When Blood Runs Cold - Chapter 222

The exchange of blood. He wants me to be his.

As much as the thought repulses me, right now I have no choice in the matter. Either I grin and bear it, drink this detestable mans blood and begrudgingly allow him to take mine, or I force him off me and have my entire plan go up in cinders. Neither seem particularly viable, but as his mouth slips down against my throat, I come to the sullen realisation that I know which one I prefer.

I’ve got to let him do it, I’ve got to let him bite me. Even the thought of allowing it is enough to send trembling shivers down my spine.

Well,  I think bluntly against the chaos of my mind, it is not exactly like you have a choice now, you set yourself up for this. You reap what you sew. Suck it up, vampire girl.

And so I do exactly that.

At first he sucks on the skin of my neck, rough and inconsiderate of my own feelings, his mouth merely seeking pleasure and the sticky sweet sensation of blood against his hungry lips. It feels so different from what I’m used to, too devouring, too forceful, much unlike Soren, whose lack of a beating heart never stopped him from feeling.

Capturing my skin in his mouth, he allows his tongue to trail over the tenderness of it, preparing it for the inevitable that is yet to come. For the pantomime of actions I have to play, I let slip a little groan for him, all the while inwardly trying to detain my vomit that gurgles at the back of my throat.

You’ll have to pretend better than that, I remind myself inwardly, forcing my body to fall into him, to let little whimpers escape my throat. Lovingly I let my hands caress his arms, the upper side of his body, drawing me close to him, as though hungering for more.  Put on a show, my mind whispers, make him believe it.

“Relax my sweet little toy,” he whispers, hot breath steaming over my skin. And so on his words, I do so, letting my body sink against him, my breaths becoming heavy, long, filled with a suspension and wanton for his fangs that will never even be there. But Azrael doesn’t need to know that.

The way his fangs slide into my neck is jarring, rigid, a far cry from the tentative softness of Soren’s method of drawing blood. Unlike my husband, who would run his hands over my body to soothe over the pain that flamed through my neck, Azrael seems despondent, if not listless, and entirely uncaring for what I have to feel. Besides that, Azrael fangs are larger, and wider too, not long and slender as Soren’s are. Even with my newly dulled senses to pain, I still have to hide my wince as he lets his fangs slip inside me, grateful that my heart has been all but removed from the equation.

With a series of soft, wet moans he draws up blood from my veins, gulping down mouthful after mouthful as he pushes me back against the wall, his free hand working its way down to caress over my thigh. A vain attempt to pleasure me- and here I thought Azrael was supposed to be the more indulgent of the two brothers.

But something seems wrong. Instead of the airy dizzying feeling of pleasure that is supposed to swamp the victims of a vampires bite, instead I feel cold, nauseous, as a tug of pain pulls at my gut and draws any remaining colour from my face.

Azrael does not seem to notice either way, maintaining his continued attack on my neck as he tongue runs over my skin to lick away the lingering droplets of blood that his mouth had failed to catch. Then he pulls away, eyes gleaming, mouth stained a viscous red as he wipes the remains of my blood off the corner of his lips, smearing his gaunt and faintly handsome face.

Still he does not notice the tremble of my lip, the sickly paleness of my face, or if he does, he says nothing, content to remain entrapped in his own little fantasy of pleasure.

“Who knew your blood was so delicious, my pet? So sweet- unlike anything I have ever tasted. It’s almost… fragrant,” he adds, reaching out to curl a finger around the wispy strands of my hair. The slicing cold of his fingers against my skin only amplifies the muffled nausea swirling in my mind, my vision darkening with a scary suddenness. In a very short amount of time, I feel entirely faint.

What is going on?  I strain to think as my mind reels into blackness, swooning a little against Azrael, who grins, assuming my reaction to be one of a blissful pleasure.  A vampire’s toxins should elect pleasure, not nausea- why am I feeling so dreadful?

Trying my best to push aside the nausea, I remind myself that I have a role to play in this situation, and a sick feeling vampire with nerves brewing in her stomach is certainly not it. I am already pretending as his eyes meet mine, my breaths shallow, a smile on my face as I lean myself up against his chest, trying desperately to ignore the cold swirling of my gut.

Hurry, comes the voice in the back of my mind, urging me into action. What would one of his other victims say, what would you do if you were intoxicated? Make him believe it.

And so lightly I groan, pushing aside the loose strands of hair to expose my neck once more, despite knowing the consequences are likely to make me all the more encumbered by this dreadful, heaving nausea. However, my efforts are to some avail. A cruel, pleased smile curves across his bloodied lips. His eyes linger over the patch of skin his mouth just ravished, stained with blood but already healing, the pain dulling to a numb throb, a fact which makes me only the more grateful for my powers.

“Bite me again,” I whisper in a half moan, my body pressing further against him, desperately trying to ignore his evident arousal. But instead of taking up my offer as I had hoped, he merely clicks his tongue, closing his hand over my own firmly.

“Now now, pet,” he scolds lowly, his thumb trailing across my cheek to once again play on the swell of my lips. I can taste myself upon his fingers, the irony tang of blood turned sweet by the nature of the curse that plagues my body with fangs and claws and immortal life.

“I think it’s your turn.”

My turn.

A cold jolt runs through me at the words, though while it is not something unexpected, they are the exact words I have been trying to avoid. To have to do something so repulsive as having to drink his blood… I can only hope Soren will forgive me for what I am about to do. The thought of having to drink his blood is neither a welcome one nor a pleasant one, so as I lower my lips to the skin of his neck, it is all I can do but to hold in my gag.

A faint uprush of musk rises from his skin to greet me as my lips wander over the expanse of his neck, searching with great regret for the most tender spot to sink my fangs into.

I let my eyes dull into a mindless, unthinking daze as I find that particular spot upon his skin, trying in vain not to remember this is the skin of a murderer, a cold blooded villain, and that all of this will not be in vain if I can gain his trust.

So begrudgingly I sink my fangs into his skin, sealing off my wince as Azrael’s cold voice brushes my mind in a series of jolting waves.

‘Drink’ he whispers in a manner that might have been seductive if I didn’t detest his voice to the degree it causes a gorge to rise in the back of my throat. But I murmur against his skin anyway, pretending like any other one of his victims to be entranced by his spell. Roughly, his hand comes to rest at the back of my head, forcing my teeth to sink further into his skin.

‘Drink my pet. Feel my blood run through your veins, feel it give you power,’ he coos against my mind. I have become accustomed enough by now to the sensation and the realisation when he wishes to invade my mind that I can almost hold back a shiver. Almost.

Nevertheless, as I begrudgingly begin to draw the blood from his veins, hit by the unusual bitterness of his, I once again feel myself repelled by that unusual coldness that swirls in my gut, sending sickening waves of nausea rocketing through me. I take one gulp, then another, but with each passing second my stomach churns further, as though some icy water had been dumped into my gut and left to fester, rolling like an ocean against organs. After my third sip, it becomes too much to bear, and so despite the fact Azrael’s hand is holding me in place, I pull away sharply, staggering backwards as my vision becomes dizzy and unfocused…