Long Way From Home

Chapter 15

It surprised David, really, they've never taken to a female so well. Seriously, she had them whipped.

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DAVID POV

David exhaled, smoke billowed from his lips as his eyes scanned the crowd. Santa Carla was alive, much like it was every night, tourists bouncing from one distraction to another, residents happy but ever aware of the darkness that crawls in the shadows. They didn't know, but it's that ever present fear that there was something amiss in their touristy town-It was a natural fear, one that kept children close, kept them in bed after dark. They didn't need to worry, only tourists were really targeted. Now-that was a small lie, David fucking loved ripping into a few douchebags Surf Nazis-I mean, honestly who the fuck called themselves Nazis and didn't expect to get fucking murked? Or the occasional asshole that throws them from a store or the boardwalk. As a rule they never ate children, honestly David doesn't find the appeal in it. The boys were actually quite feared among the adults for their 'biker gang' finesse, but any street rat kid will tell you that the Lost Boys won't fuck with you if you leave them alone. David has inadvertently helped more runaway kids than he's ever directly killed-which is saying something for a vampire.

His eyes catch the glimpse of the comic book shop, a growl bubbling in his chest at the sight of the Frog brothers. While yes, they were children, he wouldn't lose any sleep over killing them. The fact he saw them kill Marko in that movie, and then actually fucking try to do it in real life. It made his dead blood boil in rage. They killed Max though, and a small part of him mourned the man that made him what he was today, but David really felt it was a mercy. Max was getting old, and old vampires either thrived or they started falling apart. Just a fact. Not all of them do, but it happens.

Now, what to do with these two. He could kill them, maybe contact those lame ass social services, mind fuck them into taking the brats away. But they'd be back as adults, more fucked up emotionally than they already were. He's talked to them, though he never entered the store-he's not fucking stupid. Those two, having the gall to tell David he can't hunt in Santa Carla, Ha! Like that's gunna happen! They already made a deal with that old flesh bag at the Emerson residence in the past, who knew Michael's granddaddy was a hunter? He was old in years, but smart. He was old and tired. A deal here and a favor later? Everything was all fine and dandy. David also thought it was fucking comical that he'd started to frequent the Widow Johnson, God knew that old witch needed some action-she was getting lonely.

David told them that this territory was theirs. They'd been here since before their parents were sperm in their daddy's sacks. David was pack leader now, he was the alpha, and he'd not stand for these two children trying to boss him around. They'd continue to hunt, because they were fucking carnivores-it's what they fucking did-and needed to eat to live, but they wouldn't kill children, nor would they attack any of the permanent residents.

'Don't kill the innocent!' The shorter one had tried, but all David needed to do was point to the old man that ran the bakery across the way and tell them what exactly he'd been forcing those homeless kids to do in exchange for rotten bread. David would celebrate the day that man was in the ground, God bless anyone who got to him before Paul and Dwayne did. Eventually the brothers relented, agreeing-although not happily-to the terms. Brats even tried to pull out a contract, but David knew that was bullshit. Fuck em, he wasn't signing anything a twelve-year-old wrote up.

Now that was left was Max's legal shit. It was annoying the man had so much shit, but even more so how integrated into the community he was. Though David couldn't lie, the man had a fuck ton of money. More than he needed, but after listening to Luna go on, and make actual valid points, he gave it some thought. Keeping the video store could bring in some more cash, at least for another decade or two, before times would move on-as they always do-and video tapes would be a thing of the past. Society was moving too fast, but they were making some cool shit. Honestly if he died that day-the first time around-he would have missed a lot of cool shit. So, keep the shop. Now the house. Granted, after checking it out, David had to hand it to Max. A whole basement to fool people, but there was a hidden trap door-every vampire needs a good hidden trap door-in the side that leads to a dark, dank room that would pass for a very good nesting lair. David would never admit he pictured the pack there in a pile on blankets and pillows, sleeping safe and sound together. Like some stupid fucking thing humans did when house hunting.