Big city

O Fortune, like the moon of ever changing state, you are always waxing or waning; hateful life now is brutal, now pampers our feelings with its game; poverty, power, it melts them like ice.
Fate, savage and empty, you are a turning wheel, your position is uncertain, your favour is idle and always likely to disappear; covered in shadows and veiled you bear upon me too; now my back is naked through the sport of your wickedness.
The chance of prosperity and of virtue is not now mine; whether willing or not, a man is always liable for Fortune's service. At this hour without delay touch the strings! Because through luck she lays low the brave, all join with me in lamentation!
Ice cold teeth dug deep into Logan's neck. It hurt. God. Gods. It hurt. So far it had still been a dream, but now... No escape. None. He could try and make it for the door, but Enoch would drag him back. He'd be angry and he didn't wish to make him angry, now did he?
No. Not drag. Command. And he would come as a subservient pup. No. Stay. Stay and play the game. And when the hour strikes, kill him.
Logan shivered, his body rigid with pain and also something similar to pleasure. Blood being sucked out, life leaving him.
Humming. An old melody, very old. In his blood, on those lips pressed against his hardening flesh. Carmina Burana. And once Enoch touched a remote, the music, the ecstatic whisper of innocent orgasm filled the room. Filled Logan's mind, ran in his veins instead of the crimson life. Carmina, carmina.
Enoch grinned and pulled away. Logan screamed, feeling the emptiness. Fill me, fill me. I am empty. I am starving. Dying, dying, oh please, don't let me die, I don't want to die.
“I will not let you die,” Enoch promised. How warm he was. Burning against Logan. So beautiful. White and... burning. He took a dagger, an ebony hilted dagger and drew it down his chest, all the way towards his groin.
“Drink, my new love,” he whispered, offering himself to Logan. “Come and rink, so you may live and be mine. Drink and you can have me. Drink and you can have the world. I give them all to you because they matter none to me.”
And Logan did come, drunk of music and the hypnotizing voice. Drunk of fear, hatred and emptiness. Drunk of death itself.

It is the time of joy, O maidens, now enjoy yourselves together, O young men.
Oh, oh, I am all aflower, now with my first love I am all afire, a new love it is of which I am dying. I am elated when I say yes; I am depressed when I say no. Oh, oh, I am all aflower, now with my first love I am all afire, a new love it is of which I am dying. In the time of winter a man is sluggish, when spring is in his heart he is wanton. Oh, oh, I am all aflower, now with my first love I am all afire, a new love it is of which I am dying. My innocence plays with me, my shyness pushes me back. Oh, oh, I am all aflower, now with my first love I am all afire, a new love it is of which I am dying. Come, my mistress, with your joy ; come, come, fair girl, already I die. Oh, oh, I am all aflower, now with my first love I am all afire, a new love it is of which I am dying.
The music, it was just so... inviting. Enticing. Alluring. Innocent. Horny. So... so sexual. So forbidden. So befitting.
He crouched above Enoch and licked blood off his warm marble skin. All the way down and down. Living. Dying. Did it even matter? All a game, Logan, play the game, dance the dance of mating. Dance of death, dance of birth. Mating, mating.
“Do you want me,” Enoch asked in sultry whisper, fingers caressing Logan's hair. “Child, lover, pet – do you want me?”
And Logan nodded.
“I shall take you to your new life. But first – let us get rid of the city. Let us free you of the chains of mankind. When you wake, you are no longer one of them.”
Tip of the dagger touched the back of Logan's neck. Enoch muffled his cry with his lips. The blade dug under the skin. Enoch's tongue conquered Logan's mouth. The ID chip popped out and the vampire caught it.
“Say goodbye to your past,” he murmured before smashing it between his fingers. The music was jubilant.
“I am really dying,” Logan whispered.
“Yes,” the vampire nodded and moved over him, licking over his throat and nipples. “Have no fear. Give in to me. You made your choice. Enjoy it now.”

When a young man, passion-laden,
in a chamber meets a maiden,
then felicitous communion,
by Love's strain between the twain,
grows from forth their union;
for the game, it hath no name,
of lips, arms, and hidden charms.

It all happened as if in a misty dream. It was Logan and then it wasn't. A dream of a boy taken, claimed by a vampire, a boy flat under a solid body, his wrists either pinned down or arms flung around smooth back. A boy with his legs wrapped around Enoch, reacting. Acting. Red mist. Bloody kisses. Chained by blood, unwilling, willing. A dream of a boy kissing and killing another boy. A boy with no number killing a number.
“So beautiful,” the vampire whispered, gazing at the young man in his bed and the dead body beside the bed. “Welcome to your new life, my dear,” Enoch said.
His new lover opened his lips and his eyes. Black they were, night black.
“I will kill you,” he said. “I hate you and will kill you, my Maker.”

Ave formosissima,
gemma pretiosa,
ave, decus virginum,
virgo gloriosa,
ave, mundi luminar,
ave, mundi rosa,
Blanziflor et Helena,
Venus generosa.

**

Large gray eyes peered intently at Xavier, and a way too close, he noticed. Mike! No, what the fuck did the kid think he was doing? No, get away from me, I'm no longer your chief, I'm no longer your buddy, I'm a fuckin' monster now, you should cringe from me, you really should kill me, call the gang down and kill me for what I am. For failing... you...all.

