Chapter 6 Lucian
Lucian
Okay, let's see here. I'm tied to a chair, my head feels like it's been used as a punching bag by a gang of angry midgets, and my mouth is drier than a nun's cooch.
I blink, trying to clear the fog from my brain, but it's like navigating through pea soup.
Where the hell am I?
I'm not sure what the hell is going on, but I know one thing for sure: I'm thirsty as fuck. Like, "I'd sell my left nut for a sip of water," thirsty. And to make matters worse, I'm tied to a chair in some swanky gothic mansion that looks like it was ripped straight out of a Tim Burton wet dream.
I mean, don't get me wrong, I can appreciate a good aesthetic. But this? This is just overkill.
But I digress. The real issue here is that I have no fucking clue where I am or how I got here. It's like my brain's been put through a blender set to "puree," and all that's left are a few chunky bits of memory floating around in a sea of confusion.
Enter tall, dark, and brooding, accompanied by a blonde bombshell who looks like she just stepped out of a Victoria's Secret catalog.
Seriously, this chick is all legs and lips.
Long, golden hair cascades down her back, and her bright green eyes are fixed on me with an intensity that makes me squirm.
"Ah, I see you're awake," the man says, with a sinister glee that makes my skin crawl. "Now the real fun begins."
I lick my lips, trying to regain some moisture in my mouth. "Look, buddy, I don't know who you are or what your deal is, but I'm gonna need you to untie me, like yesterday."
The man chuckles, a sound about as comforting as a razor blade in my underwear. "Oh, I don't think so. We have some questions for you first."
I raise an eyebrow. "Questions? What kind of questions? Like, 'What's your favorite color?' or 'How many licks does it take to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop'?"
Blondie steps forward, her lips curving into a smirk. "More like, 'who are you' and 'what do you remember'?"
I blink. "Who I am?" I think about that briefly, and my mind draws a blank. What the hell? It's like someone hit the delete button on my memories, and now I'm left with nothing but a vague sense of confusion and a thirst that just won't quit.
"Lady, I don't have a fucking clue. As for what I remember..." I trail off, searching my brain for anything but coming up empty. "I got nothing. It's like someone took a giant eraser to my mental chalkboard."
The man leans down, his eyes boring into me. "You mean to tell me you have no recollection of your identity, your past, or why you're here?"
I meet his gaze, unflinching. "That's what I'm saying—Tall, Dark, and Ominous. I'm drawing a complete blank. I don't know who I am, where I am, or why I feel like I could drain a lake and still be thirsty."
They both exchange another look, and I can tell something's wrong. They start arguing in hushed tones, but I can still make out bits and pieces.
"Paige," the man hisses, his voice low and dangerous. "You took too much."
Blondie, who I'm guessing is Paige, rolls her eyes. "Oh, please, Azrael. I did exactly what you asked. It's not my fault if he's got a mind like a steel trap."
Azrael? Paige? What the fuck kind of names are those?
"Fix it," Azrael demands, his tone leaving no room for argument.
"I can't just 'fix it,' you imbecile," Paige snarls, her hands curling into fists at her sides. "It's not like I have a magic wand to wave around and make everything better."
I watch them go back and forth, my confusion growing every second. I have no idea what they're talking about, but I get the distinct impression that I'm royally fucked.
"Um, excuse me," I pipe up, drawing their attention back to me. "Hi, yeah, still tied up over here. And also, still thirsty as fuck. Any chance we could take a little break from the cryptic bullshit and get me a drink?"
Paige's eyes widen, and she turns to Azrael with a look of alarm. "He doesn't even know what he is," she whispers, but my ears pick up on it clear as day.
What I am? What the hell is that supposed to mean?
Azrael shrugs, a sinister smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Well, then. This should be interesting."
He steps closer, looming over me like a shadow. "Tell me, Lucian. How badly do you want that drink?"
I swallow hard—my throat feels like it's lined with sandpaper. "Pretty fucking badly, if I'm being honest."
Azrael's smile widens, and something about it makes my blood run cold. "Well, then. Let's see what we can do about that, shall we?"
He turns to Paige, and there's a glint in his eye that I really don't like. "Bring in the girl."
Girl? What girl? What the fuck is going on here?
