From Her Vein to the Floor

"Why don't you show me the little bit of spine
You've been saving for his mattress?
I only want sympathy in the form of you crawling into bed with me."
- Fall Out Boy

Torryn stepped into the ring, taking slow, deep breaths in an effort to keep herself calm. It was only a living vampire, just like Antony. How tough could he really be?

Upon finding that she was alone in the ring for the moment, she turned to the crowd and began to search for Antony's encouraging face. A frown shifted her lips when she saw that he was gone, a tall, malicious-looking woman in the place where she'd left him. Her lips curved in a wicked smile when their eyes met, and Torryn felt her cheeks warm before she quickly turned away, her back hitting the wall with the metallic jingle of chain link.

She was surprised to see a man standing with her in the ring, gazing at her from the opposite side. She hadn't seen or heard him come in, but what had she expected? He was a living vampire. They were all a bit stealthy. He was shorter than she'd expected him to be, only inches taller than she was, and his eyes were calm black orbs, voids to get lost in as they bore into her very soul. He slowly smiled, and her chest tightened.

The fight began before she'd even had the time to prepare. She hadn't heard the announcer, hadn't heard any of the sounds intended to initiate the battle. She only knew it had begun because the vampire was lunging at her, quick and calm, like he'd done this a thousand times before – and, hell, he probably had.

Her instincts took over the moment his fist was headed for her face, and she caught it swiftly. His other hand started for her stomach, but she grabbed that one, too. But then, suddenly, he was out of her grasp and clear across the ring, and she was left holding nothing but air.

She rushed toward him, leaping into the air and spinning, preparing to land a roundhouse kick to his face, but he dodged the attack so quickly that he seemed to disappear into thin air for a moment. She landed just in time to receive a kick to the back of her skull, delivered in the same roundhouse style she'd been attempting. She was knocked forward, into the wall of the ring, the aching sting at the back of her skull darkening her vision for a moment. She felt him coming for her again, another blow aimed at her back, and she dipped down and rolled to one side before she could even see clearly again. She landed in a crouch and instantly spun, kicking her leg out to knock his feet out from underneath him. But he leaped over her extended foot with ease, landing on her leg when he came back down.

Two hundred pounds of muscle and flesh landed on her shin, and she cried out in pain. She tried to jerk her leg back, but he wouldn't take his weight off of it, and he had placed one foot on the ring's floor to maintain his balance. Slowly, mockingly, he began to press down on her shin, and she let loose another quiet shriek. Not knowing what else to do, she let herself fall back onto her ass on the bloody black padding and kicked out with her free leg. He leaped backward, far out of her reach, but she'd already gotten what she'd wanted. She pushed herself carefully to her feet, gingerly testing the leg he'd nearly snapped, and he just eyed her tauntingly from across the ring.

In a heartbeat, she was in front of him, tapping into whatever Progeny speed she had to deliver a quick punch to his stomach. It hit, knocking him back into the chain-link fencing, but it didn't hold him back for long. He lurched forward almost instantly, throwing quick punches before he'd even fully regained his balance. She dodged one, then another, then another, and another, until, finally, she sneaked in a blow of her own, a powerful kick to the stomach. He fell back into the wall again, a soft growl escaping him as he watched her, panting, take a couple of steps backward. A quick "come hither" jerk of her finger tugged him into action again.

He aimed a kick at her side; she blocked it. He aimed a kick at her stomach; she blocked it. He aimed a kick at her throat; she blocked it. Three more kicks came, hard and fast, in the same sequence but from the other side, and she blocked them all with her other arm. Finally, she caught his foot when he attempted a kick at her jaw, and she jerked him forward, right into her clenched fist. Blood began to gush almost immediately following the cracking sound of his nose breaking, and he staggered back, his hands covering his face. He glared at her over his fingers, but she didn't speak or move. She merely remained poised to fight.

He released his nose to find his hands covered in blood, but he only shrugged to himself, starting for her again. He was moving even faster now, appearing before her in a split second and swinging toward her nose so quickly that his fist was a blur. By some miracle, she ducked below the punch, but she wasn't so lucky when his knee flew toward her face. It caught her in the jaw hard enough to launch her high into the air, sailing back in an oddly elegant arch until she hit the floor and rolled a few feet, stopping only when her body hit the chain-link fencing.

