Brendon goes to a club, but not everything's what it seems.
Brendon looked back to the bar, and instead of a water in front of him there was some dark red drink. He was confused until Pete nudged him in the ribs and gave him a wink. Of course Pete would change his order. Pete didn’t think clubbing was fun unless you and whoever you were with were drunk. Brendon rolled his eyes but didn’t complain. He picked up the drink and took a sip. It wasn’t bad.
“So why did you want to bring me here so badly, anyway?” Brendon asked in a sigh. The music in the club wasn’t blaring, as it usually was, which Brendon was grateful for. He didn’t have to scream when he talked, or strain to hear Pete’s response.
“It’s just cool,” Pete replied in a smooth voice. “Besides, there’s someone I want you to meet later.”
“Pete, I swear, if you’ve set me up on another blind date, I will not hesitate to burn all your hoodies.”
“It’s not a blind date,” he replied. “Just a friend.”
Brendon scoffed and took another drink, looking away and surveying the crowd. About half of them had drinks like Brendon’s, and they all seemed to be paired with someone holding a black drink like the one that sat in front of Pete. As odd as Brendon found that, he didn’t dwell on it, and let his mind wander. Who was this friend Pete wanted him to meet? He hoped to God it wasn’t another blind date; Pete was infamous for setting up his single friends on blind dates, and Brendon had fallen victim to it more than a few times. The first time it was a girl that Pete worked with, his intern, actually. Sarah was nice, but she was a bit of a ditz. The second time it was some friend of a friend, Hannah was her name. Hannah was too dull for Brendon’s taste; didn’t talk, didn’t like to dance, didn’t like anything, really. And the third time Pete had tried to set him up, it’d been with a younger guy named Spencer, who, coincidentally, had become the drummer for Brendon’s band. Things were slightly awkward after that.
Brendon was broken out of his thoughts by Pete pulling on his arm.
“Let’s go dance, Brendon, come on,” Pete said with a slight whine. Brendon sighed and downed the rest of his drink, then got up off the barstool and followed Pete into the crowd. Brendon liked to dance, just not in huge crowds where every move he made ended up in him rubbing his crotch on someone, or someone else rubbing their ass up against him. Thankfully Pete pulled him over to a spot with not as many people, and Brendon began to dance along with the beat, trying to ignore the ever growing feeling of being watched.
They probably danced for an hour before Brendon began to feel overheated. He paused to shrug out of his hoodie and as he did, the club was suddenly still, everyone going quiet. The music still pulsed in the background, but it seemed out of place with everyone quiet, turned towards Brendon, staring.
“Um?” Brendon managed. “Did I do something?” he turned to Pete, confused and more than a little freaked out. He glanced around. Everyone was still staring.
Pete just smiled, but something about it seemed a little too excited. “It’s time to meet my friend. Come on.” And with that Pete led him out of the crowd and down a set of stone steps in the back of the club. They went through a wooden door at the end of the steps, and as soon as it was shut Brendon could hear the voices start up again. Weird. Things got even stranger as they went farther down an elegant hallway, decorated with dark reds and golds and old looking furniture. It got colder and colder as they walked, and Brendon made to put his jacket back on. Pete stopped him with an icy glare. “Keep that off.”
The look Pete gave him was enough to make him listen, and he merely slung the hoodie over his arm with a gulp. Eventually the pair stopped at an extravagant doorway, and Pete knocked softly, waiting for the okay to come inside before turning the heavy doorknob and entering.
The room they walked into was large and lavishly decorated. Dark red and black patterned wallpaper coated the walls, huge candelabras with blazing candles occupying the corners. Various paintings adorned the walls, and across the back wall, thick vines grew and covered it, leaving Brendon to wonder how they grew with only candlelight and no sun. Near the back of the room was a huge mahogany desk, decorated with a few books and papers and a huge feather pen resting in a jar of ink. At the desk set a person, maybe in his early twenties. He was almost as impressive as the room he sat in, commanding authority by the aura surrounding him. As they approached, Pete bowed to him, and Brendon just stood awkwardly. He wondered if he should bow, too.
“Hello, Peter,” the person said in a smooth, fluid voice.
“Hello.” Pete rose from his bow, his eyes trained on the man. “I have brought him.”
At this, the boy’s eyes seemed to light up, and he stood, walking over to them with inhuman grace. He took Brendon’s hand and kissed it, looking up at him with a grin. “You may call me Ryan,” he said to Brendon.
