His experiment had proven quite fruitful.

Not only was her blood more delicious after an orgasm, it became ever richer and more dizzyingly delightful the more she came because of the chemicals her brain sent into her bloodstream during her orgasms. By the end, he had been hard-pressed not to simply finish her off.

He’d drank too much, so he’d been obligated to get her something to strengthen her body in order to ensure her survival, hence the orange juice. As such, his inability to control his bloodlust meant that he would have to stay with her through the night to make sure she didn’t die. Obviously, a hospital visit was out of the question, even though she could probably use some donated blood at the moment. He would simply have to monitor her and wake her up every hour or so to force food and drink down her mouth if her breathing slowed too much.

If that didn’t work, he’d just have to improvise. He wasn’t going to let her die on him.

He leaned her against the wall across from her bed, noting her naked form. He wasn’t quite sure why he did it, but choosing at random a t-shirt and pair of shorts from her chest of drawers, he quickly clothed her unconscious body before picking her up again.

Laying her on her bed and tucking her under the pale pink comforter, he watched her breathe softly and peacefully. The moon shone in from her window, illuminating her skin and making her look almost like an angel. Her blonde hair was shimmery and pale in the whitish-blue light and her dark lashes fluttered against her cheekbones as she slept.

Thoughtlessly, he brushed a stray strand of hair out of her face. She shivered weakly at the feather-light touch of his claws.

Before he knew it, he was tracing the contours of her face with a black nail, feeling the softness of her skin, the color of porcelain in the moonlight, and watching her almost reverently. He knew then that he couldn’t get her go. Somehow, some way, in the short span of just under a week he had become attached. It should have been impossible and yet it had happened; this foreign feeling was unwelcome in his chest. Even in his human life he’d never been romantically attached to anyone, too focused on finding the life he knew he deserved.

Once he had obtained his immortality, power, and consequent vengeance, Mikhail had worked tirelessly for his sire as repayment for his turning, as most fledglings did. After he’d completed his debt some two hundred years ago, he had found his sire had a lifestyle to offer that Mikhail couldn’t refuse. There was security in his position, the promise of plenty of thrilling hunts, as well as the fact that it was a good way to grow in power and skill. He could safely say he had surpassed his sire and the four others who worked alongside him by now. At this point he was content with what he had, although should his life ever become unfavorable he could easily up and leave. His sire might begrudge him for it—in fact, he would—but both of them knew that he could do nothing if Mikhail no longer wished to obey his orders. Not if Ezekiel valued his life.

However, Mikhail was satisfied with his situation. There was no reason to change anything.

This unexpected attachment would be problematic, however, for the way he liked to live. As she was, Sophie was a weakness. Even if he turned her—and that did not appeal to him at the moment—she would remain an issue of liability. He had enemies, vampire and human alike, who would gladly eliminate her to retaliate against him. Something about her death bothered him greatly—he wasn’t fond of the feeling, but it was there.

There was a reason he didn’t form connections with others, a reason why he kept them at arm’s length, and it was relatively easy to do because the scent of fear was tantalizing and he found that screams borne from his victims’ pain were the most beautiful music he had ever heard. Most people didn’t like to form attachments to him, either. He had been called things like ‘psycho,’ sadistic, and bloodthirsty many times, even by his fellow vampires, and not all of them had been enemies.

It would be so much smarter to kill her now. It had been alright to keep her alive when she was nothing more than a plaything, but with actual feelings involved it was no longer acceptable. She was sleeping so soundlessly, and it would be simple and easy. She would feel a small stab of pain as he drained the rest of her blood from her body, and then she would be gone forever. Killing her that way would be the kindest, most humane thing he’d ever done in possibly his entire life, his time as a human included.

But as soon as the thought came it was rejected. He was rather irritated by his hesitance to get rid of her, to eliminate what was only a weakness. Since the moment he’d turned, he’d killed on instinct and had never had a trace of remorse.

And yet still he couldn’t bring himself to just end her. It would be so simple. There wouldn’t be a struggle, no consciousness or pain. He wouldn’t even have to watch the life fade from her doe-like grey eyes—the sight had never bothered him before, and he’d even relished it at times. However, the thought of seeing it in Sophie sent a jolt of unfamiliar discomfort through him.

He was getting in too deep and he wasn’t even quite sure as to why. He didn’t fully understand what this attachment stemmed from, what it meant, or why he had it. But he was aware of its presence and he knew, he knew he should burn whatever this feeling was to ashes and then stamp out the remaining embers without mercy. Sophie would only create problems for his already satisfactory lifestyle.

His fangs lengthened as he seriously considered the possibility of just getting her death over with. It had been unwise to keep her alive after all, even though he would miss her blood. He was pathetic if he could form an attachment so easily over a few disjointed meetings. Was he so lonely that he’d latch onto the first person who he decided to keep around for just a little while?

He understood, then, why his sire didn’t allow humans to come to headquarters.

Still, still he hesitated, even as he convinced himself to taste her blood for what would be the last time. What was it about this girl that stopped him from killing her? Why was she so special?

