Chapter Four
Harry feels like he's drowning. His throat clogs up as he gasps for breath. He flails his arms and twitches his legs, reaching for something to grasp. He thinks he's floating. Fuzziness fills his brain, almost like his skull is stuffed with raw cotton. He wants to open his eyes, but he can't gather up the strength.
A metallic taste lingers on his tongue, liquid gurgling up his gullet. He chokes and wheezes for air. Cold hands caress his cheeks, but his vision is still as black as the night sky. Icy fingertips touch his lips.
"Harry?" he hears distantly, echoing in his head. "You okay? Wake up, please."
Harry thinks he might be in Heaven. Apparently God has an angelic Yorkshire accent.
"Rose?" the voice continues. "Come back to me, love."
His eyelids feel heavy. Eventually, light flickers through his long lashes. He tries to choke down the liquid that slurps between his lips.
"There you go," the voice hushes. "Good boy."
Harry squints. His blurry vision begins to clear. He sees the outline of Louis's face, a blob of pallid skin and silver eyes.
"Lou?" Harry croaks, fluid swallowing the last syllable of his name.
He's sat on the sofa in Louis's cottage, propped upright with a throw pillow. Louis holds a glass of red liquid in his hand, a straw nudging towards Harry's mouth. Blood, he soon concludes. It drips down his chin.
Harry swats the cup away and scowls.
"You've got to drink it, darling," Louis sighs. "You're starving yourself."
Harry whimpers weakly. "No."
Louis tilts his head. "Please, Harry. I don't want you to faint again."
Once again, the straw slots between Harry's plump lips. Out of instinct, he sips. The blood tastes warm and bitter. He doesn't like it, but his animalistic needs take over his morals. He can't stop. He slurps until the straw chokes at the bottom of the glass, gathering nothing but air. It's empty.
"Good job," Louis praises, rubbing Harry's back soothingly. He sets the glass on a nearby coaster that rests on the coffee table.
Harry grimaces. "I just drank blood."
"You did," Louis confirms with a nod.
"Did you— did you kill someone?" he asks timidly. He reaches up to touch the excess blood that oozes from the corners of his mouth. He wipes it away with the back of his hand.
"No," Louis chuckles. "I had an emergency supply in the fridge."
"Emergency supply," Harry repeats slowly.
"Precisely. Although, that was my last bottle."
Harry nods slowly. He's still wearing his Fool's Gold thong. Glitter and oil glistens on his tummy. The last thing he remembers is riding in Louis's car, and then blackness.
"Wha' happened?" he croaks.
Louis frowns, settling a hand on Harry's bare thigh. Their knees knock together. Despite the couch's large size, Louis insists on sitting extremely close to Harry. To protect him, perhaps. His tiny feet brush against Harry's ankles as he speaks.
"Your cravings kicked in at the club. You passed out in the car. I had to carry you inside," Louis recalls. "You went completely unconscious. Scared me half to death."
Harry bites his lip. His fangs pierce the skin, but he's still slightly numb.
"You're already dead," Harry teases, poking Louis's tattooed forearm.
Louis snorts. "You're ridiculous."
Harry just smirks. "Thank you for helping me, though."
" 's the least I could do. I'm the one who did this to you, after all."
Harry doesn't know how to reply, so he just nods.
"And now that I'm out of blood, we really need to go hunting," Louis admits. "I'm growing weaker every day. You're a newborn vampire, so your cravings will be intense for the first few days."
Harry pauses. "I don't like that term."
"What?"
"Hunting."
"Why not?"
"Because they're people, Louis. Not animals."
Louis rolls his eyes. "Humans are animals, Harry. They're mammals."
Harry crosses his arms over his chest. "You know what I mean."
"Then what do you suggest we call it?"
Harry frowns. "I dunno. Collecting?"
"Collecting," Louis echos with a mocking tone. " 's not a hobby, you know. We kill humans for survival."
Harry sniffles as a few tears glisten in his golden eyes. He blinks them away. "I just— I don't like feeling like a monster."
It breaks Louis's heart. He feels overwhelmed with guilt.
"You're not a monster," Louis reassures. "We kill rapists and serial killers and domestic abusers. They're the real monsters, not us."
Harry raises his brow. "Who's 'we'?"
"Us. The nice vampires. The criminaltarians."
Harry snorts at the ridiculous name. "Criminaltarians?"
"Yes. It's like vegetarian, but for vampires who only eat evil humans."
"I know. I just didn't know it had such an absurd term."
Louis huffs. "Shut up, Harry. Will you let me speak?"
Harry slumps back into his seat. He swallows the lump in his throat. It's not Louis's fault, though. Hunger always gives him a short temper.
"I'm sorry," Louis quickly apologizes. He squeezes Harry's palm for emphasis.
He waves his hand, dismissing it. " 's fine. Just tell me what you want to say."
Louis clears his throat. "Alright. Well, we need to go hun— I mean, collecting. Freshly-bitten vampires need a lot of blood to fully transition. That's when the craving reaches its peak. So I suggest we either go to the county jail soon or find our own criminal on the streets. Got anyone in mind?"
Harry hesitates. "What do you mean?"
