From Her Vein to the Floor

"I fell hard; It felt good.
This won't last; I wish it would.
It wasn't right, what you did,
But I was just as wrong as you."
- Papa Roach

"Ryan! Ryan!" That was all the crowd had to say. "Ryan! Ryan!" Did they even know Torryn's name? "Ryan! Ryan!" Of course not. She wasn't a regular. "Ryan! Ryan!" But she'd be damned if she left here that way.

Ryan swung at her the instant she was in his range. She was too quick for him, however, darting to the side with a spin and a flare of her short skirt. She had her fist planted in his side before he could even register that she'd moved, and he staggered back, stunned. But he didn't stay that way for long. He steadied himself in a heartbeat and went for her just as she'd gone for him.

One punch, then another, and another. She lurched backward, to the side, ducked down. She didn't expect a knee to be waiting for her, however. It caught her in the jaw with enough force to send her sailing through the air, straight into the cage wall. An unattractive "oof" left her when she finally fell to the floor; but she could barely feel the pain through the adrenaline coursing through her body, barely feel the breeze along her thighs. Her skirt had lifted to show a pair of black, nearly sheer boyshorts, which explained the hoots and whistles from the male-filled audience. But did she notice it? Hell no. She was already getting to her feet, lip lifted in a snarl that showed off a set of blood-covered teeth.

Without giving it a thought, she charged at the man again, fist pulled back and ready to strike. She let it fly the moment she was close enough, but he blocked it with a single hairy forearm, just as she'd expected. She whipped around, lifting her leg and slamming her foot into his stomach, all in one smooth, graceful motion. He flew back just as she had, though he hit the chain-link wall with twice the force. It shook so wildly that it seemed to be threatening to tip over and tear free of the other two walls. He hit the floor with a thud, a couple of disgustingly wet coughs sending blood all over the floor.

"Come on," she heard herself say in a gruff voice. "That can't be all you have, can it? Surely not against a little girl like me?" She watched as he gripped the chain-link and hauled himself up, watched as his eyes narrowed in unadulterated hatred, watched as his chest rose and dropped rapidly with each gasp for air and blood dripped from the corner of his lips. He was unsteady on his feet, barely able to breathe, but clearly not ready to give up just yet.

She rushed forward just as he did the same, meeting him in the center of the ring in a confusing mass of blows. He swung, she swung; thumps and growls resounded through the ring. He caught her fist when it was on its way toward his face, jerking her forward and into his own fist. She gasped as the blow to her stomach knocked the air from her lungs, but she got no chance to recover. He was already lifting her into the air.

Instinct led her astray here, giving her no useful information. She struggled as he held her over his head, wiggling helplessly in the air. Her nails dug into his arms in another useless attempt at making him put her down. Finally, she was released, but not in the way she'd wanted. He'd thrown her at the wall as hard as he could.

Her instinctual wits returned to her at the very last possible moment, and she just barely managed to flip herself into a more preferable position before colliding with the wall. Her feet met the chain-link. A jolt of pain along her calves caused her to cry out softly, but the nails and metal devices holding the wall to the adjacent pieces of chain-link gave before the landing did much more damage. She managed to execute a flawless back flip she'd never done before, had never even known she was capable of, as the wall fell, landing in a crouched position on top of the flimsy thing once it met the floor.

Instantly, she rushed forward, ignoring the dull, throbbing pain in her legs. She couldn't let him pull something else like that. She couldn't let him have the advantage.

She reached him in only seconds, leaping into the air as he attempted another punch. He would've hit her, but she was already spinning, in the process of executing a high roundhouse kick. He moved to block the blow, but he was much to slow. The front of her foot connected with his face, the arm he'd been preparing to block with falling uselessly to his side. Blood flew along with saliva, and his body completed a full 360-degree spin before falling lifelessly to the floor. He was out.

Torryn landed on her feet, but quickly fell to her knees, panting. Over the wordless shouts and cheers of the amazed crowd, she could just barely make out her name. "Torryn! Torryn!" It was soon echoed throughout the rest of the audience. "Torryn! Torryn!" Smiling wryly, she stood, raising an arm to wave at the crowd.

Finally, they knew her name.

-

"What is it with you and tearing apart my ring?" the bouncer man asked with a smile that contradicted the tone of his words.

