One
Killien
Things are getting a little bit out of control.
Maybe more than just a little bit, honestly. Damien won’t stop mutilating himself. He’s just unstoppable, the goddamn brat. Last week he got his navel pierced and now he’s already setting up an appointment to get both of his nipples done.
I can’t say I’m surprised, though. He started doing this back when we were still human. His ears were the first, followed by his left eyebrow. Then came the two lip rings, the septum, and, almost two months ago, the one on his tongue. It suits him, but just thinking about it makes me squirm. Ihateneedles.
For an older stepbrother, I’m way too protective of Damien. Not that it helps—the little shit still does whatever he wants, especially now that we’re bloodsuckers. In the past six months he’s gone off the rails. Lost.
Bye bye, innocent younger brother.
He sits on the sofa across the room, legs curled up against his chest, phone in hand, and deep blue eyes fixed on its screen. He looks tiny when he sits like that, all fragile and cute. His dark brown curls are a bit messy, almost covering his eyes. Whatever he’s doing, I can’t know. Probably getting that appointment with our piercer friend. Good thing he’s a vamp too; we can’t risk going to a regular place. A lot of things could go wrong.
“Killi?” he says, finally taking his eyes off the phone for a second. My heart beats faster when he calls me that. It’s the nickname he gave me when we were kids.
“Yeah?” I lean against the peeling white wall behind me, arms crossed over my chest.
He knows I’m upset, but won’t give a shit. Sometimes I curse the day I agreed to get those matching tattoos behind our left ears—mine is aDand his is aK. It’s almost like I enabled him to keep doing this crap. I guess I didn’t think it through.
“I’m hungry,” Damien whines.
Of course. When are you not?
We’ve been struggling ever since our maker took off and left us behind, like four weeks ago. Just thinking of Ledger makes me rage. Son of a bitch. I’d punch his stupid face if he walked through the front door again. But I’d also be glad that he’s back to guide us through this mess. It’s complicated.
I mean, we know what to do. Damien isreallygood at hunting, actually. But we’re trying to lie low, just in case. Our kills are as few and far in between as we can manage. Damien and I have been on our own for a long time, since we ran awayfrom home like six years ago. But this is different; we’re not human anymore and it’s all still new to us.
“Are you fucking listening?” he asks, glaring at me with that penetrating blue gaze of his.
“I heard you—I always hear you.” I roll my eyes at him, not really knowing what to say.
“We should go hunting, Killi.” Damien drops his phone beside him on the battered grey sofa and jumps to his feet. He’s only wearing boxer briefs, for some reason I wish I could understand. If I say something, though, he’ll only do it more often—just to piss me off.
Not that I’m looking, anyway.
“Where should we go this time?” I sigh, forcing my eyes away from his shiny navel piercing, the subtle curves of his abs, and the faint outline of his ribs. His lean body doesn’t look fragile anymore, like it used to just a few years ago.
“We could try the rundown park, there are way too many junkies we can munch on—or, maybe a bar?”
He’s not wrong.
Like I said, Damien’s really good at this whole vampire thing. He knows how to get his way around others; they just do whatever he says. Not like he didn’t when we were still human, though. Everyone bends to the will of the almighty Damien Moore. And he’s no more than a goddamn brat—but a lovable one, at least.
“I’m gonna shower first,” Damien says as he strolls towards the bathroom.
Once the door is closed behind him, I cross the open space to sit on the sofa, leaving the small, outdated kitchen behind me. My eyes travel around the room, taking in the old paint chipping away on the walls and the scuffed wooden furniture, while I avoid looking at what I really want to: Damien’s phone. But I must, because I have to check that he’s not getting in any sortof trouble. I slowly reach for it, biting the inside of my cheek as I do so. Of course I know how to unlock it. The password is my birthday.
His last active conversation is indeed with the piercer—Jacob. He’s a good guy, and I think they are kind of dating. I can tell, even if Damien won’t say it. There’s something different about how they look at each other lately. And Jacob is way more touchy-feely with him than he is with other clients. He doesn’t have his hands all over people like he does with Damien. He certainly didn’t with me when I got theDtattoo from him.
It’s fine by me, I guess. Not that I have a problem with it. My stepbrother’s had more boyfriends than I can count. It’s nothing new, after all. What’s actually new, though, is that he’s started to show interest in girls too. I saw him making out with more than one girl before feeding from them in the past months. It’s kinda happening to me as well, though. It freaks me out a bit, but I’m starting to find guys attractive. Not because there’s anything wrong with it. But . . . that was neverme.
Damien isn’t helping either. I’ve seen him almost naked more times than I would like. He just doesn’t care that he’s a grown ass man now. The image of his lean body has been etched on my memory forever. And my eyes seem to linger on him for way longer than they should. It’s almost like I can’t help myself.
I feel nauseous again just thinking about it. I’ve been doing a lot of questionable things lately, but staring at my little stepbrother like that just crosses a line. I don’t really care about killing humans—it is what it is—and I try my best to only kill bad ones. But I do care about Damien, just like I always have.
We raised each other, pretty much, although there’s only a two-year gap between us. My mom just ignored us while she drowned her problems with alcohol, and my stepfather was always outworking. Whatever it was that he did for work,something shady for sure, even before the whole drug dealing thing started.
