Trigger Warning: knife injury, blood

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Note: I know in the main story of Pretty Boy, it wasn't common for Marshall to truly struggle with his thirst despite having such a strong, and sometimes burdening, sense of smell. He was portrayed as having excellent control, but I'd always considered adding in a chapter where Marshall wasn't so perfect in terms of holding himself back. Especially if he was feeling more thirsty than what was considered normal.

Timeline wise, this chapter and the next one both take place before "A Frightening Display". Both parts will also give some more backstory on how Marshall's first interactions with Leah were like since I never went into those with much detail. 

The trigger warning is there for a brief scene where Paul gets a pretty minor injury, but I'm putting it just in case it's a bit much to read because the wound is inflicted on him by someone else The scene isn't necessarily gory, but I'd rather be careful. Just in case!

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Emily was humming to a song playing from the speaker beside her. She just finished prepping a pan with some butter and garlic, leaving it to sit at low heat. Her hands were now busy with slicing up a thick slab of uncooked steak for a nice, simple stir fry. Partially seasoned asparagus was in a bowl to her left, waiting to be added to the pan once she was ready.

Marshall stood silently. His arms were folded over his chest. His legs were crossed at the ankles with his body propped against the counter behind him.

Black eyes stared at red droplets being smeared against a wooden cutting board.

After following the pattern of a blade running back and forth a few times, trembling fingers were brought up to gently massage a stubborn, uncomfortable sting in his throat.

He was so thirsty.

Marshall blamed himself for not making a window of opportunity to hunt sooner.

He'd been working overtime to help out other dancers who were struggling with new routines. He did more charity functions with the choir group too; both because he liked raising funds for those in need, and because he liked to be present whenever the Forks Musical Theater employees got more deserved recognition from the public.

He was also hanging out with Brad more—frequenting museums, upscale restaurants, comedy shows, symphonic concerts—since Yasmine was out of town for work again. With fun outings usually ending late in the evening, he started spending more nights at the shared Lahote house as well, making it difficult for anyone to leave for substantial periods of time unnoticed.

On top of that, with two new members having joined the Uley pack recently, it was pretty common for Marshall to busy himself by hanging out with Seth too. They saw a lot of musicals together, and, like with Brad, they went out for dinner multiple times a week. It was more so to escape a rather hostile environment brought about by Leah than it was to simply enjoy a night on the town.

Even though all of those plans were joyful in the moment, hindsight made Marshall feel like an idiot for pushing off his own need to consume what his body desperately craved.

It'd been three- no...four weeks since his last meal. It was normal for him to feed every one or two, so it was safe to assume he wasn't in the best state at the moment.

He could practically feel his undereye bags weighing down his face, making it appear slightly more sunken. Longer strands of wavy hair were flying in multiple directions with how much he'd been running his hands through them out of genuine frustration. His jaw clenched whenever the urge to bite hit him more fiercely than others.

Marshall had to focus on the music playing beside him or the conversations happening around him so he wouldn't focus on how much he desired to paint the room red.

More than anything, however, he just wanted his feral thoughts to shut up for five fucking minutes. Listening to a dramatic stream of complacent screeches had gotten old days ago. Now, it was more than just a slight annoyance—because Marshall knew, at heart, he agreed with them. He may not have said so aloud, but a silent declaration of, "Wouldn't it be nice to rip into something that bleeds?" was, unfortunately, too correct to be labeled as simply being a passing, intrusive thought.

Like always, Paul could tell how much Marshall was struggling despite never complaining about his situation.

They made eye contact several times from across the room. Paul glanced at the house's entryway every now and again as a nonverbal way of saying Marshall could go if he really needed to. But the gesture was always met with a single shake of the head.

He kept choosing to stay with his pack since they hadn't hung out as a group in a while. He didn't want to ruin their day just because he desired to flood his mouth and throat with blood.

If anything, there finally was time to do so once he and Paul left for the evening to go back home.

Marshall could hold out for a few more hours.

He had to.

"Honey, would you mind stirring the meat for me now that it's in the pan? I just want to add a few more seasonings to the veggies."

"Don't mind at all, no worries."

It took everything in him to keep his hand from shaking when taking the wooden spoon being offered by Emily. The same went for his body as she leaned her head against Marshall's shoulder in thanks before getting to work on the asparagus. 

Additional scents from the pan's contents helped to dull the pungent smell of aged blood. Extra spices used to give more flavor, along with each second of scorching metal against the meat's surface, also worked to erase lingering traces of a fragrant metallic scent.