“Sir? Sir, are you alright? Xa...Xavier? Sir?”
So very close, and now the boy reached out his right hand and touched Xavier's hair lightly, trying to look into his face. The man hid it and growled.
“Go away,” he hissed, or thought he did, when actually he moaned.
“Sir, what is wrong? Please tell me,” Michael implored. “Please, sir. I only want to help. They have hurt you, I can see that. There is blood on you.”
There is blood on you, too, kid.
“Please, let me help you...”
Xavier lifted his head and tried to look at the boy. His eyes were weary and too damn old, still misty from all the agony and tears. Michael jerked.

“There is nothing you can do, Mike. There is nothing anyone can do to undo what has been done to me.”
“What... They didn't. No. They couldn't have...”
Their eyes locked.
“Yes they could and they have done it, Michael. Now listen to me and stay away. I am a vampire now, and you know damn well what those eat. They've given me no food and they threw you in here like this to drive me mad and make me feast on you. That is the truth, Mike. But I won't do it, at least as long as I can hold on to myself. I will not take a life. I will not become a filthy bloodsucker.”
“But sir...”
Those innocent eyes were still there.
“What is it, Mike...” Xavier sighed. So tired. He closed his eyes and wished to die. Then he recalled he was already...
“Sir, you have to. You'll die if you don't.”
“Good,” Xavier grunted. “Exactly my idea.”
“Sir?”
“What?!”
“No sir. I don't want you to die, sir. I...”
“Oh for crying out loud, spit it out, Mike.”
“I mean... vampires don't always kill their prey, do they? Sometimes they just take a little, don't they?”
“Yeah... So?”
“So if you took just a little from me you could become stronger and maybe... maybe we could get out of here, somehow?”
Xavier stared at him. He felt his jaw drop.
“Have you lost your wits, kid?”
Michael's eyes perked up. “No sir, I haven't. Really. You're going mad because you've had no blood, and you're only growing weaker.
Sir, I'm a Blood Brother, and you're my leader, sir. I'd die for you, sir, and I'd surely give my blood to you. Sir, please. If you turn into monster from hunger you'll take it and kill me, and it will be terrible. Sir, please take my blood before you do. You don't have to kill me. Take just a little, please.”

Now just hold it there.
“This is bloody madness,” Xavier growled, but he didn't sound too convincing. There was a rhyme somewhere here.
“Sir, just a little blood, really. I want to help you. You will grow strong and you will find a way out of here, and then we can think what happens, OK? Sir, we're a gang, we're a pack, you've taught us all this. My mother would do it, sir.”
Xavier sighed. Blood sang in his ears, the boy's blood. Yeah, Goldie was crazy enough to do it, probably. And apparently his kid was very much like she.
“Please, sir. I don't want to die here. I don't want you to die here.”
“Okay then. Okay. You've won. I'll do it, I'll damn well do it. You're not getting off of my neck before...” Oh for crying out loud, what a ridiculous wording. “I'll do it.”
Michael smiled at him, though he shivered. “Thank you... sir.”
How bloody ironic. You'd thank me for drinking your blood, thank a vampire for sucking you. Just how bloody vile this world could be.

“Okay. You need to come closer, cause I ain't sure I've got what it takes to move. I... I've been putting it all into holding myself back. You know, not let the vamp take over.”
“I understand, sir.” Michael nodded and put his arm almost lovingly around Xavier's naked body, pushing himself closer. How very warm he must have been.
“I'm not very sure how it goes, Mike,” Xavier whispered. “I only know the... theory.”
Michael nodded. “It's OK. Just try, sir. Please...”
He shivered.
“Are you afraid,” Xavier asked. He must have been. Hell, Xavier was.
“No.”
Xavier nodded. Michael tilted his head and brushed his pony tail over his shoulder. It hung over his back. His skin was moist and he smelled so strongly of blood.
Xavier closed his eyes. His lips touched the boy's neck. It tasted of salt and lively innocence. He felt his teeth protrude. He froze. There, there was the monster. That was what he was now.
“Sir... please.”
He bit down. He felt the taste and softness, flexibility of the young skin. He felt Michael biting his lip and press down a moan. He could sense the boy's thoughts rattling and then hot blood gushed into his mouth. He swallowed a mouthful and there was more. He sucked and his arms clamped around Michael. The boy mewled in his arms but he wouldn't struggle.
He drank. His head spun and he felt life returning to him. His eyes opened and the nausea was dissipating.
More, a part of him whispered, but another part said “Enough. Let go, let go of him, Xavier, or you'll kill him. No more. He has saved you.”
He was still Xavier, at least partially. He let go.

“That was interesting,” he heard an unfamiliar husky voice say. “You must be Xavier Ford, the infamous vampire hunter. Pleased to meet you. I am Haywood, chief of the Dandelion pack, and I have come to your rescue.”

Michael lie quiet in Xavier's lap, his body weak and eyes shady.
A dark figure stepped forward from the shadows.
“What... what's happening,” the kid murmured. “Who is that?”
Xavier's eyes pierced the dark and he saw. A dozen feet from them and the backside of their cell stood an elderly man, quite small of his size, but muscular, wearing something that looked like a tunic embroidered with flowers and a pair of loose pants. His feet were bare and his eyes keen, shimmering golden light.

“Hello there,” the man said, most likely directing the softer tone at Michael. “Like I already said, and I don't think we've got much time – I'm leader of the werewolf pack, Dandelion and they call me Haywood. You can skip the introductory, I know you both.”