"Is there anyone who you think deserves to die? Someone who's hurt you or someone you love?" Louis clarifies.
Harry inhales a sharp breath. He's a nice lad. He doesn't hate anyone. To put it simply, he loves love. He doesn't hold many grudges against others. So needless to say, this question catches him off guard. He can't imagine hating someone that much— to think that he or she deserves death as the ultimate punishment.
"No," Harry admits. "No. Not at all."
Louis raises an eyebrow. "Nobody?"
And then it hits Harry like a ton of bricks. Of course. Why didn't he think of this sooner?
"Mitch," Harry blurts out. Yeah, he wouldn't mind killing Mitch. He'd do it in a heartbeat— that is, if he had one.
"Who's Mitch?"
"This bastard who used to go to the club every week. He cheated on his wife. He's a complete scumbag. He had a special liking for my co-worker, Zayn. One night, he pulled Zayn into an alley and assaulted him, left him with a black eye and a busted lip."
Louis frowns. "That's awful. Was he arrested?"
"No," Harry scoffs. "Liam refused to call the cops. Since it happened on Fool's Gold property, he thought he'd get in trouble for not caring for his employees, or whatever."
Louis thinks Liam might be an asshole, but he'll save that conversation for later.
"Anyway, now Mitch stalks Zayn and makes his life a living hell. He won't leave him alone. Liam banned him from the club, but that doesn't stop Mitch from following Zayn everywhere he goes."
Louis nods understandingly. He can sense the anger in Harry's voice as he speaks.
"Well, Harry, I think we found our next meal."
~
"You look like a robber," Harry giggles, watching as Louis flattens the creases in his black t-shirt. They both settled on dark clothing, for security purposes. It would let them blend into their surroundings. This is a vampire's version of hunting camouflage.
Somehow, Harry managed to squeeze into a pair of Louis's black joggers. He wears a baseball cap that covers his curly hair. His eyes are the brightest part of his body. Gold, like two shiny coins. His pale skin contrasts against his colorless attire.
"Come here," Louis urges, patting the edge of his bed.
They're in Louis's bedroom now, getting ready for the evening hunt. It's sleek and minimalistic, Harry thinks. White paint coats the four walls, matching each piece of furniture. Framed photographs and paintings hang above his headboard. Dying plants rest in his windowsill, withered away from lack of water. Their decaying leaves fall to the white, carpeted floors.
Harry plops on his mattress. Louis stands in front of him with a pallet of face paint. He dips his index finger into the black pigment, coating it completely. He draws two thick lines beneath Harry's eyes, on the apples of his cheeks.
Harry wrinkles his nose. The paint feels colder than his own lifeless flesh.
"I don't understand how this is supposed to help me blend in," he grumbles.
Louis laughs dryly. "Just go with it. I've seen it in films."
Harry sighs in defeat. "Fine."
Louis smudges the last bit of war paint. "All done," he announces, closing the pallet. He stands back and grins. "Gorgeous!"
Harry wants to look in the mirror, but he can't. He doesn't have a reflection.
"I hope you didn't draw a penis on my face," Harry murmurs.
Louis chuckles. "No, darling. You look perfect."
Harry grumbles incoherently. Apparently hunger makes him moody as well.
"Let's get going, yeah?" Louis urges, gesturing outside. "You said Mitch usually waits down the street from Fool's Gold around midnight, right?"
"Yeah," Harry confirms with a short nod. "He waits there until Zayn's shift ends. He's a creepy bastard. I usually have to walk Zayn home, otherwise Mitch'll try to catcall him. Or worse, physically hurt him."
Louis feels sick to his stomach. He can't stand the thought of having a stalker like that, someone who constantly threatens and follows your every move. It disgusts him. And besides, Louis has never liked cheaters— especially abusive ones.
"You're a good mate, Harry," Louis breathes.
"He's my best friend, but..." Harry can't find the right words.
"But?" Louis presses.
Harry gulps. "But I don't know if Mitch deserves to die. I mean, of course he's a terrible person, but is it cruel of us to take him away from his wife? From his family and friends?" His voice cracks over the last few words. Louis can sense that he's about to cry.
Louis hushes him, sits on the bed. The mattress compresses under his weight. He rests his hand on Harry's shoulder.
"Harry, don't cry, please. This is about survival. You'll die if you don't drink blood. Don't you understand that?"
"Of course I do! But it feels so wrong," he insists. He fiddles with his rings, hands folded up in his lap.
Louis caresses his knee. "It's okay, Harry. It's normal to feel guilty the first time. But you need to understand that this is no different than a coyote killing a rabbit, or a pack of lions slaughtering a gazelle. Humans are no longer our same species. They're a food source."
Harry's bottom lip wobbles. A single tear slips down his porcelain cheek.
"I don't want to kill anyone," he chokes out, his voice barely a whisper.
Louis shakes his head. "You don't have to. I'll do it. You can just watch."
Harry wipes his wet eyes. He went from complete anger to crying in less than a minute. Mood swings, Louis thinks, are a sign of vampiric starvation. He can see the dark circles under Harry's eyes, how his irises glow with hunger. They need to find food soon, before it's too late.
"Come on," Louis encourages, jingling his car keys in his hand. "Let's go."