"Sorry," she said with a light, airy laugh. She was still a bit breathless from her fight. "It helps to make the fight more theatrical, I think." She took a swig from the bottle of water he'd gotten for her, swishing it around in her mouth before swallowing. "Is the blood gone yet?" she asked, baring her teeth in a freakish parody of a smile.

He laughed. "Yeah. Your pearly whites are pearly white once again."

"Thanks," she said with a more normal smile. She took another sip of the water and let out a pleased sigh. It was lukewarm, but damn, was it good. "What's your name, Mr. Bouncer Man?" she asked, realizing that she'd talked to him a few times now and still had no clue what to call him.

"Simon," he replied, "but I prefer to be called Sy. Simon sounds too innocent, especially in my line of work."

"Makes sense," she said with a nod, looking out over the parking lot. She leaned against the hood of Antony's car, wondering if he would freak out on her for it when he got back. What the hell was taking him so long, anyway? He was just supposed to be getting her money and getting his ass back out to the car. She was tired, and she really didn't want to spend too much more time here tonight.

"Are you coming back tomorrow night?" Sy asked. She turned to find him looking her over, his eyes lingering on her bare legs for a little bit longer than necessary. He must have been a leg man.

"Maybe. Should I?" she asked in return, raising her eyebrows at him. She took another sip of her water, though she didn't look away or change her expression.

"Most of that crowd is in love with you," he said as his eyes finally met hers. He didn't seem fazed by the knowing look in them. "If you keep coming back, they'll only like you more. Which can get you a lot of money, a lot of presents, and a die-hard following."

She laughed lightly, once again turning from him to scan the parking lot. "Sounds creepy."

He shrugged, and the car shifted slightly as he put his weight against the hood as well. "Worth it, though."

"I'll consider it," she said with a grin. "But you have to promise to keep the creepers away from my if they get too creepy. I'm a tough-ass bitch, but even I can't fight off a mob of crazy men all by myself."

He chuckled. "All right. I'll do what I can." He glanced at the building and quickly stepped away from the Ferrari, causing it to shake again. "Antony's back."

While he was eager to get away from the car to avoid getting scolded by its owner, she reclined on it, laying her entire torso across the hood. Her cami slid up to reveal a little bit of her pale stomach above the low-rise waist of her skirt, but she didn't really care. "What took you so long?" she asked when she heard the boy's footsteps coming closer.

"I was looking for something," was his answer.

"What?" This time, the answer came in the form of a towel being thrown over her face. She quickly sat up, catching the towel in her free hand as it fell away from her face. "Why?"

"Clean yourself up a bit," Antony said, opening the driver's-side door and tossing a bulging black duffel bag over the middle console and onto her seat. "I can't take you anywhere with blood all over your face."

"I have blood on my face?" She handed her water to Sy and began scrubbing at her face with the towel.

"Where are you taking her?" the bouncer asked, cocking an eyebrow at Antony.

The boy merely smirked. "It's a surprise." Turning his attention to her, he added, "Now, let's go. There are about ten guys just standing out here, watching you. I don't know what they want, exactly, but it can't be good."

"What?" she asked, lowering the towel in order to glance around. She saw nothing; but now that he mentioned it, she did feel a bit weird...like she was being stalked... "Yeah. We should go." She hoped it was just paranoia, but she slid off of the hood and made her way to the passenger's-side door, anyway. "Bye, Sy," she said with a smile as she opened the door.

He waved in response, water sloshing around in the bottle he'd forgotten was in his hand, then turned to Antony. "You didn't start any trouble inside, did you?" he asked. "My job's hard enough as it is."

"No trouble," Antony said with a devious little smirk. "Just tell anyone who asks that Torryn will be back tomorrow. Don't brag about her too much, though. We still want people to bet against her." He winked and slid into the car.

"I'll do what I can," the bouncer said with another quick wave. He started back toward the building as Antony started the car, Torryn's bottle of water still in hand. She wondered if he would remember to get rid of it or not...

"So where are we going?" she asked as Antony backed out of his parking spot and took to the road.

"Do you like Italian?" he asked in return, barely glancing at her before speeding around a corner with a squeal of tires.

"Yeah," she answered slowly, cocking an eyebrow at him. "But I doubt there are any Italian places open this late at night."

"I know," he answered so casually that she became uneasy, expecting some sort of trick to come from this. She had no idea what, but something. And not something good.

"Then where are we going?" she had to ask, too uncomfortable not to.