She was nothing useful to him, not really. Her blood was exquisite and something he’d miss dearly once she was gone, but even that was not worth the troubles she brought—things like attachment, weakness, and vulnerability. If having her around for just this short while had already evoked such intense feelings within him, keeping her any longer would just be disastrous. He had been foolish to let her live in the first place.

There was no option—he had to do it. Even if he regretted it for a little while, it wouldn’t be too long before she was just a faded memory. Soon after that, she would be forgotten entirely. He had eons to live, and he’d only known her a week. There was no reason to worry about ‘missing’ her, not even her blood.

Lifting her up by the front of her shirt—remembering the way he’d gone out of his way to clothe her brought a wave of self-castigation and disgust—he inspected the slender column of her neck where the bruise he’d given her had flared up again from the intense feeding he’d done earlier. He leaned into her, nuzzling her soft skin and inhaling her sweet cinnamon and honey scent for the last time. He noticed vaguely that it was very strangely not at appetizing as he remembered.

He swiftly bit down with the intent to kill-

What?

-and his fangs immediately retracted, his appetite for her blood turned into the long-forgotten feeling of nausea, and he abruptly pulled back from her neck, repulsed at himself suddenly and inexplicably. He had been entirely ready to do it, had finally convinced himself that it was truly necessary, and now his body was actively going against him—some instinct within him would not let him kill her.

Mikhail stared at the limp, helpless human girl he was still holding up by her shirt in horror and awe all at once.

What did this mean?

Mustering up every memory of how delicious she tasted, how his bloodlust soared whenever he tasted her blood, he consciously made his fangs lengthen once more.

Yet again, when he went in with the intent to kill her, it was a repeat experience of repulsion and nausea, his fangs becoming as blunt as a human’s and refusing to pierce her. His brows furrowed in consternation. Something was wrong.

Did he have to strangle her to get this over with? He supposed it would be a more natural death. Or, if he didn’t want to waste her blood, he could slit open her throat and drink from her that way since his instincts to feed didn’t want to cooperate. Yes, he would bleed her out a slightly less conventional way, but it would get the job done. It had to be done. Sophie Hart had to die.

Even with all the conviction in him that he could possibly muster, Mikhail found himself simply staring at her, not able to make any move to follow through with his decision. Every time he came upon the cusp of moving his hands to wrap around her neck, some unseen force within him made him stop.

He couldn’t bring himself to do it. Almost desperately at this point, he grasped her wrist with bruising force and bared the palm that had been cut when he crushed her phone. The wound had healed well but would still easily open. He ran a claw down the cut lengthwise and blood seeped to the surface slowly, a testament to how much he had drained already.

He was surprised when the smell of her blood was now that of sewage, putrid and thick and wholly revolting. He forced himself to lap at the red liquid, despite the way its vile taste seemed to scald his tongue.

Suddenly, he lost all the willingness to kill her he had mustered and was yanking away from her, spitting the blood out of his mouth onto the bed. He couldn’t help but gag, the rancidness becoming too much. His eyes widened in panic. No matter what he did, no matter how much he needed to, he could not kill her.

At this moment, he didn’t even want to—he felt irrationally repulsed by his fervent attempts to end Sophie’s life.

He was on his feet immediately. He knew she had replaced her cell phone as he’d noticed it laying on her dining room table upon his arrival. He was going to need it—he had left his back at the hotel.

The moment it was in his hand he was dialing the number of the one person besides his sire who could possibly explain to him why this was happening. Even though this vampire wasn’t stronger than Mikhail anymore, he was the oldest of the children, being the first human his sire had ever turned.

The phone rang three times before a gruff voice grunted, “Who’s ‘is?”

“Raphael.”

There was a moment of silence and then, “Mikhail? What the fuck is this? I’m on a mission!”

“You will make time,” Mikhail responded tightly. Raphael obviously sensed the urgency in his voice because he sighed heavily.

“You’re lucky I’m not in the field right now, kid. What is it?”

“I can’t kill a human.”

There was a pregnant pause. “Can’t or won’t?”

“Can’t. As in can-not.”

“You ‘cannot’ kill a human. There’s a story behind this.”

Mikhail took the cue to explain the situation, keeping the details to a bare minimum and only giving the most important details.

Raphael was quiet for a long time before he at last said, “Well, fuck me.”

The younger vampire had been angered at his own weakness and had fully expected Raphael to burst out into laughter at his predicament, but he found that the way his comrade had responded so seriously bothered him more than if he’d found it amusing.

“Explain.” He spoke in a careful monotone.

“And here I thought that shit was outdated by now,” Raphael said, more to himself than anything. He went on to explain, “Well, you’ve found one of them mates.”

“What?” It wasn’t exactly a question so much as a statement of flat, muted horror.

Raphael was quiet, as though considering how to respond. “I’m guessin’ it’s pretty rare for anyone these days to come across this kind of situation because I ain’t heard of it in about three hundred years. Basics are that as vampires we occasionally stumble across others who we instinctively gravitate towards. Humans call it ‘love at first sight’ or some bullshit, but that’s nothin’ like what we go through—we got it much worse. Difference is, they say it’s only triggered once you taste your mate’s blood instead of just by looking at them.”

