Forget Me Not

New cities are always exciting. New flings, new places to find, new people to hunt down. Or rather, new vamps to lure. I can never stay in one place too long. Vamps and other freaks tend to shun addicts like me. Blood junkies, baby leeches, runaways … you get the picture. Unattached thralls. Humans hopelessly addicted to a vampire’s blood, but never taking orders from a single one. Maybe they don’t want or need a thrall, maybe the poor guy managed to escape, or maybe the idiot human was a biter in the sack.

Doesn’t matter. What matters is that the freaks get tired of me, they get suspicious, and I have to move on to find a whole new set of vamps that’ll give me their blood. I don’t care if they feed from me, I don’t care if they want to fuck me senseless. So long as I get blood at the end of it, I’m good. New cities mean more opportunities. A fresh glut of cool, thick, coppery-sweet blood.

Sometimes, I get lucky. They let me drink my fill. Other times, I get just a mouthful before I’m shoved away. Worse still are the times when I get jack shit and tossed out on my ass. But I’ve got a good feeling about this city.

I’m usually careful about what I eat. Nothing too strong, and I try to bathe every day. No vamp, except maybe a really fucking low level one, is going to want a meal that offends their oh-so-sensitive sense of smell. But I haven’t had either luxury in the past day or two. I’ll be really lucky if I find anything tonight.

Still, it doesn’t hurt to try. After a while, you get good at spotting vamps in a crowd. Each big city has a place where they gather. Nightclubs, thick with sweat and lust and liquor and drugs. Those are good places to start. It’s easy for them to hide themselves, and find a decent meal. Something pretty. Vamps are real big on having pretty meals.

It’s not too long before I find one, and he even wants me. I stopped caring about the vamp’s gender a long time ago. So long as they give me what I want, I don’t care if I’m with a guy or a chick. Hell, the guy even offers to let me drink his blood first. Says it’s easier that way for him.

He’s pretty. Short brown hair, a nice rich brown compared to my dull mousy shade. He cuts his wrist with a knife, instead of using his fangs. Cleaner. More controlled. I can pretty much feel myself shaking as he holds his wrist up to my mouth, and I definitely don’t hold back the moan as I start drinking from him.

There’s no heartbeat, but that doesn’t bother me. The blood comes fairly easily, and I don’t have to pull at him. Vamps hate that. I think it’s a sign of dominance or some shit, but it’s got nothing to do with me so long as I avoid doing it to them. And oh God the blood …

It’s thick. Not, like, tacky or anything. But thick, like a nice rich soup. It clings to every corner of the inside of my mouth, and I fucking swear each time I swallow some, I can feel it going down and settling heavy inside my stomach. And it’s cold. Room temperature, sort of. Nothing like what they’ve gotta feel when they bite a human.

Before I can even really start to enjoy myself, the vamp pulls his arm away. I know it’s pitiful, but I still can’t help a little half-whine when he does it. But then he’s on top of me and pushing me against the wall and I can feel his fangs—

He likes to hurt. Vamps know how to bite nice and easy, most of the time. So they can bite the normals and never even let them on to what they are. But this guy? He’s doing it for the reaction, and I bite on my own lip to stifle out that scream he wants to hear so bad. I’ve been with too many like that. It never ends well if you give ‘em what you want.

After that, though, he seems to be all right. His lips cold and soft and smooth against my neck, and I can feel that little tug at my veins. It’s not too bad, not yet. Not enough for him to stop, and by the way he’s grinding into me, I don’t think I want him to stop.

Then I hear the footsteps. Much too close for comfort, and vamp-boy here isn’t pulling away. “Shit, man, can’t you hear that? What if it’s a normal?” It’s only a whisper, but that’s all it needs to be.

The footsteps stop. Maybe just right around the corner. Was I heard? Vamp-boy grumbles as he shoves himself away, and shakes his head. “Didn’t hear anything. Just my luck. A crazy blood junkie …”

I’m not crazy. At least, I don’t think I am. I rub at my neck, hoping I can hide the bite mark there while I search this stranger out. I’m good at noticing the things most people overlook. I have to be, if I want to keep up my habit.