"You'll see," he said with another one of his sexy smirks. For some reason, that just made her feel even more suspicious. But she said nothing more. What else was she going to do? Throw the car door open and dive onto the pavement to escape?

Yeah. She'd just deal with whatever happened when they finally stopped.

-

"Where are we, exactly?" she asked as she finally stepped out of the car half an hour later. She found herself facing a rather large farmhouse, sitting right at the front of what appeared to be several acres of forests and fields. It was stark white in the darkness of the night, a chandelier-like light fixture hanging from the second-story porch roof to give the front of the building a ghostly glow. The many windows along the front of the house were dark between the tall white pillars of the porch. It appeared that no one was home.

"My house," Antony replied, quietly shutting his door. "We're a few miles from town now." She heard his soft footsteps on the gravel behind her, slowly drawing closer, but she didn't turn to face him. She was much too fascinated by the house. It was pretty average for the farmhouses around here, but she was used to the houses in town. This place was huge in comparison.

"And why are we at your house?" was her next question. "Miles from town, in the middle of the night?" She watched as he walked past her now, offering her a fangy smile as he went.

"Because you said you liked Italian, and I'm sure you're hungry." He was unlocking the door now, soon opening it to the darkness within. He stepped aside and gestured toward the pitch-black interior. "Please, come in. My parents are out of town on business, so there's no need to worry about running into them." She eyed him suspiciously for a moment longer, then strode up the porch's stairs and into the house.

He flipped the light switch beside the door when he followed her in, the door swinging softly shut behind them. Overhead was another of those chandeliers, brightly illuminating a wide hallway with walls the same white as the exterior of the house. She could see a living room setting through the open doorway to her left, a dining room setting through the door to her right. She could already see a kitchen up ahead.

"Does spaghetti sound all right?" he asked as he walked by her once more, his shoulder just barely brushing her when he passed.

"Sure," she said while automatically beginning to follow him. "As long as you don't plan to poison me, of course." Their footfalls were quiet on the dark wood of the floor, almost eerily so.

Antony chuckled, flipping another light switch. "Why would I poison you? I plan to make a lot of money off of you in the future." He made his way past the stainless-steel island in the center of the massive kitchen, stopping at a similarly shiny counter to open a mahogany cupboard overhead.

That doesn't mean you won't do something else to me, though, she couldn't help thinking, leaning against the island and carefully following his every move. He had told her about the power his kind had over hers, after all. He could force her to do his bidding now, and then do it again when it was time for the next fight. Or did it not quite work that way? She still had a lot to learn.

"You're not a vegetarian or anything, right?" he questioned, glancing from a jar of sauce to her. "All I have is meat sauce."

She arched an eyebrow at him. "Really? You invite me over here for 'Italian,' but you're going to feed me from a jar? That's cheap."

He smirked, apparently not seeing anything wrong with it. "Hey, I'm lazy. If you want the real stuff, you're going to have to make it yourself."

She sighed, turning to put her back to him as well as the counter. "Some host you are, asking the guest to prepare the meal herself." He chuckled, but said nothing more.

She listened as he shifted about in the kitchen. A pan was taken noisily from another cupboard, spaghetti pulled from yet another. The pan was filled with water, then placed upon the stove with a soft clang. There was a short click as a burner was turned on. But then, there was silence. So of course it came as a surprise when he was suddenly speaking from right beside her.

"You don't look like you eat well," he remarked, his eyes sweeping up and down her frame as they'd done many times before. She turned to him, trying to control the jumpy movements with which she did so. "Not much; and even then, not healthily. How often do you eat?"

"Once a day," she answered, caught off guard by the strange question, "sometimes twice if I snag something good from the kitchen in the morning."

He moved to face her now, a bit too close for comfort. It didn't help that her back was already pressed against the counter's edge. "What do you usually eat?"

"Well, I had an apple for breakfast the other day." She tensed as he lifted her shirt to reveal her stomach, flat but not really toned, just as it had always been. "I think I had macaroni and cheese for dinner, and grilled cheese the day before that."

"Well, that explains this," he said, lightly prodding her stomach. "You don't get much exercise, either, do you?"

"Not really, no," she answered as she knocked his hand aside and pulled her shirt down. He was gradually making her more and more uncomfortable...

"You should change that," he pointed out, letting his arm fall to his side but not moving away. "Though I suppose you already have in a way. Fighting is good for more than just making money."