She rolled onto her back with a groan; the padding hadn't even been enough to cushion her fall from that height. She began to reach for her jaw, wondering if it was broken, but he didn't give her the chance. He was on her in an instant, his foot colliding with the side of her head with enough power to send her sprawling once again. Her vision dimmed, but she didn't pause to let it clear. She hurriedly pulled herself upright using the fence, and with her back to the surface, her fingers still hooked in the chain link, pulled her feet off of the ground and aimed a two-footed kick at where she suspected he'd be coming from. Fortunately, she suspected right, and her feet caught him in the chest in mid-run. He thought he was going to be able to do even more damage while she was down, but he was wrong.

She lowered her now-aching legs to the floor, her vision finally clearing to show her that she'd sent him all the way back to the wall at the other side of the ring. He was on his knees, gasping for air and glaring at her, and she smiled at him with adrenaline-fuelled nastiness.

He was on his feet soon enough, however, and her smile fell to leave her calm and calculating. Her expression didn't change when he began to walk toward her, tugging a switchblade from his pocket and flicking it open. "Do you wanna die, you cocky bitch?" he snarled. She barely heard the words, lost in a haze of adrenaline as she always was, but she smiled.

A few long strides had her at the center of the ring, meeting him halfway in his knife-wielding mission to come kill her. He stabbed at her once, twice, thrice, all in quick succession, but she dodged each attempt. He tried again, swinging the knife toward her throat now and lurching forward each time he tried. But again, she dodged the attacks. Tapping into his vampiric speed, he aimed for her stomach now, swinging rapidly from side to side and stepping forward as he did it. Eventually, all of her dodging had her back to the wall, and his blade tore into her stomach before her instincts could tell her how to defend herself.

She winced but didn't make a sound, catching his wrist when he attempted another stab at her throat. He flipped the weapon in his grip and jabbed at the back of her hand and wrist, cutting and stabbing and drawing a ridiculous amount of blood just to try to get her to let go of him, but she refused to so much as loosen her grip. His free hand sprang to life when he suddenly remembered that he had it, darting out to grab her hand and attempt to pry her fingers loose. Her own free hand grabbed hold of his, trying fruitlessly to pull it away from her bloodied wrist.

While their hands wrestled, she forced her leg between their bodies, pressing her foot against his stomach in an attempt to move him back. He wouldn't budge, however, so she quickly changed tactics. Her foot slid higher and higher on his chest until, in a show of amazing flexibility that she hadn't known she'd possessed, her leg began to snake around his neck. She leaped up suddenly, catching him by surprise as her leg made it all the way around the back of his neck and her weight pulled them down. He caught himself, keeping her wedged uncomfortably between his body and the chain-link wall of the ring, but his hands completely stopped what they were doing, as if he'd forgotten about them. She used his distractedness to her advantage, tugging the knife from his loosened grip even as he began to lift her into the air.

He was preparing to untangle her leg from about his neck and likely toss her ass to the other side of the ring, but she didn't give him the chance. She rammed her newly obtained knife into his shoulder, and he cried out in pain. He dropped her, and she slipped from around him with the knife's hilt still held tightly in her hand, the weapon's blade ripping its way down his arm as it fell with her. Still shrieking in pain, he kicked her in the stomach hard enough to knock the air from her lungs, but another stab of the knife, this one into his thigh, was enough to keep him from trying it again.

"Do you give up?" she asked breathlessly as she pulled the knife roughly from his flesh. A bit of blood fell into her mouth when she spoke, but she did her best not to gag on the odd taste and texture in front of the crowd of bloodsucking beasts that had gathered to watch. He glared down at her, and his foot started forward, once again in a hurry to kick her in the stomach. She stopped it short, however, by stabbing the blade clean through his foot and into the black floor mat, her blood-covered teeth bared in annoyance. "I said, do you give up?" she growled. This time, he nodded, his eyes narrowed in a pained glare.

"And it looks like we have a winner, ladies and gentleman!" the mysterious announcer called out, and the crowd went wild all around.

Torryn tugged the knife out of the living vampire's foot and slowly stood, leaning heavily against the wall with an arm around her bloodied stomach. "I'm keeping this," she informed the boy in a raspy growl while holding the blood-coated knife in front of his face, and he gave her one last icy glare before turning and limping out of the ring, clutching his injured arm tightly against himself as he went. For a moment, she simply watched him, listening as the crowd applauded her victory all around her; and then, finally, she left the ring, the knife slipping from her tired, slippery grasp just outside the gate. She didn't care enough to pick it back up.

