“You think?” you asked with an arrogant smirk, as if knowing I was holding back.
“Yes, I do.”
You beamed. “I wish I didn’t have to go to school. I’d rather just be at the studio.”
“Your mother probably wouldn’t like that.” You’d saved your ballet bag but abandoned your backpack with all of your schoolbooks. I had half a mind to suggest you go back and fetch it.
“Dancers’ careers are short. I could always go back to school later. Right now, I need all the practice I can get.”
I was mulling over this extremely human predicament of limited time, when suddenly you were grabbed from behind and shoved into a narrow alleyway between two buildings. The urchins were back—they must have waited for you outside the studio—and it seemed their aggression hadn’t diminished. Your heart rate spiked as your eyes darted wildly between them. Four against one wasn’t very promising odds, and these boys had a look of savagery about them. I didn’t know what they were after, but I hoped you’d be able to free yourself without me having to interfere.
Two of them gripped your upper arms so tightly there were sure to be bruises. They were marking the body I’d begun to feel ownership over, though I wouldn’t admit it at the time. You struggled, but their greedy fingers only dug in deeper. The thickest boy, the one who couldn’t scale the fence, came over and struck you in the gut. He was twice your size, and you were restrained. Cowards. You doubled over in pain, coughing to the point of retching. The beast inside me stirred, but I tamped it down, forcing it to wait.
“You’re a fast little fucker,” the leader said. He was sallow-skinned with acne scars and rotting teeth. His dark hair had been dyed an unnatural shade of yellow like the white rapper who was popular at the time. I wondered if the thick gold chain around his neck would be strong enough to strangle him.
None of them looked much older than you. Most likely petty criminals dealing drugs at high school parties and stealing guns out of glove compartments. Perhaps a home burglary here and there. They recruited young in this neighborhood. They’d probably been targeting you for years.
“Now we know where you’re always running off to, little ballerino,” the thug sneered. “But it looks like we caught you this time. Is it true you like sucking dick?”
How long had they been tormenting you? Your eyes were feral as you glared back at him. A bit of drool escaped your mouth from the punch, but you couldn’t wipe it away because your hands were trapped at your sides.
“I asked you a question,” the boy said and casually smacked you with the back of his ringed hand. The thought of him bruising your face nearly ended my restraint right then. You stared at a puddle of sewer water that reflected your capture. You were probably thinking your guardian angel had abandoned you.
Then, in a flash of motion, you stomped on one boy’s foot and elbowed the other in the gut. Wrenching your arms free, you moved to take off when another grabbed you by your shirt and threw you up against the wall. Your shoulders took the brunt of the impact, thankfully not your skull. The boy braced his body across yours, spreading his legs wide and trapping you against the cinderblock. You were strong but slight in frame. It was plain to see that the boy was excited by your helplessness.
“Fuck you, Derek,” you shouted in his face. A bit of spittle landed on his cheek.
Derek derived great pleasure in watching you squirm. He pressed his hips against yours until you stopped struggling, believing yourself forsaken. The corners of Derek’s mouth lifted as he instructed his minions to hold you down. They dragged you off the wall and one of them kicked the backs of your knees, forcing you to kneel. Derek unbuttoned his jeans while you writhed against their hold.
“You put that diseased thing in my mouth, and I’ll fucking bite it off,” you threatened like a hellcat while baring your sharp canines. Derek hit you across the face again, but you snapped your bright white teeth with ferocity.
“I want him on the ground,” Derek said, perhaps thinking better of his initial plan.
They forced you to the pavement with your arms spread like a Roman crucifixion. Derek told the largest of his thugs to retrieve a nearby cinderblock.
“Yo, Derek, you sure about this?” the boy asked.
“Shut the fuck up, Tyrell. This little bitch has it coming.” Derek turned to you again with wild, manic eyes. “You don’t want to play nice, Orlando, so we’re going to break your ankles. We’ll see how fast you run then.”
You thrashed in their arms and pleaded for mercy while promising to submit to their demands. Your cries were so desperate and true, I thought they might garner some sympathy, but the boy only smiled wolfishly, growing more and more aroused by your begging.
Meanwhile, the boy named Tyrell hefted the brick, and here my hand was forced, because I’d kill all of them before I let them destroy your true purpose in life. My spirit invaded the husky boy’s body like a blade being driven through his spine. He faltered on his feet and nearly dropped the cinderblock on your foot. In a shockwave of nerves and electricity, I took control of the boy’s muscular system, feeling the rush of power in commanding his brute strength and bending his body to my own will.
It had been too long.
I hurled the cinderblock away. It landed in a puddle and splashed sewer water on my shins. As for the two pinning you down, I grabbed hold of their hair, one scalp in each hand, and chucked them away like sacks of grain.
Derek grabbed you before you could run. His prize. He knelt behind you, gripping you in a headlock while the heels of your feet dug into the slick pavement, trying to knock him off balance. You bucked wildly, face flushed from effort.
“Whose side are you on, Tyrell?” Derek demanded, frantic and confused but still choking off your air. You went limp in his arms. I twisted Derek’s wrist until he released you with a shriek. I clumsily laid you on the pavement, checked your pulse and your nose to make sure you were still breathing, all the while still crippling Derek with my grip. You were unconscious but alive. That was probably for the best. I didn’t necessarily want you to see what was coming next.
One of the boys—the smarter one—had already run off, but Derek and one other stared at me in a stupor. Dragging Derek along behind me—he still hadn’t the good sense to fight back—I smashed the sidekick’s face with my meaty fist, so hard he stumbled backward in a daze. The movement felt so natural, I wondered if Tyrell had some boxing experience. The victim of my assault gripped his nose with both hands, unable to stem the blood flowing out like a busted water main. My human nostrils breathed it in. How I loved that tang—iron, salt, and minerals, so cloying to the palate. He was, at the moment, the human equivalent of a chocolate fountain. My bloodlust was awakened, and I wanted nothing more than to sink my teeth into a major artery, have it pop like a cherry in my mouth, and gorge myself on human blood until I choked.
But I had other matters to attend to.
“Orlando is under my protection,” I said in a low growl to Derek, who looked like he was about to wet himself if he hadn’t already. He wouldn’t make eye contact with me, only lowered his head like a submissive dog.
“Who,” the boy gulped. “Who are you?”
