His hand loosened, fangs released her throat, and wild black eyes darted to hers. His lips were curled into a snarl and blood dripped onto her naked chest from his fangs. The blue was gone. His irises were just black --- huge and shining like big black opals. She started to cough and gasp for air. His face started to change. Fury dissipated and changed into confusion, then concern. He slid out of her, gently laid her down on her back, reared back onto his knees and ran both hands through his still wet hair. The fangs receded,
He breathed out a, “no” and shut his eyelids and then just like that, he opened them and they were blue again.
Kyla was hyperventilating, shaking. She clutched her throat, then looked at her bloodied hands and started trembling harder, face horror-stricken. She wanted to scream but no sound would come out. He pulled her to kneeling and pulled her against him and licked the wound. The bleeding wasn’t stopping. He held his lips tight against her throat, putting pressure and rubbed her back.
“Hey, no; it’s okay,” he was hoarse. She could still feel his erection against her. Her body was limp, as if it was made of spaghetti. He helped her back down onto the bed and stared for a minute at the wound and licked it again and held his lips there for a moment. His anxiety looked like it was mostly gone. He looked satisfied with his examination of her neck wound.
Have I stopped bleeding?
She wanted to ask but the words wouldn’t come out. The room was spinning a little bit and she threw her forearm over her eyes, trying to make it stop. He was gone. Then he was back, pulling her to sitting, “Drink this.” He tipped a glass against her lips.
She obeyed. Orange juice. She managed a few sips and then signaled for him to stop. “More,” he ordered and tipped it again so she would drink more of it. He gently laid her back down, covered her with the dark red duvet and disappeared again. She cradled herself in the fetal position under the blankets, trying to get warm. Her teeth were chattering.
Oh God, I’m going to die…
The tinny scent of her own blood permeated her nostrils. Her eyelids fluttered. Then he was leaning over her, concern all over his face, his handsome face. He wasn’t that black-eyed monster right now. His lips landed on the neck wound again and it felt so good, so soothing. His fingers were on the back of her neck, massaging it. She felt her heart rate beating hard and steady, and loud. But could hear his, too, in perfect time with hers. Her breathing slowed. His lips left her skin and then his eyes held onto hers as he bandaged her neck.
He wiped her forehead with a warm cloth and then used it to wipe the blood off her hands. He massaged her shoulders and her arms, then her legs and feet. It was like he was trying to help get her circulation going.
“You’re gonna be okay.”
So what if he was beautiful, she thought, as she blinked slowly at him, feeling like she was starting to gain a foothold on reality. Beauty was only skin deep. And he just wanted to sink his teeth into her skin, to drain her. The snaking hate he’d unleashed in her veins was still trickling through her. Bile rose in her throat again. She moistened her lips and shuddered, teeth chattering again, then she started to gag, hard, dry heaving five or six times.
Don’t be sweet to me you cocky asshole. You did this. That’s what she thought but she couldn’t form the words to say it.
He took her by the hip and shoulder and moved her onto her side and started rubbing her back. “You’re gonna be fine. Sleep,” his voice was low and he sounded ashamed, “Don’t look at me like that, please. It’s killing me.”
Good. Die.
Her eyes drooped and he started to turn fuzzy, go out of focus. She heard a knock and then another man’s accented voice. Italian? Spanish? It was a different voice from the others, “I have the information you asked for.” Then a crashing sound, loud smashing and a loud groan. She couldn’t open her eyes to see what was making that sound. All she could see was dark.
~~~
Light pierced the darkness just like a single lit Lite Brite bulb would if it were pushed through the black paper. Then she was dreaming about Tristan. He was chasing her; his fangs were dripping with blood. Kyla was running as fast as she could down a dim stone tunnel in her bare feet and the stones beneath her feet were sharp. So sharp.
The light at the end of the tunnel seemed to be getting farther and farther away as she half ran, half hobbled. He was laughing as he chased her and he was fast closing the gap. Blood dripped down the tunnel walls. She tripped and fell on the ground. Her hands were covered in blood. There was a black snake wrapped around her, from her ankle and coiling right up to the spot where he’d first bit inside her thigh. The snake started to squeeze. She darted awake, gasping for air.