Chapter 4

He was running again. Running as fast as he could. His lungs burned and his legs were pitiful rubbery things barely keeping him up. He couldn't stop though. If he stopped, he would die.

There was something chasing him.

Occasionally he would catch a glimpse of golden eyes in his peripheral vision.

And he would run faster.

Fear was clawing at his insides, tearing his voice from his throat and the air from his lungs. Spots blurred his vision, making it difficult to see where he was going, even though the only things he could see were ominous shadows.

He clutched at his chest and fell to the ground, hitting his head on the hard earth.

And woke up in total darkness.

He blinked. At least he thought he did. It was still pitch black. He tried to sit up and hit his head. Hard.

"What the…?" He reached up with his hand and felt… silk? As far as he could reach up or down.

He was in an enclosed space. A very tight enclosed space.

And he wasn't alone.

He started banging on the barrier and yelling at the top of his lungs. Anything to get out. He had to get out. He couldn't breathe. He was going to suffocate in here. His throat was constricting. There was no air. He should be able to breathe…

Panic overwhelmed him. He struggled against the silk padding. Pushing and straining every muscle in his body, but it wouldn't yield. It stayed in place, and he was slowly suffocating.

He was going to die.

"But you're already dead."

Kiol's body froze for a brief moment. "Who's that? Who are you?" He tried to get away from the other. He tried to get as far away from the voice as possible. But he couldn't. The box he was in wouldn't let him. All he could do was press himself into the corner farthest away from the silken voice.

"You are already dead, Kiol."

"No! No, I'm not! I'd know!" His voice was too high pitched, too squeaky. "I would know!" /I would, wouldn't I? /

"You are safe. Scratch can no longer hurt you."

Scratch. Glimpses of the spiked-hair punk flashed in Kiol's memory. A knife glinting in the dim streetlight. Pain. And blood. His blood gushing from a wound in his stomach. Automatically, his hands searched the spot for the gaping hole.

There was nothing there.

"What happened? Where… where am I?"

"You're safe. With me. Here."

"WHERE IS HERE? WHERE THE FUCK AM I?"

It was getting smaller. The space was getting smaller. He couldn't escape the silken padding nor the silken voice in the darkness.

"Oh god! Help me! I can't breathe!"

"You're safe, Kiol. No one can harm you in here."

"But I'll suffocate!"

"No. You won't. Breathing is no longer necessary."

Kiol's breath came in gasps. "What the…? I can't breathe in here! I need air!" He struck out at the voice and his hand met cool flesh.

"No. You don't. Vampires don't breathe."

"Vampire? Vampire?! What the hell are you talking about? I'm not a vampire!"

"Yes. You are."

"Let me out of here! I can't breathe!" Kiol felt something cool brush against his face. "Get away! Get away from me! Who the hell are you anyway?"

He was being pulled closer to the voice, hands were tugging on his clothing. "NO! Let me go!"

"It will be all right, Kiol. Trust me. No one will harm you."

A mind-numbing calm settled in Kiol's brain. He wanted to struggle. He had to get out. He had to get away. He would die. He would suffocate and die in here.

But it was so comforting. The arms held him tightly. They promised security and love. They promised a brand new life. A new way of living.

His eyes drifted closed, and he snuggled against the cool body holding him.

"Don't sleep yet. There is one thing you must do before you can sleep."

Kiol's body protested as he cuddled closer. "No. I need to sleep now."

He thought the other chuckled.

"Just one more thing, Kiol, then you can sleep."

Hands pushed him from the comforting embrace and guided his lips to chilling flesh and a faint, dying heartbeat. He heard the other gasp, then his head was pushed forward and against a warm trickle of liquid. His nose distinguished the coppery smell of fresh blood.

"Drink, Kiol. Drink and then you may sleep."

Kiol nodded his head, realizing the other couldn't possibly see his movement. He tentatively stuck his tongue out and traced the faint outline, licking the warm liquid from the cool flesh. The other moaned, and he began to suckle the small cut on the cool throat.

Normally his sensibilities would be enraged and disgusted at his behavior. Normally he would have pulled away in horror at what was being offered. But the smell was igniting a dormant hunger deep in his psyche. One that his ancestors had long repressed and bastardized. One that he knew was taboo.

The hunger for blood.