(Un)Invited

Rescued

You lost count of how many times Abbadon drank from you. Your mind was hazy, body ashen, and weak. You could barely keep your eyes open as your breath left your lungs in shallow huffs. As if from a great distance, you could hear footsteps. Then you were being lifted up.

"Wake up," his gruff voice commanded.

You want to say fuck you but it comes out a weak murmur. He sets you up in a chair limply and your eyes open enough to see his hazy silhouette. He's shirtless, showing off his slim, toned body. You stare apathetically, your gaze tracing over his arm where you see a knife poised to strike in his hand.

You jump slightly, still too weak to try and escape, fear gripping your rapidly beating heart, "Please, please don't kill me..."

He sneers, "I'm not going to kill you, sweetheart. Quite the opposite. I'm offering you a new life."

With those words, he drags the tip of the blade across his chest, a thin line of red trailing behind it, slowly dripping down his skin. He barely winces. Before you can object, he grabs you by the neck and forces your face against him, the blood smearing on your face. You whimper in confusion and terror.

"Drink it," he demands, now putting the knife to your back, "Or I will kill you."

Shaking, you open your mouth and passively let the blood drip onto your lips and tongue. It's metallic and salty, making you grimace as you forcibly swallow it. He let out a soft moan, petting your head almost kindly.

"You and I are one now," he whispers, "You belong to me."

With the last bit of defiance left in you, you pull back and say, "I...belong to Michael. He claimed me."

Abbadon grinned and shook his head, "No. He merely marked you," he wiped the blood from the corner of your mouth with his thumb, "What I've done is make you mine."

Tears formed in your heavy eyes. You wanted to go home, to return to life as normal. What had you done to deserve this?

Nothing. It was Michael. He's the one who put a target on your back. If he'd never entered your house that fateful night, none of this would have happened. And he wasn't even able to protect you like he promised he would. You hated him at that moment.

Outside the little room you were in, you heard a roar, like an animal in pain. He whipped his head around and stared at the direction of the sound. He lets you go and you nearly fall back onto the ground.

"Don't fucking move."

With that command, he was gone and you knew you had to at least try to escape. The sounds of a struggle met your ears, more roaring. Unfamiliar voices. Yet, instead of fear, you felt hope rising in you. Someone was there to rescue you!

Michael?

Pushed forward by desperation, you weakly get up and open the door, weaving your way to the main hall where the commotion was coming from. Upon entering, you catch sight of the carnage. Bodies litter the floor, the bodies of the other vampires. Standing over them were three women dressed in black. Abbadon was nowhere in sight. The one standing in the center, a beautiful woman with flowing blonde hair, must've heard you. She whirled around as if to attack, but you held up your hands and fell to your knees.

"Please! I'm not a vampire!" you scream, "I'm human!"

The one to your left, an older woman with bright, puffy red hair holds out her hand, "It's all right, dear. You're safe."

"For now," the skinny blonde to her right says bluntly.

The woman in the center cautiously approached, kneeling down to look into your eyes. Her gaze is kind, motherly.

"What's your name?"

You sniffle, so grateful to see another person, to be safe, "(Y/N)..."

She blinks, almost reeling back. Did she recognize you? Did she know something you didn't? Offering her hands, she says, "Come, we're getting you out of here."

You cannot help yourself and throw yourself into her arms, weeping, and shaking. She strokes your hair and whispers comforting words next to your ear, like a mother, like someone who cared about you. But still, in the back of your mind, you wondered if you'd ever see Michael again.