his consciousness, and he recoiled, beginning to tremble. "Y-you stay back! Stay the hell away from me!"

Vaughn's expression softened, and he stood from the floor, blocking off Lucille's escape route to the bedroom door behind him. "Lucille, I'm not going to hurt you," he swore, stepping back a respectful distance away. "None of us would ever do something like that to you."

"You had fangs! And—and claws, and glowing eyes, a-and—and you were eating someone that—that you murdered! You had a dead body in that basement, Vaughn!"

A sigh slipped from Vaughn, and he gave Lucille a look of disappointment. "Humans... aren't exactly supposed to know that we exist," Vaughn massaged his temple with a hand, and he shook his head. "You were bound to find out eventually, but none of us expected it would happen this soon, let alone with such poor timing."

"What are you?"

The older man leaned up against the door, shutting it with his back. "To put it quite bluntly, we're vampires. Based on what you've seen, I believe you'll find that to be true." He cleared his throat. "Rest assured, if you were anyone other than yourself, Lucille, we would have killed you by now, but we haven't, so please. If anything at all, have just a smidge of faith in us."

Lucille's mind reeled, and he began to grow lightheaded. "Please," he begged. "Just let me go—let me leave. I want to go home—I won't tell anyone, I swear! You have to believe me, Vaughn, please." The man shook his head. "I've never done anything to make you think I can't be trusted!"