Page 24 of Accidental Vampire

I looked around uselessly for more water. Maybe that guy on the other side of the glass could bring some?

“You don’t believe me?”

“Is there anymore water? I’m dying.” He flinched at my words. Maybe he’d get me some water if I played along with this dumb vampire thing. I rubbed my stomach. The cramping was getting intense now.

He stepped back and pulled something out of a red cooler by the door. God, please be water. He floated to the ground in a smooth movement. He made crisscross applesauce all manly and sexy. I shook myself to get that thought out of my head.

The small knife, no larger than the size of his palm, glinted menacingly. He turned it over in his fingers, contemplating, like his hands would make the decision. I watched him, mesmerized. My breath stuttered as he lowered the tip of the knife towards his forearm. Panic seeped into me from an unknown source, and it seemed to come from nowhere, crashing into me. My vision seemed to shrink to just the tip of the knife, as if that was the only thing that existed in the world at that moment. I was unable to look away from the blade as the tip made contact.

I lunged forward and covered his upturned wrist with both my hands. The tip of the knife, not a hair’s breath from my skin. Relief washed in as I remembered.

I remembered standing in a luxurious hallway. The brown carpet. The scent of vanilla and mint and patchouli. And him. Heartbroken, stunning. A bloody lip. A hug and… a bite.

Fuck.

He bit me. He really did bite me.

He’s a… No. Not possible. Impossible.

New panic this time. 100% mine and not his. Like he could predict my movement, he caught up both my wrists in one hand, in an unbreakable grip before. I tried to pull away, even got my foot in the game for more leverage. He held me effortlessly. He was a…

No.

He held the knife in his other hand still. He flashed it for my attention again, and when he caught me, he brought the tip to slice his forearm.

“No!” Sound barely escaped my throat as it tightened in dread. Not dread, anticipation. My stomach dropped. So red against his pale skin, so… thirsty. I panted and leaned forward.

“Look at me.” I heard from a long, long way away. The red was… I need it. Him. I needed him in me.

He grabbed my chin and forced me to look at him. His eyes were… before I could name the emotion, he angled my head down. Seeing the red… the blood, my gut twisted. What the fuck was wrong with me? I struggled to push away, but he held me tight.

“No. Look.” He said, shaking my face. I gasped and leaned in, forgetting my thirst and revulsion. His skin was… That’s just not possible. It was mending, healing. It looked unreal, like swiping your mouse over a digital photo to remove a blemish. Right before my eyes, the cut disappeared into perfect pale skin.

“No.” I tore my face free from his grip and stared up at him. His cool blue eyes swam with regret and other complicated emotions. He scooted closer and hooked a leg around me. Not a hug, but barring my escape.

I looked down at his arm again. Unbroken skin with drips of wasted blood.

My mind was swirling with confusion and disbelief, I couldn’t understand what I was seeing. I had to know. I had to. This was unreal. This wasn’t possible. I swallowed hard. Everything in me wanted his blood in my mouth.

He still held both my wrists in his grip. I nodded at my bound hands, his pale fingers biting into me. His eyes crinkled in confusion.

“Do it.” I urged him. I could see the confusion etched on his face.

“Do it.” I repeated, my voice coming out as a desperate plea.

His dread now flowed to me, like a dark tide rolling in.

“Cut me.”

“No.” He blinked in surprise, shaking his head.

“Do it.” I nodded at the knife, glinting menacingly in his hand.

He shook his head. I could see the conflict in his eyes, feel it wash over me, practically taste it.

“Fucking do it.” Each syllable was sharp, my voice laced with anger and fear.

“I won’t hurt you,” he swore as the knife, sharp as sin, licked the back of my hand.

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