In the past month (and a bit), three of my lovely, wonderful friends had birthdays. And I, as a terrible, not at all wonderful or lovely friend, neglected to send them any of the things I had planned to send! And so I present this. I had been working on a little sexy somethin' but it's taking a bit longer to get sorted than I thought (no one wants to remove their pants for me) so that'll have to wait. Hopefully this isn't as bad as the first time I wrote it out!

So, HAPPY BIRTHDAY to Helen, Kat and Christelle! Sorry for being a dud :P

xx

Nikola awoke with a gasp, a cough, and then a very undignified splutter.

Helen viewed his awakening with little more than a bloodcurdling shriek.

James and Nigel were a little late to the party, being more than two floors above them however, once they arrived, they viewed the newly-awoken Nikola with a fear rather reminiscent of Helen's.

John was blissfully unaware though Nikola supposed the other man would have been most displeased if he had known.

The first thing he noticed was the cold. His person was not cold, per se, but it was cold. The distinction, while most peculiar was clear in his mind. The next thing he noticed, was discomfort. He was lying on... something. It was hard. Hard and cold. Stone, he realised as his fingertips brushed against it. And there was something covering his face. Thin, white. He blinked twice. A sheet.

With a start, he sat up and she sheet fell away, his eyes taking in the room with a sharp focus that had his head spinning. Had the tapestry in the hall always been so vibrant? It made his stomach turn.

That was when he noticed Helen and her screaming. The sound was deafening, enough to make his teeth vibrate with the intensity of it.

John shivered violently into consciousness, the blood in his veins boiling in protest. He jerked against the metal shackles that held him to the wall and they cut into his wrists. The smell of blood stung his nostrils as he continued to fight his restraints.

He roared at the ceiling, straining his neck and baring his teeth as if he could scare the roof from its beams and thus grant him freedom. Beads of sweat rolled down his cheeks, matting the length of his dark hair wherever the two met. The fine cloth of his shirt clung as his body tensed against the rolling waves of fury that slid through his body.

He could feel nothing but a white hot anger at all around him. There was little but his anger, images of the deceptions performed against burning his eyes until sweat was mixed with tears, a salty combination of betrayal that had only ever lingered on the fringes of his imagination until this moment.

Helen was fairly certain that the noise that escaped from her throat was one she had never before been capable of producing. However, given the circumstances, she suspected it was entirely warranted.

After all, seeing ones best friend die not an hour before he promptly awoke with pitch black eyes and startling talons was not an everyday occurrence. In fact, even with all of the perfectly odd things she had experienced in her life, Helen could quite comfortably say that this was an entirely unique happening.

And she had precisely no idea of what she was to do next.

And so she fainted.

Nigel's language, while always colourful, reached a new level of descriptive vulgarity. The words were just spewing forth, slipping from his lips and burning his ears as he stared at the closest thing he'd had to a best friend since he was a boy.

They were mates. Chums. Almost family. The outsiders. Nigel always found that there was something about Nikola, as abrasive as he was, that spoke of loyalty. It wasn't particularly pronounced or logical, but Nigel felt far closer to Nikola than he ever had James or John.

But now...

Those dark eyes were not Nikola's. His mouthful of overly sharp, jagged teeth had been thrust upon him transforming man into monster. It reminded him of the way the world changed at night, the way darkness erupted from nowhere to claim what the day saw as benign.

He was not Nikola. Not any more.

James seemed to hear it before the rest of them. Of course, Helen's shriek of surprise still had his ears ringing, but still, no one else noticed the guttural cries coming from above their heads. Or perhaps they did, yet couldn't truly take it in.

One glance at the faces of his friend and the crumpled body of the other told him that they were too invested in the situation at hand to understand that something more was occurring.

Instead of bothering them, James swallowed, took a last look at what their experiment had done to Nikola Tesla and turned on his heel.

John was calling.

Nikola wasn't sure what to do first. Nigel was still staring at him as if he'd grown a pair of horns while Helen's unconscious form tugged at his heart in a not entirely unfamiliar way. James, it seemed, was so terrified of Nikola that he'd disappeared and there was a dull roar coming from somewhere above that had him frowning.

Instead, he settled for looking down at himself.

Only to realise his chest was bare.

At that, his frown deepened. Last he knew, he wasn't one to walk about barely clothed.

"And this isn't my room," he muttered.

Nigel swore again, capturing his attention.

Their eyes met and the other man flinched.

"Griffin?" Nikola asked, all at once startled by the timbre of his own voice. He'd dropped three octaves and, apparently torn a vocal cord or two. In a flash, Nikola bought his hand up to check that no defect was hindering his throat only to flinch himself as long talons brushed against his skin.

Nigel swore again.