"Yeah," she said, "right." She hoped that agreeing with him, even halfheartedly as she had, would get him to drop the subject and go back to making her food. Luckily, it did.

Antony walked back to his spot by the stove, turning the burner up after considering the still water in the pot for a moment. "How are things with your boyfriend?" he asked, nothing in his tone to suggest that he really cared. He was merely making conversation.

"All right," she answered, turning to watch him over the island counter. She leaned against it, her elbows against the steel surface and her chin on her palm. "He should be off of work by now, though," she muttered more to herself than to the boy, "and I believe I left my cell phone at home." He would be texting her soon if he hadn't already, and she hoped that he didn't find it too suspicious that she wasn't replying. Then again, why would he? He knew nothing of what she was or of the dangerous things she'd gotten herself into. For all he knew, she was just at home, going to bed early.

Antony nodded, letting out a soft grunt of understanding. "Do you ever plan to tell him about this?" was his next question, as though he were reading her mind. He moved closer to her, leaning against the side of the counter adjacent to hers.

"I'm not sure," she said, her bony shoulders shifting in a slight shrug. "I haven't really given it much thought yet."

"Are you planning on staying with him for the rest of your life?" He shifted closer, barely an inch, but she caught it. He wasn't...hitting on her, was he?

"I don't know. Probably." She straightened, removing her elbows from the counter and doing her best to surreptitiously move just a few inches away from him. He didn't follow, nor did he even seem to notice her attempt to put space between them. Perhaps she was just being paranoid... "I haven't really given that much thought, either."

At that, Antony could only cock an eyebrow in an expression of disbelief. "Really? I thought every girl expected to stay with her boyfriend forever the second they started dating."

"Well, I can't speak for other girls, but that's not what I did," she told him, shrugging once again.

"Have you dated many guys before?" he asked, seeming as if he were merely trying to get to the bottom of something, not just being a nosy jerk.

"Not really, no." She hopped up onto the counter now, her butt colliding with the steel almost silently. "I was with one guy for about a month my sophomore year, another guy for about four months my junior year, and then, I found Skylar."

"So, you're not just another stupid teenage girl desperate for love?" he asked with a wry smile.

"I guess not," she answered, returning the smile. "I'm sorry if that disappoints you."

He shrugged. "I'm sure I could still get you if I wanted you," he stated, causing her smile to fall, "but we're getting off topic. I wouldn't suggest telling him anything until you're sure you want him to know."

For some reason, that bothered her. Shouldn't she already want him to know? They'd been together for a year, after all. Shouldn't she have been eager to be completely honest with him? If he really wanted to be with her, he'd let her prove that she wasn't just a lunatic. But would he stick around even if he believed that she wasn't human?

She emerged from her thoughts to find him gazing at her in a very unnerving manner, extended fangs poking gently into his lower lip. "You know what I just realized?" he asked, blinking slowly, almost seductively. "We still don't know how you react to vampires."

She felt her fight-or-flight begin to kick in, triggered just by the predatory look in his eyes; but before she could leap from the counter and take off down the hallway as she wanted to, a sweet scent met her nose. It was subtle, light, snaking into her nostrils with the feel of a soft silk scarf. It was the scent of roses and graveyard dirt, of raindrops and ashes, of sex and death. It was indescribable, but irresistible.

He was on top of her in what felt like a hazy eternity but was only an instant, forcing her to lie down on the stainless steel counter as he straddled her waist. She hit the metal hard, but the pain was no more than a dull pang in her back, the thud of her collision a distant boom of thunder. But when he touched her, she felt the pressure tenfold. His fingers against her throat tingled as he brushed away a lock of auburn hair, his hand sliding up her shirt felt like a block of ice against her stomach.

"Can you hear me?" he murmured, the words clear and echoing in her mind. He gazed at her with half-lidded eyes, eyes that held a barely controlled lust, and she couldn't look away. She didn't think she wanted to. "Can you hear me?" came those same hushed words again, resounding in her ears for what seemed like hours after they were spoken.

"Yes," she breathed in response, though she barely heard herself. Her heartbeat was loud in her ears, right alongside his. They were beating in time, together, as one. Even their breathing was synced. It all felt so...erotic.