Antony's pleasantly smirking face greeted her only a foot from the gate, and he already had a bulging duffel bag in his hand. "I took the liberty of collecting your money for you," he said as he handed the bag to her, and she took it with a tired, grateful smile. She was starting to collect too many duffel bags, but when they all came filled with money, how could she complain? "My profit is in there, too, though, so don't go running off with it."

She laughed and started for the door. "Really, Antony? Do I look like I'm going to be doing any running in the near future?"

He held the door open for her, letting loose a soft laugh of his own. "No, I suppose not." They were silent for a moment, Torryn heading toward the car with a slight limp to her step and Antony walking alongside her while casting small, inconspicuous glances in her direction; then, finally, he asked, "So, are we going back to my place or your place? Or did you want to go out and do something?"

"I think I'll pass on going out in public for the moment," she said with another small, tired smile and a halfhearted gesture at her tangled hair. "Would it be okay if we went back to your place?" Quite a few inappropriate memories awaited her there, but what did it matter? The reason they'd been so wrong was gone now, probably out of her life forever. She could do what she wanted, and she had no reason to feel guilty anymore...right?

He shot her one of his sexy, fangy grins and opened the car door for her. "No problem." She slid into the passenger's seat, and he quickly circled the car. "Are you hungry?" he asked as he slipped into his own seat, turning the car on as he did so.

"I'm always hungry," she laughed, maneuvering the duffel bag into a more comfortable position on the floor between her feet, "especially after a fight."

"That looked like a pretty tough one, too," he remarked while beginning to back out of his parking spot. His eyes flicked to her when she grimaced, but he quickly turned his attention to the road ahead and pulled out of the nearly full parking lot. "I'm surprised you didn't immediately ask for medical attention." His eyes darted to the bloody gash in her tank top, and she put a hand over it to hide the injury from view.

"It's no big deal," she said with a shrug. "He came out way worse than I did, so I really didn't think I needed any help."

"He'll heal faster than you," Antony pointed out. "Honestly, you probably need more help than he did."

"Well, it's too late now, isn't it?" she said, shrugging a second time. "Besides, it's not like I'm going to bleed to death. I'm sure someone would've stopped me from leaving if I was."

"You act like they care about their fighters in there." His words were mean, but his tone was calm, matter-of-fact. "Their medical care is optional. You only get it if you ask for it, and even then, you don't get much. But you're partially right." He smiled softly, more to himself than to her. "I would've stopped you if you were going to bleed out."

She blushed and turned to the window, and she wasn't quite sure why. "Thanks. I'm glad someone is watching out for me."

"No problem." They stopped at a red light, and he turned to her, his smile gone. "But as soon as we get that arm bandaged, you're scrubbing my seats until the smell of blood is gone."

She rolled her eyes and sighed. "Gee, thanks. I'm so glad you care."

He grinned and said again, "No problem." And then, there was only silence. She never even noticed that his pupils had hungrily dilated to swallow the blue of his irises.

-?-

"Are you still hungry?" Antony asked as he unlocked the front door of his oh-so-very modest home.

"Your parents aren't home?" she asked, a worried frown curving her lips.

"Nope," he answered, pushing the door open with a sexy little half smile thrown her way. "They're both at the Arena. Is that going to be a problem?" He entered the house and immediately flipped a switch, lighting the hallway, and she followed with a shake of her head.

"No, not at all. I was just curious." She watched as he closed the door behind her, and he smiled at her again.

"Are you still hungry?" he repeated, a light laugh to his tone. He started for the kitchen without waiting for an answer.

"Of course," she replied, hurrying to follow him. "If you have anything good to eat, anyway."

"Well," he began as he entered the kitchen and flipped another light switch, instantly bathing the room in dim white light, "I was thinking that I would start boiling some water for spaghetti, so we could fix up your wounds while we waited."

"Spaghetti again?" she teased, smiling. "We had that last time you invited me over, and you didn't even make me real sauce." Her eyes fell on the shiny silver counter top, and her smile faded. Her fingertips drifted over the cool surface, right where she'd been lying with Antony hovering over her, right where he'd almost taken advantage of her that first time...