He jerked his hand away, staring without comprehension at the dark material protruding from his chest.

Protruding.

Protruding.

Like a poker.

From his chest.

Nikola met Nigel's terrified gaze with his own wide eyes and swore.

A rippling pain flashed through his body and had John retching, falling forward on his-

His hands were free? Breath laboured, he studied his hands, trembling fingers tracing over deep red marks traversing each wrist. Restraints.

But he couldn't think on it any longer, the pain pulling through his body, dredging the very depths of his soul to find yet another way to cripple him until he was gasping, flat on his back.

He roared his pain at the ceiling, fists thumping down upon the hardwood flooring.

There was something... something he needed. It would calm the storm threatening to tear him apart as red and purple sparks flitted across his vision. He could smell his own flesh burning as beads of sweat sizzled across his body.

There was a fire growing in his body, raging heat he was sure he could not contain. Eyes drifting shut, a prayer slipped from his lips, a plea that his family would be safe, that his soul would be safer.

The fire bubbled up beneath his skin, breaking in stinging flames across his body until, all of a sudden, he was cold. The ground beneath him was wet and cold and, had he the strength, he would have pulled away. As it was, he merely moaned, the biting cold burning in counterpoint to the ripples of fire that seemed to dance across his chest.

The fire grew stronger again, scorching his chest from the inside out and then the floor was warm again. With all his strength, John heaved an arm up, letting it fall across his face, the cool water dripping from his sleeve mingling with salty tears that tracked down his cheeks.

It was poison.

The breath in her chest seemed to all rush in at once, making her cough hastily though her corset barely allowed it. She was still half asleep, pushing up from the floor with a light moan as she bought a hand to her temple while blonde ringlets clouded her vision.

Helen could not be certain as to why she was currently on the floor of what she considered her father's procedure room, not even as she heard two soft voices from very far away. Her lips were dry and eyes gritty but she fought the sensation as she struggled to sit.

Only to be greeted with some strange manifestation of Nikola, a bloodied sheet pooled around his slender hips. His apparent nudity was, however, difficult to focus on when their gaze met.

His eyes were black. Darker than black, almost bottomless. They swirled with deep tones of emotion she couldn't read but sent deep thrills of fear through her body until her fingers tingled cold. Beyond him, her peripheral vision could make out Nigel's astounded vision yet Helen could not take her eyes from Nikola.

There was something about the harsh planes of his cheeks that fascinated her, the way his thin skin stretched over distended bones, casting abnormal shadows across his face as he drew in heavy breaths through mismatched teeth.

Her heart caught in her throat at the sight, her eyes filling with tears as she realised the way in which she'd destroyed her very best friend. It was her fault, her belligerent attitude that had nearly killed him.

In fact, she was fairly sure she had killed him. She could remember the moment the light in his eyes had disappeared, the way the fire of life in his body had fizzled leaving her with a young man covered in blood and now way to reconcile what she had done with the scientific principles she had used as a crutch for too long.

Yet he was not dead.

He was alive, He was breathing. He had been remade by the blood they'd pushed through their veins but he was alive which was more than she'd had reason to hope for.

"Niko," she breathed. He cocked his head, eyes still swirling with the same unfathomable combination of emotions she could not distinguish.

Scrambling to her feet, Helen lunged towards where Nikola sat, still staring dumbly at her, her hands seeking his warm, living flesh as if to prove that he was still there, rather than the alternative she had been certain was reality.

His skin was chilled to touch as he flinched from her grasp and they both drew in a sharp breath. Helen bit her lip as her body froze up, the room snapping into focus as a bolt of fear threaded through her veins.

With more care, she reached for him again, ignoring the way his limbs twitched as if to avoid her touch until she could graze her fingertips against his forearm. He was so cold she automatically began to worry on frostbite and pneumonia but, as she looked up to his red-rimmed eyes swirling with unfathomable darkness, she realised he held no such fear for his health. He was cold yet did not feel it.

Grasping his arm more firmly, she stepped closer to the hospital bed he sat upon, her grip tightening as she took in all that she could of his visage. It was astounding. He was Nikola yet he was not. His face was broken, torn, stretched against its natural confines to cast deathly shadows across the marble-white expanse of skin. Small blue veins ran across his temples that twitched while he breathed, each sharp snap of breath broadening his chest and flaring his nostrils.

She wanted to touch him all over, to explore his changes and similarities, aware that she could spend hours doing just such.

The fascination on her face was, well, fascinating. Nikola found it slightly disconcerting, however, that he was the subject of such fascination. Her eyes were almost devouring his form and he felt more naked than his unclothed body could ever illicit. He wanted so badly to recoil yet his muscles would not let him. In fact, he wanted to move forwards, into Helen's body heat.