Sure enough, he’s right around the corner. People practically walk right into him, like they don’t even know he’s there. Which is really freaky, ’cause this guy’s got Master Vampire written all over him. He hasn’t even said anything, and I can feel the urge to give in to his every whim. Become a slave.

“You can see me.” His voice startles me. He looks Asian. Really short brownish-black hair, and eyes so dark they look black, too. But the corners of his eyes are a little softer than most of the Asians I’ve seen. Maybe he’s mixed race. Lot of those around, too. But his voice sounds … Why was I even surprised at his voice? If this guy’s been around for any length of time, of course he’d have blended in with a more normal accent. Although it sounds faintly English, too.

“Well, yeah. You’re standing right there.” But then I look again. People are walking right into him, and he barely seems to be bothered by it. He’s a Master Vamp, he should be bothered by it. He should be radiating a presence that makes any normal run away in instinctual fear.

While I’m looking at him, something about him seems to feel … I dunno. More real, somehow. People even stop running into him, although I don’t think they can feel whatever it is that makes him a Master Vamp. Not yet, at least.

He looks sort of amused, and that makes me obscenely happy for some reason. Stupid, it’s just the fact that he’s a Master Vamp and I’m a thrall. But then he talks again, and I can feel each word wrapping itself around me and tightening. “Well, then I suppose that means I’ll have to keep you.”

It’s not the same as being ordered, being commanded, so I don’t think he knows I’m a thrall. Yet. Although if he wants to keep me, he’ll plan on making damn sure of it soon enough. “Fuck you, man, I’m not a slave.” This gets a few strange looks, but now people are starting to get scared. They know something’s wrong, and Master Vamp’s freaky little aura there is keeping them from looking too close.

Shit.

The vamp just laughs, and then, oh God, he fucking commands me. “Come with me, my little thrall.” I want to fight it, but I just had fresh blood a couple minutes ago, and even though it’s not his, it doesn’t matter. It’s never mattered. So long as a strong enough Master Vamp wants, he can command me to his unbeating heart’s content. Until I start going through withdrawal.

I have to follow him. He told me to. Even though my mind is screaming to run in the other direction, to avoid becoming a slave, my body will only listen to him. But he hasn’t ordered me to keep from talking, to not antagonize him. Loopholes can be used to a slave’s advantage. “Whatever you want, Master.”

He ignores the tone that says I’m fucking pissed at him, then stops to turn around and smile. I can feel my throat go dry. He’s pleased. I made my Master happy, somehow. But then I stomp that thought into the ground and tell myself that I shouldn’t be letting myself get dragged down that road. “Call me Jian.”

He wants me to call him by name. Fuck, most thralls I know that became slaves were never so lucky. Not lucky, I tell myself, trying to forcefully squash the part of me that wants to bend over backwards just to see him smile like that again.

But it wasn’t a command. More like a request. I remember one thrall who was always ordered around. Every word spoken to him was a command, one so forceful even I could feel it even though it wasn’t aimed at me. At least a nice vamp caught me. If any vamp could really be considered nice.

“What’s your name? I can’t keep calling you ‘thrall’ all the time, can I?” He wants to know my name. Now that’s something I’ve seen all too little of. No vamp has ever asked me for my name. Hell, I can’t even remember the last time I’ve even had to use it.

“Zachary.” Before I became a thrall, my friends and family used to call me Zach. But I’m not going to just invite this bastard to call me by something so familiar and friendly, either. He doesn’t deserve that. Not now, not ever.

“Well, Zachary, since you could see me when I was so badly faded, that means that I need to keep you around.” Faded? What the hell is he talking about? He takes advantage of my confusion, though, and starts walking again.