Immediately, he regretted having fed on Sophie that first night, but he knew there was no way he could have resisted tasting her. Mikhail felt a cold pit forming in his stomach. “Go on.”

“From what this guy told me, he was insanely attracted to this chick’s blood, just like you. Couldn’t kill her though, not the first time and not in the end. He could feed to his heart’s content, but if he crossed a certain line—probably getting too close to killin’ her, now that I think about it—he’d get sick as shit and couldn’t feed until she was tip-top again. He wasn’t as bat-shit crazy as you, but he tried to find other ways to get rid her and fucked all those up, too. Hired someone to kill her and that finally worked, but the moment it was done he went fuckin’ insane and killed the guy who did it.”

“So there’s a way to get rid of her, then.” Mikhail wasn’t sure if he was relieved or not and he hated the uncertainty. He should be happy about it.

“I wasn’t finished, kid.” Mikhail really hated it when Raphael called him that. “Yeah, he got rid of her—but like I said, he went fuckin’ insane. The way he acted before he killed himself makes you, even when you’re on one of your crazy little killing sprees, look like a fuckin’ harmless kitten.”

Mikhail found that hard to believe, but he didn’t care about the semantics. “So he lost control.”

“Nah, it was worse that than. He was still sane and shit, y’know, knew what was goin’ on, but couldn’t control himself.”

Mikhail nodded, feeling that this was going from bad to worse. “You said he killed himself.”

“It took about fifty miserable years, but in the end he ‘missed her too much’ and stayed outside past dawn to let the sun do its thing. Said he wanted to be with her and all that. That’s some crazy shit if I ever heard it.”

Mikhail was silent, trying to come to terms with just how in deep he was.

“I’ve heard other stories like that in passin’, but usually once someone finds their mate they just settle down with them and do that domestic bullshit.”

“The other stories. Did they all go insane after their—the other’s death?” Saying the word ‘mate’ felt like committing to an oath he wasn’t quite sure he was going to make.

“Well, I dunno. They could have just been made up for some good gossip.” Raphael paused, and then he pointed out the one thing Mikhail didn’t want to acknowledge. “But if they ain’t, do you really wanna take the risk? You’re too damn powerful to throw it all away just ‘cause of some chick.”

“And what’s the other option?” Mikhail hissed menacingly. If Raphael had been there, he would have been backing away right about then.

When he spoke again, Raphael was hesitant. He knew he was entering a danger zone. “Keep her. Turn her. Make her strong. She’ll be the best ally you could ever ask for. And a mate’s blood when they’re human is s’posedly the best fare you can get as a vampire—extra appetizin’, and over time it’ll make you stronger. Damn shame it don’t seem to happen all that much anymore. I wouldn’t mind one of my own.”

“You realize that she’s not a willing participant?” His voice was deadly. He was furious.

“If you turn her, she’s already gonna get attached. Sire-childe bond and all that. And besides, you got her for all eternity, right? You’ll grow on her.” He hesitated for a moment, obviously remembering who he was talking to. “… Maybe.”

Mikhail let out a hiss of anger and frustration. He felt a headache coming on and vampires didn’t get headaches.

“Hey… ” Raphael said when the silence went on dangerously long. It was true the younger vampire was rarely truly furious—but this was one of those times. Hesitantly, he asked, “Are you gonna-?”

Mikhail cut him off viciously. “I will not lose control.”

Raphael let out a huff, something between exasperation and grudging concern. “Yeah, well make sure it don’t happen. If you do and Master finds out I could  have stopped you, I don’t even wanna think of what’ll happen to me.”

“I won’t,” Mikhail snapped, ending the call by brutally crushing the phone in his hand. Letting the mangled mixture of plastic, metal, and circuits drop to the floor, he made his way towards the stairs. Sophie wouldn’t be needing a phone anytime soon, anyways.

There was a lot to think about, but it was clear that he couldn’t let her out of his sight until he decided what he was going to do about this horrendous situation. He wasn’t willing to risk losing everything over this stupid, hateful girl.

He’d never felt anything particularly malicious towards her before this, but now that she had been practically forced upon him he felt a good deal of resentment. He had not asked for this when he came to Canton. If he was forced to settle down and abandon his work because of this ‘mate’ business, his sire was going to regret ever sending him on this vacation.

That was if Mikhail let him live. He wasn’t truly angered often due to his normally relaxed nature, but when the line was crossed, he left a river of blood in his wake. This time, there would be an ocean.

Maybe Raphael’s concern had some validity.

And yet stubbornly, he pushed it aside.

Ascending the stairs quickly, he stalked over to the young woman who slept peacefully, totally unaware of how drastically her life had just changed. He scooped her up, opened her window, and then after dropping from the ledge, took to the rooftops and headed back to his hotel room.

He definitely had a lot to think about.