What I couldn't tell my family was the truth about my flaw.
They had cried and laughed when I returned. They wrapped me in hugs, pulled me into warmth, made me 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 me alive.
They didn't know what I carried inside me.
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 screamed 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 moment, 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 me laughing and instead of lifting them, I sank my fangs into their throats?
I'd rather die. But the flaw wouldn't let me.
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 remembered from the nightmare. Thin. Bitter. Barely enough to silence the burning in my throat. But it kept me standing.
I hated every second.
Sometimes I caught my reflection in a puddle after feeding — lips red, eyes sharper than they had been, a feral light burning in them. I'd stare at myself and whisper, "Look at you. Emperor vampire? Supreme 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 me to sense. The city was clean — I had hunted it dry.
The hunger returned with a vengeance, gnawing at my insides. Days became 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 me 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 me, 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 me.
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 me alive. Enough to keep my family safe from me.
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 smell of disinfectant made me 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 hummed 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 time."
Two men walked in. I froze, crouched low between the boxes, the duffel heavy in my hands.
They moved closer. My senses screamed 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 men muttered, scribbled something 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 home, 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 time 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 shame.
---
Later, I summoned the necklace.
The Blood Necklace. Dracula's legacy. My inheritance.
It gleamed red in the dim light, a drop of eternity frozen in metal.
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 me.
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 moment, 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 me.
Finally, exhaustion dragged me 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 me when I woke.
[Memory: necklace of blood]
Description:
"I will forever love you my son"