Feeding

His eyes were a smokey red, as though someone had left embers to smoulder. The raven black hair hung loose over his shoulders and down to his waist was slightly wavy, but not yet curled. His skin was a deathly pale white, making the shadows around his eyes stand out. His face was angular and sharp, as was the rest of his body, and you felt as though you could cut yourself by touching him. He was tall and thin, nearly seven feet in height, but there was no doubt that he was muscular too. He was strong, confident in himself, and extremely powerful. Indeed, his very aura radiated power quite unlike anyone else. One look into his eyes and many women, and some men, found themselves completely his. Dressed in a leather jacket with baggy dark blue jeans, he didn't look like the monster that his sheer presence suggested.

To his right stood a shorter man, who was the same width. Although he was still dangerously skinny, the height difference of more than a foot made the shorter man seem rounder, somehow. He was brown haired, with chocolate brown eyes and a smile that glistened under the moonlight. He was clearly the lesser of the two, and the kinder. His eyes seemed to have a warmth in them that the other had long ago forgotten. He was dressed similarly, but with more of a relaxed feel. His clothes weren't that new, or that clean, and often smelt of the beer that he kept pouring down himself. He carried a rucksack over one shoulder, and as he lumbered about he leaned to one side because of its weight.

"Where are we going?" The shorter man asked, trotting alongside his companion. He trotted to keep up; the height difference was more annoying than you could possibly imagine.

"Somewhere safe."

The brown eyed man wrung his hands and sighed, "Where is safe? Nowhere is safe for us but our tombs."

"Then go to your tomb, let me live in peace." Growled the other, sickened by the weakness of his subordinate. "I should like to be rid of you."

They were hurrying along a side road that lead from the centre of town to the outskirts. It was grey concrete and looked even more dull in the rain than it usually did. They both loathed it, but they weren't staying long. Walking in the rain was refreshing for the pair of them. Rain meant no sun, and no sun meant more freedoms, if only for a while.

The reason they were hurrying so was that their home was on the outskirts of town and they needed to be there before the sun rose in less than ten minutes, or else they would be in serious trouble.

If you find it hard to believe that the young man with the smouldering ember red eyes and long black hair could be in trouble with anyone, you should think about your willingness to know what frightened him so. A demon, a monster, a beast with no comparability to anything from your nightmares. His creator.

They reached the house - a ruined, abandoned mansion - with minutes to spare. The sun slid over the horizon and illuminated the rain that fell through the gaps in the roof. Two sparkling droplets of moisture landed on the shorter man's head, he winced and moved aside.

"Why don't you like water? Are you scared Nathaniel?" Taunted the taller one, knowing fully well why water was such a problem for the other.

Nathaniel grimaced. "I almost drowned once, remember? Dripping water, even rain, reminds me of that... Of being saved."
"I believe you did drown, and I had to feed you drop by drop until you woke up." he paused and turned, looking down his nose at Nathaniel, "You're lucky I was walking by the river at the time, aren't you?"

"Yes, I was, O most mighty lord and master."

A voice crept through the house, echoing off of every wall until it reached the boys. "Nathaniel, enough. Midnight, come here."

Midnight raised an perfectly shaped eyebrow, and turned on his heel in the opposite direction as though Nathaniel had offended him. Nathaniel had done nothing wrong, but Midnight had heard his name being called by a voice he could not ignore. His swift footsteps carried him through the kitchen down to the wine cellar, where he was being waited for.

The air in the wine cellar was full of dust and a heavy musky smell hung around. Midnight did his best not to wrinkle his nose as he entered the cold, stone room. He glided to the centre of the room, his eyes landed on the emaciated body in the cot that lay before him.

"Son." The whisper echoed in the room, coming back to Midnight from everywhere and nowhere. "I'm dying."

"Be quiet father." Midnight knelt down beside the gaunt, ancient man, and took his hand. Gently stroking the leathery skin, Midnight pulled a knife from his coat pocket. He flicked the blade open and let it glint in the darkness, the faint light coated the metal in a silvery glow. He dropped his father's hand and pulled his own sleeve up; the skin of his arm, pale to the point of being transparent, was crossed with scars. The blade slipped through his skin easily; the ruby liquid that welled out of the newest cut collected at one end, drops began to slide down over Midnight's fingers. He moved quickly, not spilling a drop of blood, so that his hand was now positioned above his father's mouth.

A single drop fell from his fingers and landed on the malnourished man's lips. A dry tongue crept forwards and removed the bead of moisture from the cracked lips it lay on. His eyes opened; they were bright red dappled with black and silver. His name was Chane, he had been bound for months and he was famished.

The old man sat up, hungrily searching for the blood he so desired. He took a firm hold on his son's arm and lapped at the red ooze as though it was the only thing in the world that mattered. And to Chane, it was life itself. The intoxication of the red wine slipping down his throat drove him to a new height of ecstasy.

When he was finished, Midnight's wrist was a mess of bite marks, smeared blood and spit. His mouth was covered in the sticky sweetness of alcohol laced blood. He smiled, satisfied by his meal.

"Well done." He reached out one long skeletal, although healthier, hand and ran his fingers through Midnight's hair. The gesture was soft and gentle, but Midnight was too far in his own world of euphoria to notice anything. He was too far gone into the whirlpool of the mind created by venom of his father's fangs.