Marshall was actually grateful he was standing so close to the stove because cooking food was now much stronger than Paul's natural aroma.

Something Marshall had been keenly aware of for most of the day.

He didn't want to admit it, but being in the vicinity of his blood singer was becoming more torturous by the second.

Each melodic beat of a thumping heart acted as a teasing reminder that the vampire couldn't, and wouldn't, imbibe from a source with a taste more valuable than gold.

But, boy, did he long for just a bite.

"You're helping out to prepare dinner?" Leah sneered from her spot at the dining table. She leaned back against her chair, both arms crossing over her chest. "Gross. Means it'll probably be completely inedible-"

"Then starve."

Marshall's fast and blunt response made other people around the room snicker to themselves.

Leah's frown deepened out of minor embarrassment. "Who pissed in your cereal this morning?"

"Just not in the mood to be fucked with."

"Aww, what, is the little baby leech having a bad day? Oh, boo-hoo. What ever will we do?"

Normally, it took more than a few rude comments from Leah to make Marshall lose his composure. But he didn't have the patience to deal with any kind of bullshit with how starved he was feeling.

Hangry wasn't the appropriate term to use if someone was trying to describe his emotional state.

Marshall's head was filled to the brim with violent thoughts—he found himself projecting that anger towards his pack mate.

And he began to wonder what she would look like covered, head to toe, in wild splatters of red.

The wooden spoon smacked against the other side of the pan as it was pushed away with great force. "Go ahead, say something else. I fucking dare you."

Marshall's nails dug into the skin of his palms with enough strength to leave indentations. Labored breathing became more shallow. Dark eyebrows were so scrunched together, small wrinkles formed above the bridge of his nose. His weight was shifted in a manner to display how ready he was to either pounce or fight—perhaps both.

He didn't seem like he was in the mood to hold himself back; meaning if an altercation did happen between pack members, Leah wouldn't get out of a fight unscathed.

Or alive, for that matter.

"Marshmallow."

Paul's calm, careful voice was a good enough distraction to make piercing black eyes settle on him.

"Take a breather."

"Then keep her from being such a goddamn nuisance."

"Fine. But do us both a favor, and give yourself a second. Cool down."

Grinding his teeth together to hold back a confrontational statement, Marshall did as told. A challenging eye-roll was partially hidden by a slow, grounding blink. A deep breath through the nose was helpful in pushing away rippling currents of anger attempting to fog his strained willingness to be rational.

His right hand turned to make the connected palm face upward. "...The asparagus, Em."

She handed over the glass bowl without hesitation.

"Thank you."

Paul allowed his body to relax. "I appreciate it, darling."

A noncommittal hum was the only sound given in acknowledgment.

Marshall dumped the bowl's contents into the pan. Beef had to be manually scraped from the bottom since small chunks began sticking to heated metal. Once all of the meat was stirred to let it cook in a more even fashion, Emily stepped in to add a bit of lemon juice for additional flavor.

"Sorry if I messed anything up."

"You're fine, honey. Don't worry. Here, why not let me finish this up. I could use your help with setting the table, if you're up to it."

"Sure."

Relinquishing his position as chef for the evening, a wooden spoon was swapped for multiple knives and forks. Each piece of cutlery was arranged on top of a napkin near each person's place setting. Tall glasses for juice, water, soda, or any other beverage choice were placed closer toward the center of the table. Another bowl was put down, containing yellow rice mixed with black eyed peas, tomatoes, and topped off with cilantro.

Marshall aimed to slink back into the kitchen once he was finished, but firm arms wrapped around his midsection. He was pulled into his boyfriend's lap. Residual anger lessened when delicate kisses were peppered against his shoulder.

"...Sorry for being kinda crabby today, Tiger."

"I know things have been rough. We'll head out after dinner- see if we can do something to make it better. Sound good?"

"Yeah." Tense posture dropped out of relief. "Love you."

"Love you too, Honey Bun."

The couple shared a quick kiss before leaning against each other. Middle fingers were flashed in response to Jared's fake gagging.

An air of peace returned. Around the table, conversations blended into each other and filled the room with happy, boisterous voices. Choruses of laughter rang out with every playful quip or funny joke. Gentle shoves were traded, solidifying a familial closeness to the people readying themselves for a delicious meal.

Hollers rang out as Emily brought over the finished stir fry.

Marshall planted a kiss into a forest of brunet hair. "Be right back, Tiger. Just going to grab my phone off the counter."

