What I couldn't tell my family was the truth about my flaw.
They had cried and laughed when I returned. They wrapped in hugs, pulled into warmth, made feel like I'd never left. To them, I was their son, their brother, their Alucard — back from the nightmare, safe.
But they didn't know what it took to keep alive.
They didn't know what I carried inside .
This flaw was no simple inconvenience. It was a chain around my throat, one that pulled tighter with every passing day. A curse that whispered when I closed my eyes and scread when I tried to ignore it.
Drink. Feed. Blood.
That hunger wasn't just a craving. It was a second heartbeat, pounding in my chest. The longer I resisted, the louder it grew, until every thought, every mont, every smile from my family was poisoned by a single fear:
What if I lose control?
What if one night I woke to find myself standing over Rain's bed, teeth bared? What if the twins ran to laughing and instead of lifting them, I sank my fangs into their throats?
I'd rather die. But the flaw wouldn't let .
So, I found ways to feed.
---
At first, I survived on scraps. Dead rats in the alleys. Broken-winged birds. Things that no one would miss.
I could feel the blood in them before I even saw them. That was part of my new nature — a sense, deep and primal. The faintest pulse of warmth in the dark, a glow only I could feel.
I'd stalk it, crouching low, moving with a hunger-driven precision. My hands closed around fragile bodies, and when they went still, I'd sink my teeth in.
The taste was foul compared to what I rembered from the nightmare. Thin. Bitter. Barely enough to silence the burning in my throat. But it kept standing.
I hated every second.
Sotis I caught my empty reflection in a puddle after feeding,I could probably guess how I looked lips red, eyes sharper than they had been, a feral light burning in them. I'd stare at myself and whisper, "Look at you. Monarch of crimson? Supre Aspect? You're just a rat yourself now."
But even as I said it, I'd lick my fingers clean. Because I couldn't waste a drop.
---
That worked for a while. A pathetic, miserable while.
Then the alleys grew quiet. Too quiet.
No more pulses of blood for to sense. The city was clean — I had hunted it dry.
The hunger returned with a vengeance, gnawing at my insides. Days beca unbearable. My hands shook. My thoughts splintered. I couldn't even sit with my family at dinner without the pounding in my chest screaming at to take.
That was when I knew.
Plan B.
The hospital.
---
Slipping out at night, I followed the pulse.
Not shadows — blood. I could feel it all around , hundreds of warm beats echoing in my mind. Patients in their beds, doctors rushing, nurses walking. The hospital was a feast, and every drop called to .
I clenched my teeth until my jaw ached. Not them. I can't. I won't.
I wasn't here for people. I was here for the substitute.
Synthetic blood.
Cold, artificial, not even close to the real thing — but enough to keep alive. Enough to keep my family safe from .
The hospital's white halls were too bright, too sterile. My skin itched under the light. My ears caught every shuffle of shoes, every rattle of carts. The sll of disinfectant made nauseous, but under it, I could feel the faint hum of blood bags stored deeper inside.
I moved carefully, sliding past open doors. A nurse humd to herself as she checked a monitor. Two doctors argued about schedules in the corridor ahead.
I pressed against a wall, forcing my heartbeat to steady.
Then I felt it.
A strong, cold pulse — not alive, but close enough. Synthetic.
I followed it like a hound, every step slow, deliberate.
Finally, the storage wing.
Rows of boxes stacked in sterile order. The pulse of synthetic blood throbbed from inside them, faint but undeniable. My throat burned just standing near.
I dropped to my knees, tore open a crate, and there they were: plastic pouches filled with crimson.
"Holy hell…" My whisper cracked into a laugh. "Jackpot."
I shoved as many bags as I could into the duffel I'd brought.
That was when the door opened.
Footsteps. Voices.
"Inventory check's tomorrow."
"Hope we're not missing anything this ti."
Two n walked in. I froze, crouched low between the boxes, the duffel heavy in my hands.
They moved closer. My senses scread with their living blood, hotter and sweeter than anything synthetic. My fangs ached. My throat burned.
I clamped a hand over my mouth. Don't. Don't even think it.
The n muttered, scribbled sothing on a clipboard, and finally walked out.
The door clicked shut.
I collapsed against the crate, shaking with the effort of not lunging at them.
"Gods…" My voice was a hoarse rasp. "Never again."
But I knew I'd be back.
---
When I got ho, I didn't even make it to the kitchen. I stumbled into my room, dropped the duffel, and ripped one of the bags open with my teeth.
The taste was wrong. Thin. Cold. But it was blood.
I drank like a man drowning in the desert. Bag after bag. My throat eased. My muscles loosened. The pounding in my chest softened.
By the ti I stopped, empty bags littered the floor. My hands were sticky. My stomach heavy.
I lay back on the bed, clutching an empty pouch like it was a lifeline.
"You're disgusting," I whispered to myself. "But alive."
The rest I hid in the closet. My secret. My sha.
---
Later, I summoned the necklace.
The Blood Necklace. Dracula's legacy. My inheritance.
It glead red in the dim light, a drop of eternity frozen in tal.
The pendant opened with a soft click.
On one side — a photo. Sebastian, Yuki, Dracula. My nightmare family.
My chest tightened. I couldn't bear to look too long. Their faces weren't real. They weren't mine. But gods, the ache of missing them was.
I turned to the other side. Blank. White.
Waiting.
I had a hunch.
I pulled a photo from my drawer. My real family. Mom. Dad. Rain. The twins. All smiling, arms wrapped around .
My hands trembled as I placed it in the pendant.
The photo vanished.
I unsummoned the necklace, then brought it back.
Both photos were there. Nightmare and reality. Side by side.
For a long mont, I just stared. My throat burned again — not from hunger, but from the weight in my chest.
"I'll never take this off," I whispered, my voice breaking. "Never."
I pressed it against my heart, holding on like it could anchor .
Finally, exhaustion dragged down.
And when I slept… it was empty. No dreams. No warmth. Just blackness.
That was the cruelest part of being a Sleeper. I could fight, bleed, kill, survive six months of hell — but when I closed my eyes, there was nothing.
No comfort. No escape.
Just hunger, waiting for when I woke.
[mory: necklace of blood]
Description:
"I will forever love you my son"
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