Ugh. Damn him, I have to keep following. His command is still holding. I don’t know how they do that. I’m not sure I want to know, either. Too many things about vamps creep me out. But I need them. I don’t want to go through withdrawal. I started to, once. Never again. Maybe the one good thing about being a single vamp’s thrall is that I won’t have to worry about it. I won’t have to constantly move. I might actually make friends again. If I’m allowed.

And that’s the biggest problem. Whether I like it or not, I have to do anything and everything he says. All I can hope for is that he gives me a lot of leeway, and decides that having a slave and consistent source of blood is more important than killing me outright for being too pissy and angry with my new lot in life.

He leads me to the outskirts of the city. He walks, which really starts to hit home as being pretty damn strange. Vamps love luxury. Especially the Master Vamps. It’s not like them to go around without a car. Or a limo. Or something. Whatever the reason, Jian’s not like any other vamp I’ve met. His whole presence is subdued. Or was, at least, for the first minute I saw him. And then this.

“So how come we’re not taking a car, huh?” It bothers me, the way he keeps glancing at me, like he’s never had anyone follow him home before. Maybe he hasn’t? But that’s absurd. Totally ridiculous. Master Vamps take whatever they want, especially to their own home.

“I don’t like driving.” Maybe he’s old. I’ve known a handful that were a couple hundred years old or more, and they never liked driving. But even those ones managed to find some way to get themselves where they wanted without walking. I don’t think he’s telling me everything.

“Yeah, whatever …” I mumble, not really wanting to press too much further. If he doesn’t want to tell me, then he won’t. It’s not a thrall’s place to question, only to obey. I’m sure he’ll take a lot of delight in reminding me of that. As often as he can.

Still, after that, he doesn’t say anything. Just keeps glancing at me. It’s annoying. It makes me want to look up at him. I don’t want to pay any attention to him at all, but I can’t help but notice that he’s not all that bad looking. Even kinda handsome.

He lives in a nice neighborhood, though, I’ll give him that much. Suburbia, the kind of place I grew up in. Houses are neat and well-kept, the kind of place people would feel comfortable raising a family. I wonder if any of them know what kind of monstrous freak lives right next door or just down the road.

Except, I remember how people ignored him. Like he wasn’t even there, let alone broadcasting waves of ‘dangerous, stay away’ signals the way he should’ve been. Maybe they don’t even think twice about him. If I weren’t so sensitive to vampires, I probably wouldn’t have.

And that kinda bothers me. What kind of powers does Jian have? How is he able to hide himself in the background like that, to dampen the horrible unnaturalness that makes people want to run away? I know all Master Vamps are a little different. That’s just part of what makes them Masters in the first place. But I’ve never even heard of anything like this.

Finally, he turns up the sidewalk. My new home. A quaint, baby shit green little two-story house. Cute and cozy and so perfectly serene on the outside. Makes me wonder what the inside looks like. If Jian is the type of vampire to invite the rest of the neighborhood over for a barbecue and carefully dodge the fact that he’s not eating anything, or if he stays mostly to himself. What kind of couch, what kind of bed, does this man have?

He digs in his pocket, pulling out a spare key and handing it over to me. This is the first place I can even kind of call home in the last seven years. Having an actual key to it feels good. “My clothes are at the hotel.” I have to mention it. We’re about the same height, but he’s more, well, filled out, I suppose is the right way to put it. I’m skinny and lanky from years of addiction, and he looks like he used to exercise pretty regularly. When he was still alive. I could never fit in anything of his.

“Is there anything important?” Well, no, there’s not. I chew on my lip, not really wanting to admit that. The only important thing I’ve had for the last several years is the need for more vamp blood.

“Not ... not really.” It kinda hurts, admitting that. I never wanted to become a thrall. I never wanted to be an addict of any kind. But here I am anyways.

“Then let them stay there. I won’t have my thrall go around in street trash clothing.” Okay, that sounds like something a Master Vamp would say. The arrogance, the need for luxury in everything they own. Even if it does mean that I feel like a possession, a toy or a pet. Not like a person.