The metallic clang of pots and pans banging against one another rang out, and she jerked her hand back as if she'd been caught in the middle of committing some horrible crime. But Antony wasn't even looking her way, reaching obliviously into a cupboard in search of a pot for the spaghetti. Her eyes flicked down to a streak of wet blood glistening on the counter top, the only evidence of her brief reminiscence, but she made no effort to wipe it away.

"I'm not that good of a cook," he said, laughter still adding a light lilt to his deep voice. "If I made the sauce, you probably wouldn't want to eat it." He emerged from the cupboard with a big, shiny pot in hand, a triumphant smile on his face. "Ragu does a much better job than I could ever do." He then went to the sink and began to fill the pot with water, leaving Torryn to gaze down at the bloody line along the counter once more.

She stood there for a long moment, only the sound of rushing water to break what would have otherwise been silence; then, finally, she turned her attention to Antony. She was startled when their eyes met, and she wondered how long he'd been watching her.

"Should I clean that up?" she asked nervously, having stared at him for a tense moment. She could see it now, the black of his eyes where there should have been beautiful blue, and she swallowed, realizing just how dry her throat had become.

"Don't worry about it." But his voice was tight, his features pinched, and he wouldn't look away from her. The pot of water began to overflow, and only then would he tear his eyes from hers. He turned back to the sink and poured out the excess water, clearing his throat loudly. "Did you enjoy the fight?" he asked in a semi-calm voice, as close as he was going to get to the real thing, while he carefully moved the pot from the sink to the stove.

"You know, I actually did," she answered, leaning on her elbow against the counter. Her eyes on that single trail of blood, she touched her fingertip to the silver surface an inch away and drew a line parallel to it. She didn't know why, and she didn't quite think she wanted to. "It gave me something to do with all of the rage that's been building up over the past month."

He forced a laugh, short and humorless though he tried to sound amused. "There are much more pleasant things you could've done with all that anger" – his eyes flicked to her with a sultry smile – "but I'm glad you were able to tap into it in the ring."

"Mm," she murmured, smiling at his blatant sexuality but refusing to acknowledge it any further. Her eyes fell to the bloody lines on the counter top, his on the slowly heating water, and she began to create another sticky red streak as she asked, "Are people allowed to fight more than once in a night?"

"Not in the same place, no," he answered casually, as if that weren't an odd question at all. "One fight in the Arena, one fight in the human underground, one fight in any other ring you can find – and I can assure you that this city is filled with them, but never more than one in the same place. It would wear the fighters out too quickly, and too much exposure would make their popularity with the crowd go down. People would be less likely to bet on them, and that would just mean bad business all around." He turned to her now, frowning as the curiousness of the question began to sink in. "Why do you ask? You barely seemed to want to fight one fight; you can't be searching for more."

She shrugged, her eyes on her finger as she drew another bloody line, this one noticeably lighter than the others as the blood began to dry along her fingers. "I was just curious." Truthfully, though, she was aching for another fight, itching to get that adrenaline flowing again. It felt so different from the dull hurt she'd been dwelling in for the past month. Of course she wanted to feel it again.

"All right," he said simply, his eyes following her finger as she tried to make another red streak, this one thin and barely there. "What are you doing?"

Her eyes darted to his face in horror, and she quickly backed away from the counter, hiding her arms behind her back. Her cheeks burned. "Should I clean it up?"

He said nothing, merely smirking sexily at the question. He began to walk around the center island, slow and confident and sexy, and her entire body tensed. He'd barely made it a foot when he tapped into that vampire speed of his, suddenly in front of her as if he'd appeared there out of thin air, impatient to get to her.

She could tell by the black of his eyes what he was here for, and her breath caught. He began to reach down, toward her wrist. She closed her eyes and waited. Cool air soon wafted over her stomach, then the damp warmth of breath. He never went near her wrist. His tongue found a sticky trail of blood, following it slowly upward from the hem of her jeans to the deep gash that was the source. She shuddered. Her body relaxed.

"I figured that would be harder," he said softly, a chuckle to his tone. She opened her eyes to figure out what he meant, but he was already lifting her onto the counter, sliding her backward through her carefully drawn blood trails. His lips met hers hastily, hungrily, and she returned the kiss without a moment's hesitation, her eyes slipping shut again.