He slid out of his partner's inviting arms. Slow steps were taken back into the kitchen. A certain touchscreen device lit up as it was grabbed. Black eyes skimmed over a text from Brad asking about a lunch date for the next day followed by a request to spend the night again.

With the knowledge that he was going to satiate his hunger soon, Marshall saw no issue in saying yes.

He was in the middle of texting back when a sharp intake of breath cut through the room, silencing everyone.

His head darted upward.

The phone fell from his hands, straight onto the floor, at the scene happening a few feet away.

Paul was standing away from his chair. His right hand was cradled near his chest. Blood was in the process of running down his fingers and arm. A few droplets fell against linoleum tiles surrounding his feet.

Leah had a steady grip around the handle of a knife.

The serrated edge was covered in red.

"Leah- what the fuck!"

"Look- that wasn't my fault! I'm a lefty- nobody told you to go for my cutlery!"

Frantic voices joined the argument. Chairs scraped against the floor as more people got up to try and assist where it was needed. At one point, Emily took Paul's hand to see how deep his healing injuries actually were.

Marshall didn't say a thing.

He stood, frozen in his spot in the kitchen.

A new form of unhinged bloodlust hit him with staggering force.

His vision turned red at the edges. Background elements lost their clarity. Droplets of blood became brighter in hue. Overhead lighting reflected off of the enticing shade, making some sections appear more saturated in color than others.

And the room—fuck—it smelled heavenly.

Not of iron, but a sweet, robust, intoxicating scent akin to that of an exquisite, fine wine.

Marshall could only gulp when he began to salivate.

God, it'd be so easy.

To run up to Paul and get a taste. To clean up an oozing, bloody mess without leaving a single trace behind on his long, supple fingers.

To graze his fragile flesh with strong teeth and rip, only for the vampire to be rewarded by the flow of open, unobstructed floodgates.

Marshall gasped. A hand was brought up to shield part of his face. A wobbly step was taken backward, his body making contact with the refrigerator.

Uncoordinated actions caught everyone's attention.

Paul's moment of oh shit could be seen on his face.

"Marsh- honey- you okay..?"

Black eyes continued to stare.

"I..." Another fallen droplet was met with a hungered growl. "I can't. I'm sorry. I have to- I need to step out of the room for a second."

Enhanced speed brought Marshall to the forest's edge before anyone even had a chance to blink. He crouched down beside a tree, burrowing his head into his hands to shield his vision. Fast inhales chased the fragrance of crisp, pine-scented air to erase the smell of delectable blood clinging to his nasal passage.

He couldn't get the image of such an enticing fluid running down Paul's arm out of his head.

"Marsh-"

"Honey, I'm sorry, but you can't be near me right now. I can't- I'm not thinking clearly. I don't want to accidentally hurt you. Please, please, I need you to stay away. Either that, or I have to leave."

Still with his eyes covered, Marshall had to take the surrounding world in via a heightened sense of hearing.

Rushed steps moved across the dining room. A faucet was turned on. Water splashed against the interior of a metal sink. Something wet plopped against the floor, scrubbing against smooth tiles.

Several pairs of feet ran outside. They surrounded Marshall but kept a short distance away from him.

Based on the heavy smell of only dog permeating from the group, it was safe to assume Paul wasn't among those currently standing around the vampire.

He didn't put up a fight when someone pulled his face out of hiding. 

Seth's concerned expression was difficult to not shy away from.

"If you've been hungry this entire time, you could've told us. There's nothing wrong with you having to eat. Just because you don't do it the way we do, doesn't mean you should be left to starve."

Sam walked forward, offering a hand to their non-typical pack mate. "If it makes you feel better, a few of us can go with you. It'll...give us some peace of mind too. To make sure no one gets hurt."

"I'm sorry." Accepting his alpha's gesture, the vampire rose to his feet. "I didn't mean for this to get so bad."

"I know. But the only thing we can do now is fix it. The sooner we do so, the sooner you don't have to deal with the problem anymore."

Marshall nodded his head, both in agreement and thanks.

He raked through his hair to try and get a grip on himself. An uncertain gaze moved toward the front door.

Leah occupied the space with her hands clenched tightly at her sides.

No one was fast enough to stop Marshall from running up to her, grabbing her by the shirt, and slamming her against the wall.

She could only stare up at him in shock.

"I will say this once, and only once. If you ever try to hurt him again- if you ever pull a stunt like this a second time, accident or not, I'll make sure you lose the ability to ever draw another fucking breath."

Leah wasn't given a chance to form any sort of comeback.

With one last heated glare, Marshall disappeared from sight with Sam and Seth following close behind.