“Uh. Brendon,” Brendon introduced awkwardly, pulling his hand from Ryan’s grip. He moved closer to Pete, feeling unsafe and more than a little creeped out. Pete rested a hand comfortingly on Brendon’s shoulder, but didn’t move closer or even look at Brendon.
“I wish to see the mark,” Ryan said suddenly. “He does have it, correct?”
“Your tattoo, Brendon. Show him.”
Confused, Brendon hesitantly held up his arm, displaying his tattoo of piano keys and Hawaiian flowers. Ryan merely grinned at his, and gripped Brendon’s arm. The flowers in the tattoo shriveled and died, turning a mottled gray and black colour. “Hey,” Brendon protested, pulling his arm away. “Dipshit, you ruined my tattoo!” It took him a moment, but as the reality of what he’d done sunk in, Brendon frowned. “How?” he asked stupidly.
Ryan merely laughed, ignored his question, and walked back to his desk. “Have you bitten him yet, Pete?”
“I didn’t. I didn’t know if you wanted me to or not.”
“Very good. Come here,” he demanded.
Pete walked closer, nudging Brendon along with a hand at the small of his back. Brendon tried to protest; at this point, he was scared and not liking the situation at all, not one bit. He dug his heels into the carpet. “Pete-”
Brendon was taken aback. What was Pete doing? Pete was his friend, and he had brought him to this weird place, was now acting weird, had but Brendon in what he was sure was immediate danger. Despite Brendon’s protest and trying to stay back, Brendon was soon standing in front of the huge desk, Pete at his side.
“Do you know what is happening?” Ryan asked Brendon simply as he began to write something on a scroll with a fountain pen.
“I…no.” Brendon stuttered.
“You haven’t told him anything?” Ryan asked Pete, sounding amused. “I don’t blame you.” He looked up, catching Brendon’s eye, causing shivers to run through Brendon’s body. “To be blunt, you are here to die.”
At this, Brendon’s blood ran cold and he began to panic, his heart rate speeding up substantially.
“But do not worry. You won’t really be dead. Simply immortal. You see, things here are not as they seem.” Ryan grinned. “You have been led into a club for vampires. You remember the black drinks like the one Peter had? Those are the drinks for the vampires, and those that were red were for humans. The purpose of this club is for easy feeding. Lure a human to the club with you, subdue them with alcohol, and they are powerless against you, yes? But what we’re really doing here is much bigger than that. There are hundreds of these clubs all around the country, and the main purpose of them, is to find you.”
Brendon gawked. “Me? For what? What’s the point of this? Find me and kill me? What did I do?” he exclaimed, exasperated.
Ryan laughed, a cold, steely noise. “Do you know who I am?” He didn’t wait for a response before grinning, revealing two large, sharp fangs. “I have many names. Some call me Lucifer. Some call me Satan. Most know me as the devil.” His smile turned friendly. “I prefer Ryan.”
The blood rushed from Brendon’s face as he paled, staring at Ryan in disbelief. “You can’t be serious.”
“I am serious, very.” Ryan reached over and placed a finger on Brendon’s arm. Idly, the keys of his piano tattoo began to play, and eerie music, what seemed to be dark circus music, flowed softly through the room. “You see, I am immortal, but one can only hold the position of the devil for so long. I require an heir. Someone to pass the title along to.” He pulled his hand away. “Obviously it cannot be anyone. It must be my flesh and blood. And as God does not want a new devil and will do anything to stop me from creating a new one, the extremely vast majority of the people on this earth are unable to bear my child. Only one person at a time is able to, marked by such a tattoo as you have.”
The reality of what Ryan said dawned on Brendon, and he stared at him. “No. Fucking hell no. No fucking way are you impregnating me.”
Ryan laughed. “My dear boy, you have no choice.”
“Like fuck I don’t,” Brendon growled.
Suddenly Ryan’s demeanor changed, going from soft and friendly to cruel and menacing. “You cannot disobey me,” he growled. “You will do what I say. This can be pleasant for you. You can spend the next two years living in luxury and comfort. Or, this time can be the most painful and torturous experience any human has ever had to endure.” His voice was a snarl. He stood up and Brendon stumbled backwards, trying to get away until he was caught by Pete’s arm and held there. “You are mine now,” Ryan said to him as he walked closer. “You will not escape. You will bear my child. You will obey my every command.” With that he picked up the feather pen. He approached Brendon and gripped his jaw, forcing his face up. He put the pen tip to the flesh of Brendon’s neck and with it, carved his name, marking Brendon, claiming him.
There was no escape for Brendon now.