But before I can ask, Paige is gone, and Azrael is circling me like a shark who has just caught the scent of blood.
"You know, Lucian," he says, his voice a low purr. "I think we're going to have a lot of fun together, you and I."
Somehow, I seriously fucking doubt that.
The door opens again, and Paige returns, dragging a young woman behind her. The girl looks terrified, her eyes wide and her body trembling. She can't be more than twenty, with long, dark hair and pale skin marred by tears and smudged makeup.
"What the hell is this?" I demand, my eyes darting between Azrael, Paige, and the girl. "What are you doing?"
Azrael smiles, and it's a smile that makes me want to piss myself a little. "Why, we're getting you that drink you wanted so badly, of course."
He nods to Paige, who shoves the girl forward. She stumbles and falls to her knees in front of me, and the scent of her fear is so thick I can almost taste it.
Wait, what? Taste it? What the fuck is wrong with me?
I panic; my heart should be beating out of my chest, but I feel nothing. No heartbeat?
"I don't want this," I say, my voice shaking. "I don't want to hurt her."
Azrael laughs. The sound chills me to the bone. "Oh, but you do, Lucian. You just don't know it yet."
He leans down, his face inches from mine. "You're a vampire, you idiot. And right now, that thirst you're feeling? It's not for water, beer, or any other mortal drink. It's for blood."
I feel like I've been punched in the gut. A vampire? Me? No, that's impossible. Vampires aren't real. They're just stories, myths, Hollywood bullshit.
Even as I think about it, I can feel the hunger gnawing at my insides, the burning in my throat screaming for something to quench it.
I feel a strange sensation in my mouth. It's like a pressure building, a painful and exhilarating ache. My gums throb, and I run my tongue over my teeth to soothe the discomfort.
And that's when I feel them—fangs.
They elongate, pushing through my gums like twin daggers. Sharp and deadly, they scrape against my tongue. It's an alien but strangely familiar feeling—like a long-forgotten memory suddenly snapping into focus.
"No," I whisper, shaking my head. "No, I won't do it. I won't hurt her."
Paige sighs, rolling her eyes. "Oh, for fuck's sake. Stop being such a pussy and just drink already."
She grabs the girl by the hair, yanking her head back and exposing her throat. The girl whimpers, and the sound is like a knife to my gut.
"I can't," I say, my voice breaking. "Please, don't make me do this."
Azrael's hand is on my shoulder, his grip like a vice. "You can, and you will. You're a monster, Lucian. A predator. This is what you are made for."
He leans in closer, his breath hot against my ear. "Now, drink. Before I rip her throat out myself and force-feed you like a baby bird."
Hunger is rising in me now, a tidal wave of need that threatens to drown me. I can hear the girl's heartbeat, the rush of blood beneath her skin, and it's calling to me like a siren song.
"I'm sorry," I whisper, "I'm so fucking sorry."
And then I lunge forward, my fangs sinking into her throat. She screams, but the sound is drowned out by the roaring in my ears, the flavor explosion on my tongue.
Her blood hits my tongue like liquid ecstasy, a symphony of flavors exploding in my mouth.
It's sweeter than the finest wine, richer than dark chocolate—more intoxicating than any drug.
Every gulp sends waves of pleasure coursing through my body, lighting up every nerve ending like a fucking Christmas tree.
I can feel her life force flowing into me, warm and vibrant, filling the hollow emptiness inside. It's better than sex, better than anything I've ever experienced—I think? Each heartbeat pushes more of that crimson ambrosia into my mouth, and I'm lost in the primal rhythm of feed, swallow, repeat.
Her fear, her essence, her very life—I'm consuming it all, and holy fuck, it's like mainlining pure power. I can feel her getting weaker as I get stronger, her heartbeat slowing while my body surges with stolen vitality. It's horrifying and beautiful and absolutely fucking addictive.
The monster inside me purrs with satisfaction, demanding more, always more. The other part of me is screaming to stop, but it's like trying to hold back a tsunami with a paper umbrella. I'm too far gone, too lost in the primal ecstasy of the feed.
This is what I am now. A predator. A monster. A fucking vampire high on the ultimate rush, and god help me, but I never want it to end.