"Do you want me to stop?" came his next question, once again abnormally loud in her mind. His hand slid slowly up her stomach, his touch becoming something more than just a chunk of ice. It was more like chilled velvet, cold but so soft, so smooth...One finger brushed her nipple, then another, and another, until he was cupping her breast. She'd forgotten she hadn't worn a bra.

A niggling thought in the very back of her mind told her to say yes, told her to reach up and take his hand from her chest, but how could she? It felt like a lover's touch, not a stranger's. It was perfect.

"You haven't even started," she heard herself say. That niggling thought grew stronger, nearly shouting, "No, you idiot! Stop!", but the words were lost beneath Antony's soft, throaty chuckle. Another deep breath, another whiff of that indescribable scent, and they were completely gone.

"Of course," he murmured, his breath brushing her ear as he leaned closer. She groaned, an intense shiver trailing along her spine. She felt herself growing wetter and wetter as he ran a single fingernail down the side of her neck, sending another shiver along her spine. She felt the warmth of blood begin to ooze down her throat a moment later, sharply contrasting with the chill of his skin against hers. His lips, too, were cool against her throat, kissing at the long, bloody cut. His tongue was colder, darting out here and there to lap up a bit of the blood.

An odd mixture of hot and cold began on her thigh as he touched her with a blood-covered finger, his palm soon following. They slid slowly upward, the heat gradually fading until only the chill was left behind where his fingers slipped into her boyshorts. They maneuvered into her, the chill doubly shocking against her own wet heat.

A moan that sounded like a sob escaped her as his fangs slid into the uninjured side of her throat, another white-hot heat in a sea of ice. It started out as a mild sting, dulled by the vampiric pheromones filling her lungs, then became a source of pure pleasure when the vampire saliva began to take effect. She let out another moan, one that felt like a scream but sounded soft and far away in her vampire-induced stupor. The combination of his pulls from her vein and his fingers sliding rapidly in and out of her tore from her another scream-moan, one that was likely to leave her throat feeling sore later.

She was on the brink of orgasm when he stopped, slipping his fingers out of her panties and his fangs out of her neck. She whined, already missing the pleasure they brought. She should've been panting, but her breath was still synced with his, calm and even. He hovered over her, licking the wetness from his fingers with a blood-reddened tongue. Her eyes intently followed his every move, taking in everything from his half-lidded eyes to his sharp fangs to the smirk that encompassed it all. She couldn't tear her eyes away, and she knew she didn't want to.

"You're shivering," he told her, his voice a soft murmur. Only then did she notice that her entire body was quivering between his legs, every fiber of her being shaking with need. His smirk grew. "Do you want more?"

Abruptly, the pheromones left the air, only a hint of their effects lingering within her. Her heartbeat and her breathing were her own now, the sounds of Antony's words no longer magnified. But the vampire saliva was still flowing through her veins and working at full force. The cut he'd left on her neck, the bite marks, even her raw throat and the bruise on her back were void of hurt. They ached with pleasure, not with pain.

"No," she barely managed to get out, her voice ragged and her breath coming in gasps. Before she could say more, her fight-or-flight finally kicked in, and she shoved the boy right off of her and onto the floor. "Asshole!" she shouted as she sat up, glaring at where he sat on the floor, stunned by her sudden outburst.

"Is this because I didn't get you off?" he asked as he got to his feet, honestly confused. She reached for him in an obviously threatening manner, and he took several steps away from the counter where she sat.

"No, you moron!" she yelled, even though a slight twinge of pain was beginning in her throat. "It's because you had your fingers in my-" Her cheeks went from snow white to beet red in a millisecond. "And your fangs were..." She put a hand over the bite marks on her neck and averted her gaze as her cheeks attempted to turn an even darker red. "I have a boyfriend, you know," was all she could think of to say.

"And I have a goldfish," he said in a highly sarcastic tone, crossing his arms.

She looked back up at him, an eyebrow arched in confusion. "What?"

"I thought we were talking about things that don't matter," he told her with a wink before making his way to the stove.

She turned to watch him pass, opening and closing her mouth several times as she repeatedly failed to come up with a comeback. Finally, she slid off of the counter with an indignant mutter of "You're such a jerk." Something glistened on the stainless steel, and she couldn't help but look a bit more closely. When she realized what it was from, she didn't blush as she'd expected. She merely turned her attention to Antony, remembering how he'd licked the very same substance from his fingers...She shuddered.

But what would she tell Skylar?