I'm Half-Doomed and You're Semi-Sweet

He felt a kind of relief as he finished the last bit of his story; like a burden was being lifted from his shoulders or as if a part of his soul had been calmed or set free, for that matter.

He moved his gaze to the girl in front of him, wishing he could read her thoughts.

He was getting nothing from the conscientious stare she was studying his demeanor with.

Unfortunately, vampires with that power were one in a million. Pete had never met one before; even Beckett hadn’t had the ability to do that, although he had been able to teleport at will. That was how he had escaped numerous times before. As long as no one was touching him, he could vanish.

Of course, he always had the knack of disappearing a split second before Pete could get to him.

He vaguely wondered if special powers as those could be learned.

He was somewhat startled when she finally spoke.

“I feel like I’m going to regret saying this, but…” she began, giving a sigh. “Fuck it. You can stay as long as you need to.”

“I don’t want your charity,” he spat back. He was quick to resort to his defense mechanism.

“Christ, Wentz!” she exclaimed, slamming her hand down on the coffee table in front of them in frustration. “Are you always this difficult?!”

He opened his mouth to retort, but realized he had nothing to say.

“I mean, for the love of God, it’s not charity, I’m fucking being a nice Goddamn person!” she shouted.

He felt his lips twitch upwards in an unintentional smile as she continued to rant; watching this petite “hunter” explode at him was striking him as humorous for some reason.

“Mind telling me what’s so fucking funny?” sheasked demanded of him rather angrily.

“You,” he laughed. He soon managed to calm down, noticing her staring at him in an odd way.

He stared back, feeling an emotion he thought he’d never feel again: lust.

Before long, her lips had connected with his, and they moved in sync together.

His mind began to wander, and he couldn’t help it.

Should he trust her?

Probably not.

Well, she had helped him make Patrick’s blend.

Only because she didn’t want to risk you biting her, that dark, inner voice argued.

His thoughts were interrupted by her loud moan when his fangs grazed her throat.

He suddenly stopped, pulling away and looking at her.

She stared back, breathing heavily and face a little flushed.

One look, and he was in her bedroom, removing his hoodie and t-shirt as she kicked off her jeans.

Her eyes lingered on the bat-shaped tattoo on his lower abdomen as they shed the rest of their clothes.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” he informed her, joining her on the bed.

“Who said it did?” she replied, raising an eyebrow back at him before forcefully connecting their lips once again.