His hands were gentle, resting on her hips, but his tongue was harsh against hers, delving deep into her mouth as if it were searching for something. She bit it lightly, in warning, but it wouldn't be deterred; Antony wouldn't be deterred. He shoved her onto her back even as he climbed on top of her, his tongue retreating only so he could bite her bottom lip. His fangs entered with a sharp pain but left behind only a soothing, pleasant tingle as his saliva quickly got to work. It wasn't enough to turn all of her injuries into a source of tingling pleasure, but it was more than enough for her lip. He sucked on it roughly, hungrily, taking in as much blood as he could from the small incisions. A needy groan escaped him, a plea for more blood, more quickly.

He released her lip and kissed his way feverishly down her chin, then her jaw line, sinking his teeth into her throat the moment he'd reached it. She cried out, surprised at the suddenness of the bite. Her nails dug harmlessly into the back of his shirt until the pain subsided, once again turned to pure pleasure by his saliva. She let loose a soft moan, her fingers going lax against his back, and he let out a soft growl of what sounded like approval.

Even as he pulled from her vein, even as her head lolled invitingly to one side, he began to work at the button of her jeans, then the zipper, soon pushing them down with her underwear. She kicked her shoes off in the midst of another quiet moan, beginning to wriggle and kick her legs in an attempt to help him get rid of her jeans. It was slow moving, though, and with a growl of impatient frustration, he released her neck to slide off of the counter and take care of her pants.

They hit the floor, and he roughly forced her legs apart, diving between them to taste her with his blood-stained tongue. It slipped deep into her, but it didn't remain for nearly long enough. The tip of it caught her clit as it slipped back out, and she whined pleadingly, gyrating her hips as if to bring his attention back to her. But he had already moved on, his fangs tearing into the flesh of her thigh. She cried out, more in pleasure than in pain, and he groan-growled blissfully as the taste of her combined with the sweet flavor of her blood.

He sucked slowly, tauntingly, teasing himself just as much as he was teasing her. She whined again, grinding against the air and arching her back, trying to get his attention, but he closed his eyes and continued to pull from her more and more slowly. He was already working at his own fly, almost forgetting to kick his shoes off in his sudden hurry to enter her. His jeans hit the floor atop his shoes, accompanied by a pair of black boxers, and he jerked his fangs roughly out of her leg. Blood dribbled down his chin as he took hold of her thighs and pulled her forward on the counter, directly into him. He entered her, and they cried out in unison, all of their titillation coming to an end.

He began to thrust, hard and fast, holding her steady with his hands on her thighs. She leaned up, and he leaned down, and they met in the middle with a deep, hungry kiss. His tongue was in her mouth, her tongue in his, and the taste of blood mixed with the lingering taste of her as they slid along one another, hot and slick.

The scent of blood and sex gradually became overwhelming, intoxicating, and their lips parted as Torryn fell back onto the counter with a moan. He wanted to follow her down, to kiss her, to see what was beneath that tank top, but she arched her back at just the perfect time, in just the perfect way, and he slid even deeper into her. He cried out, his eyes slipping shut in pure ecstasy. He couldn't have stopped if he'd tried.

He came after only a second more, moaning loudly enough to put her own frantic shrieks of pleasure to shame, even as she came with him in perfect unison. It was a miracle he would never forget, a moment he would never forget – and it didn't even involve all of the kinky stuff he was usually into.

He slipped out of her, panting, and she sat up on the edge of the counter with a blissful smile on her face. "The water's been boiling over for a couple of minutes now," and she pulled his bloody face to hers in a gentle kiss, the first tender one they'd ever shared, one that shocked and delighted him to his very core. But the romance was short-lived.

The back of Antony's shirt was gripped by a dark-skinned hand, and a delighted laugh rang out as the boy was jerked backward, away from Torryn, and carelessly tossed across the room. She felt cold without his body there, and she only grew colder when she saw Samuel Abrams stepping into his place.

Holding the knife she'd taken from the living vamp she'd fought earlier, licked clean of both her blood and his, in front of her face, Samuel smirked and chuckled a low, threatening chuckle. "We've decided there's a better way to make money off of you, darling. No fighting required." His eyes scanned her bloody, bitten body, and his smirk grew. "And it looks like you're already well-suited for it."