His head would fit so well against the curve of her neck, his lips pressed to the creamy smooth column. It was almost as though they were designed to fit like that, his body created to sit against hers so perfectly. And she would be so warm. So deliciously hot against his chilled cheek. Perhaps she would even grant him leave to taste, to let his lips devour her throat in the way her eyes were devouring his form.

He didn't even realise he was leaning in until she jerked back a fraction. But it was too late. He had to touch her, to feel her, to bask in her warmth. She said something, those soft pink lips parting as sweet breath touched his face. Nikola reached for her, his hand closing around the delicate structure of her wrist. She shifted in his grip but was unable to pull away.

The skin under his fingertips was so soft, it sent him halfway to madness yet it was not enough. He tugged her closer effortlessly, her body jerking into his grasp with a sweet little yelp of surprise. With her warmth that much closer, Nikola let his eyes drift close, soaking her in with all his other senses.

Her warmth made his mouth water, something curling deep inside him that demanded more. More of what, specifically, he was not sure, but he knew beyond a doubt that Helen was at the centre of it all. Everything swirled around Helen.

He wondered perhaps, if it always had, and he'd only been too foolish to notice until now.

The poison was growing, spreading, heating his being until he thought he might combust. He could taste blood in his mouth, hot and heavy and filling up the bare room around him. The water on his skin sizzled away, lungs fighting the taste of blood for just a whiff of fresh air yet it was a futile attempt.

He needed something, it was more vital than air, than freedom, than anything. There was a part of him that was missing, a space to be filled.

The heavy, metal taste on his tongue should have been his first clue, but as the storm raged on above his head, all he could focus on was the need.

Blood.

Her blood.

And with that, everything inside him went deadly still.

Jack ran his tongue across his teeth, blowing out a deep breath that centered the raging storm within him.

Her blood.

Her blood.

He snarled, desperate for the blood he needed more than air.

It was the work of barely a thought to be standing before her, taking only a sharp rip within himself to bring him to what he craved.

"Whore!" The word exploded from his lips before he could stop himself, mouth curling into a sneer.

She was bent over that cur, his face against her neck. The cur's eyes flew open at the word, tugging his harlot closer as if sensing the threat. It made Jack smile. Terror ran thick through the room, doubling as the slut turned, eyes wide as she gasped in shock. He watched her pretty pink lips move, perhaps even calling his name. But though she attempted to say more, her filthy lover shoved her aside.

She fell in a heap beside the cold metal table the cur rested on. Jack hissed at the sight that awaited him, at the barely clothed man sprawled across the table. His stomach heaved: she was truly disgusting.

He went to move towards her, ready to spill her blood but her lover was smarter than he gave him credit for being. Snarling, snapping and full of an interesting vitality, the naked man thrust himself before Jack, his body blocking him from where the whore still lay on the ground, watching them with her terrified gaze.

A hand curled around his throat, bringing a twisted grin to his face.

It would be more fun to kill them both if they fought.

He bought a hand up to counter the move punching the other man in the stomach with a closed fist. He heard the crack of bones at the impact yet the cur did not seem to flinch.

His grimace faded somewhat at that.

"What are you?" he hissed, taking in the darkened eyes of the cur.

"You are a monster," the cur spat in reply, tightening his hand. "You will not hurt her."

"I will spill her blood. You cannot stop me."

The cur's eyes flicked for a moment, shifting just to the side for a fraction of a moment but before he could question it, something sharp pierced the column of his neck, ice rushing through his veins.

The cur dropped his grip, stepping back as his eyes widened, slowly turning back to their normal colour. He was breathing heavily as John dropped to his knees, clutching at his neck.

And, as the world started to grow fuzzy, John began to wonder how the fire inside him had moved him so very far from that tiny, god-forsaken room.

As Nigel knelt beside John's unconscious form, Nikola stepped away from them both, the adrenaline that had forced his action draining away to leave him unsteady on his feet.

He turned instead to Helen, not sure of what to do or say. They both stared at one another for what seemed like an eternity until, out of nowhere, her cheeks flamed crimson and she ducked her head.

"Nikola," she muttered, eyes flitting up to his body for a moment before darting away again. "Nikola, you are... naked."

"говно."

His curse, however, seemed to bring a smile to her face, a sight he could never regret the occurrence of.

And yet, the next day, when John awoke and began asking for Helen in that broken way he had, her smile as she rushed to his side made his stomach sink.

It wasn't until two weeks later that Nikola knew, finally, that his affliction, as Helen had taken to calling it, most certainly came with a rather nasty side effect. One that would not endear her to lavish attention on him, rather than John.

And yes, I promise to update more. Hopefully. Maybe.

I'll try.