Blood Isn't Always Thicker Than Water

That night I didn’t get any sleep. I had exhausted my week’s worth of natural chemicals that let me sleep the night before. Instead, I bored myself to death by standing—actually, sitting—guard in front of Samantha’s bathroom of a cell. I listened to music just about the whole time and even read some of that magazine that had let me see my brother for the first time. I had actually liked Panic at the Disco until I found out who the lead guitarist was.

You know, I really needed to meet my brother. All I know about him is the Hollywood crap in magazines—should I say Las Vegas crap?—that he has girl troubles and that he is a guitarist for Panic. I feel extremely lame.

In the morning, at, like, three, Jeremy started bugging me about my beach promise.

I was a man—let me correct myself—teenager of my word, so I did what any other normal “vampire” would have done in my place I told Jeremy to get his foolish ass back to bed. There was no way we were going to the beach at three in the morning while there was a model in the bathroom and a most likely angry Guardian named Pete Wentz after the model and my head on a platter.

I feel so loved.

“You are so mean! I can’t believe that I thought you were different: understanding, nice at times and willing to help. Turns out you’re just the same as the others in Rick-Ric’s”—Rick Ricardo’s—“attic!”

Have I mentioned that I feel loved?

Jeremy then slammed head-on into a wall.

“I’m not done yet! You sounded like a girl right there, you know. All ‘I’m-gonna-spill-my-guts-out-so-you-can-see-the-exact-shade-of-red-my-anger-is’.”

“No need to get too graphic,” Jeremy complained, rubbing his head. When he gets mad, he sometimes forgets where walls and furniture and solid stuff like that are. “But you said you weren’t done?”

“Yeah. We can go maybe an hour or something before twilight. We just can’t go to a beach this early in the morning. Wait, Wentz is probably after me already…”

I hadn’t given that as much thought as I had needed to. An extremely powerful and dangerous celebrity, father and bass guitarist was after me.

I needed to get a move on, for I am a super-magnet for ish.

“Never mind, Jeremy. Get everything. We’re leaving as soon as we can. We’ve got a Guardian after us. California sounds smart.”

If I had known what “everything” was, I would have started packing two weeks ago.

“JEREMY!” I bellowed when I saw the mess in the living room.

“Yeah, Cas?” He sniggered.

“Cas my ass. Okay. What is this?” I gestured to the Everest of beach toys.

“A waste of money and my idea of ‘fun’.”

“Yeah. How much money, exactly, did you use on your ‘fun’?”

He told me and I really wish he hadn’t.

“Jeremy Jeremy JEREMY!”

Neither of us knew his whole name. He only remembered his first name. Yeah, he can figure out my name—Caspian Luther Ross—but not his own. Go figure.

“Don’t go all ‘Jeremy Jeremy Jeremy’ on me.”

“Why not?! You just spent a ton of money on all this…this…junk!”

“You can say shit. I won’t kill you.”

“Seriously?”

“Duh.”

“Well, I also want to refrain from swears while the captive is in the house.”

“OH YEAH!” Jeremy boomed.

“What?”

“I just remembered my point!”

I really hoped his Point wasn’t some gigantic pencil floaty that squirts octopus ink to write in the water or something.

“Don’t 'Jeremy Jeremy Jeremy' me when you’re the one who trapped a Guardian’s Guarded in a bathroom!”

I sighed. “I didn’t waste loads of money doing that.” I frowned. “How did you even pick out all these things?”

“Lots of annoying you and a shitload of Customer Service.”

The bags that held all of Jeremy’s toys—there were five bags in all, surprisingly—were all set and ready to be carried. I had on some shorts I could swim in if I wanted to—no swimming trunks for me—and a short sleeve shirt under the black towel around my neck. Jeremy had blinding yellow swim trunks and was happily bare-chested. It wasn’t so happy for me. I had to deal with his deathly-pale-skin-thing. He hadn’t realized that you don’t need to lather on five bottles of sun lotion at one time. His towel was bright neon orange.

For Samantha I had a modest one piece blue suit, a blue towel from the upstairs bathroom and a pair of handcuffs.

Jeremy decided to pack more food and drinks into the bags while I went to get Miss Royce.

I knocked on the door to the bathroom after two failed attempts. I was not afraid of a human…not at all…not at ALL.

“Samantha?”

For a second I thought I heard whispering on the other side of the door, then a muffled 'snick' sound.

I frowned. “Samantha. Are you okay?”

“What do you want?”

I noted that her voice was shaking slightly. I didn’t know if I should be happy of regretful.

Happy seemed more appropriate for the captor of the one with the shaky voice. Caspian the Captor… Honestly, that doesn’t sound as good as I thought it would.

“I would like to know if you want to come to the beach with me and Jeremy.” I
didn’t know if Fallen was coming. I’d probably make him, anyway. I don’t really trust him enough to leave him alone at the house. Oh dang, was it Jeremy and I instead of me and Jeremy? Jeremy and me? Wait! Why do I care? That’s right, I don’t! ‘Cause I’m Caspian the Captor of Samantha Royce!

It’s still devoid of a certain ring. I can’t think of a better word, though.

“Why? And how? Which beach? Where’s Fallen? Is he okay?”

I sighed. Girls and their Twenty Questions. I had heard about it, but never experienced it. Kaitlin had been a serious tomboy, and I didn’t hang around with many people at the orphanage.

