When they saw the lone vampire in front of them, watching as they approached, they knew they'd fucked up. Roan pulled back on his reins, Orren following suit. The hunters and vampire stared each other down, sizing each other up. Somehow, the blood suckers had known they were coming. Orren glanced over at Roan, waiting for his lead. Would they retreat and rethink their strategy? Now that he looked back on it, he wished more than anything that they had. But the Carters boys were reckless that day.
Roan spurred his horse and galloped forward, gun raised. He didn't make it far before the ambush came running out from every direction. The blood suckers seemed to crawl from under every pebble and rock. Roan came to a screeching halt and turned his horse to run. Orren raised his gun and tried to shoot the vampires that were tearing towards his brother. In doing so, he allowed himself to be surrounded. Orren couldn't pick them off fast enough. Even when Roan rode up, taking shots where he could, they were hopelessly outnumbered.
Orren turned his horse around and lunged forward. He managed to break free of the coven. Roan followed him, but didn't catch up. Orren's horse raced across the hard, orange ground. The blood suckers weren't far behind him. All it took was for one to leap forward and grab the side of his reins. His horse spooked, rearing up and tossing the man off. The back of Orren's head hit the ground hard. No doubt he busted something. The searing pain was the last thing he felt as he was surrounded.
When Orren awoke, the first thing he heard was a muffle sob by his side. He let out a groan and cracked his eyes open just in time to see Roan's figure step in front of him. He felt a wave of relief knowing that his brother was alive. Then it fell. Roan had a gun aimed at him.
"Roan?" Orren croaked, opening his eyes wider, fearful. "What're you-"
"Stop," Roan said, his voice breaking. Orren could tell that he'd been crying. His heart sank even lower; his big brother never cried. "D-don't move."
Then it hit him. Orren was thirstier than he'd ever been in his life. It wasn't a regular thirst; he couldn't really describe it. But he could smell his brother, flesh and blood, and he smelled like food. Orren had the overwhelming desire to bite into his brother's neck and suck his blood, and there could only be one explanation. He slowly raised his hands to examine his own skin. Orren's skintone was usually a chestnut brown from the summer sun, but now it was as pale as the late months of winter. He skin was cold. Orren began to panic. His breath caught in throat as he turned back to his brother, who couldn't seem to pull the trigger.
"Roan, wait," He begged. "Please. I-I'm your brother."
"You're one of them," Roan croaked, trying hard to keep his voice even. It was to little avail.
"Please don't do this."
"I have to."
Orren sized up his option. It was either stay here and get his head blown off, or haul ass out of town. He moved faster than he ever thought possible. Orren jumped to his feet, knocked Roan over, and ran. Just before he could get out of range, he heard Roan fire a shot. Pain exploded in his back, burning like white hot metal that wouldn't cool down. He clenched his teeth and managed to keep going. From now on, him and his brother would be enemies. He tried not to think about it.
That had been about two weeks ago, as far as Orren could count. He hadn't seen Roan since. Orren already missed having him around. Being alone out in the desert certainly wasn't fun. He had come across one other lone travel, but that didn't really end well. Orren had lost complete control of himself, killing the man and sucking him dry. The man didn't turn, however. Orren's aim for the jugular was so bad that he'd ended up tearing the poor guy's throat out in a desperate attempt to reach blood. The satisfaction he'd felt afterward was sickening. Orren was disgusted with himself. He hadn't had a drop since. The hunger was back again, making him grow weaker by the second, but he just kept staggering on.
He'd managed to dig the bullet out of his back, but a shard of silver remained embedded in his skin. The area around it turned black and skin began to peal. Luckily, with it being on his back, Orren didn't have to look at it. It only aided in making his weaker. The way he figured, if Orren died out in the middle of the desert, at least Roan wouldn't have to be the one to pull the trigger on him. The poor guy had been through enough without having to kill Orren's stupid ass. He understood now that Roan would have been doing him a favor. Becoming a vampire was the worst thing that had ever happened to him.
The sun beat down on his heavily clothed form. Even though Orren had most of his face covered with a scarf and his hat, he could feel his skin burning ever so slightly. His boots grew heavier and heavier with each step. Finally, his legs could take no more. Orren hit the ground knees first, then the rest of him fell onto his face. He looked up to see a dust cloud on the arisen. Orren squinted his eyes to see what looked like a group of some kind of travelers. Either they'd find him and end his miserable existence, or Orren would croak before they even got there. Either way, he supposed there were still worse ways to die.