“Fallen’s fine. I’ll ask him if he wants to come. We’re only going because I promised Jeremy a couple days ago. We’re taking a train,” I said as I began to unlock the multiple locks on her door.

“I still don’t know which beach you’re taking me to.”

“I know you don’t know.” Three more locks to go.

“So…tell me.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No! Shut up!” The door flew open, and I saw her sitting with her arms and legs crossed, back against the blue wall between the sink and the toilet. Her beautiful mismatched eyes glared at me from under impossibly long lashes. Her blue eyes made the walls look bland.

“What do you want with me, anyway?” Her eyebrows contracted, the perfect image of wonder and confusion.

“Can’t tell you that.” I was locking the door with one lock (the custom built-in one) from the inside. Now, do you want to come with us? ‘Cause if you do, you need to put this on.” I threw her the bathing suit.

She studied it for a moment, then frowned deeper than before. “How do you know my size?”

I smiled. “Is the size the only familiar thing?”

She frowned even deeper and pulled out the tag on it. Her mouth fell open. “This is mine! The one I was going to return. Yesterday. After the nonexistent shoot.” She glared at me again.

I felt guilty for a moment, then told myself not to. I was Caspian the Captor. I needed to be hard. Rigid. Unbreakable. Unshakable. And feeling guilty was not part of that.

“You left your bag on the coffee table by the couch downstairs in the living room.”

She frowned again. Soon she would get frown lines on her forehead if she kept all of this up. “Couch is such a weird word.”

Yeesh, ADD much? But she was right.

“Yeah, it is.”

“So is crab.” Now she looked thoughtful, staring at the bottom of the sink.

I nodded. “Yeah. And pink, too.”

“Oh yeah. I never thought of that.” Her easy smile turned up the corner of her mouth. Then it disappeared and she went back to glaring at me.

I quickly glared back.

“You coming or not?”

“I guess I don’t have a choice.”

“Yeah, you basically don’t, but I wanted it to seem like you did.” Should I not have said that?

She rolled her eyes. “Just get out so I can get changed.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“OUT!”

I chuckled darkly, then spun and turned the knob, automatically unlocking the really unnecessary lock.

“Uh, wait.”

I turned. “So you do want me to help you get changed?” I’m bad. You know it.

“No!” She was still sitting, back to the wall. “I wanted to know if you, uh, did something with my cell phone.”

I smiled evilly, then pulled a covered iPhone out of my shorts pocket. “I think I found a new talent.” I looked straight into her eyes which immediately left the phone and glared back. “Pick-pocketing.”

“You-”

I smiled sweetly and shut the door, locking it immediately. Good thing, too. The enraged girl on the other side started attacking the door, yelling profanities.

“Get changed!” I yelled back when she paused to catch her breath.

Then she began dissing my ancestors in a quieter voice, and I couldn’t help but agree with her. My ancestors were cannibals. They passed it on to me. Little did she know that I could not only suck her dry, but break one of her bones in two with my bare hands. I’m no Edward Cullen, but I’m stronger than any human being.

I stayed outside the door while Miss Royce grumbled to herself and put on the bathing suit.

“Why did I hear someone yelling about someone’s great-grandfather being a mix between dog, pig, cow and chicken?”

Fallen looked horrible.

“Hey, dude, you okay?” I stood up from my sitting position in front of Sam’s door.

Fallen nodded, then cringed. “I fell asleep on the kitchen floor.” I nodded sympathetically. His eyes had mad dark circles beneath them. The eyes themselves looked sort of haunted.

It was hard to believe that this guy was my half brother. We looked nothing alike. I had brown eyes. He had blue. I had brown hair. His was blonde, brown, black and blue. His nose was long and pointed. Mine was way more rounded. His face was thinner than mine. I looked like Ryan Ross. He didn’t. Well, we were both extremely pale. I was deathly pale, though. Even I have to admit that I look like I died then came back to life.

“You coming to the beach?” I asked.

“Is Sam coming?”

I heard the desperate longing in his voice for his cousin. Wow. He really loved Sam.

I nodded the answer. “She’s getting changed right now. Oh, and, she was the one yelling at me about my—our—ancestors.”

“Is she…okay?”

I nodded again. If I had opened my mouth, I would have said, “she’s fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine.” And that wouldn’t be a good thing to say to Fallen, especially when he was in this state of mind.

Which reminded me…

“Uh, Fallen?”

He looked up from the floor with an eyebrow raised and his hands in the pockets of his shorts, which had previously been mine. I left him some clean clothes to put on.

“No matter how depressed you feel about being a ‘vampire’, please don’t cut yourself. Your blood will burn through many materials, sort of like acid rain on rock. Except a
lot faster.”

His eyes widened. “That’s what happened to all my Band Aids.”

“Uh-huh. And our blood is stronger than…say…Jeremy’s because we’re purebreds. So is George… Good luck to him… Well, anyway, don’t drink Pete Wentz’s blood under any circumstance. It will give you bladder issues and smoker’s cough. Or the like.”

His nose wrinkled, like I said mine did whenever the topic of sex came up. “Why would it do that?” He was so depressed he could barely sound curious and interested.

“He’s a Guardian. Samantha’s Guardian, and he’s probably after—”

Creak.

I whirled around to see Samantha emerging from her “cell”.