To Bleed for Him

"Gut knotted, you don't care.
Mind rotting, through my stare.
You walk away.
Lifeless feeling in my mind,
Bloody hands seem so divine.
You think it'll go away.

Cross my heart, hope to die.
I lost my dream today.
I lost my dream today.
I lost my…"
-SOiL

"I'm so sorry," Antony whispered, sounding as breathless as someone who had no breath could be, as he fell to his knees beside the writhing woman. She twisted from side to side and tightly gripped her bleeding throat, and he could see her jaw working as she ground her teeth together, but she made not a sound aside from the shuffling of her body across the floor. "I didn't…I usually…" But he didn't have the words for this. He didn't have any way to defend himself. He'd nearly killed a woman, an innocent human, and he'd thought it would be acceptable — and not just acceptable, but fucking preferable. What was wrong with him? What the hell had he done?

"It's…" She paused, a grimace twisting her blood-streaked face into something ugly. "It's okay, Antony. I…" Another pause, another cringe. "I've experienced much worse, I promise."

Worse than nearly having her throat ripped out? He doubted her words then just as he'd doubted her words before, but he made no comment. This is why I should only feed from Torryn, he thought as he triggered his pheromones with the barest notion and focused them on her as best he could. Or maybe this was a warning of what's to come. Maybe I should never feed from Torryn again. Maybe this human was more right than he knew.

"Just hold still. I'm doing what I can to help," he told the girl softly, and she nodded only to cringe again at the movement. He watched her for a moment, but his thoughts were far from her, far from the empty ache in his stomach and the scent of blood on the air. Torryn. What do I tell her? How do I protect her? Where do we stand now?

He pushed the thoughts away when Alexis' face visibly relaxed, and she eased onto her back, her red-stained hand falling to lay limply beside her on the floor. "Are you all right now?" He watched as a shudder rippled through her body at the sound of his voice — nothing like the way it rocked Torryn's body. Maybe love did mean something.

"Yes," she breathed, her eyes locked on his and filled with more life than the rest of her body. He wondered just what they felt when he put them under, just what made them twitch.

His eyes dropped to her throat as fresh blood suddenly spurted across the floor. "Hold still. I'll be right back." Quickly, he got to his feet and strode into the bathroom, first grabbing a towel from the closet and wetting a washcloth and then searching through the drawers beneath the sink until he found his unused first-aid kit. He didn't know what good a bit of gauze and antibiotic ointment would do, but what choice did he have? He wanted to avoid alerting the entire house to his lapse in judgment, if at all possible.

Well, look at you, Mr. Selfish, he drawled in his mind as he started back to the still woman on the floor, already pushing more pheromones into the air as he approached. Willing to let a girl die in your arms just so you can keep your precious reputation intact. And you wonder what Torryn will think of you. His lips tightened as he knelt beside the woman, dropping the first-aid kit and towel to either side of him. He began to dab gently at her neck with the warm washcloth, focusing instead on how odd it was that the scent of her blood was affecting him so little and that her wound already seemed to be done bleeding.

"How are you feeling now?" he asked quietly, leaning close to her throat to more closely inspect the injury, and the scent of her wetness reached him as she squirmed. His eyes flicked downward to the denim between her thighs, and for a moment, that dark side of him — I could do anything I want to her, you know — threatened to overtake his mind. But he forced his eyes back to her throat and focused his attention entirely on the wound. "You don't feel like you're going to die, do you?"

"N-no," she stammered, goosebumps clearly discernible along her arms as he leaned back. "I already told you that I've dealt with a lot worse than this."

"I'm having a hard time believing that," he muttered dryly, but he went on before she took it upon herself to explain. "Let me clean this a bit and get a bandage on it, and then you can be on your way."

"Do I have to go, Antony?" she asked with a frown, her too-intense gaze threatening to burn a hole in his face. "Can't I stay here with you while I recover?"

His jaw clenched, and he went back to gently cleaning the wound with the cloth. What was it that he did to these girls? What was it that so drew them in? "I don't think Torryn would appreciate coming home in the middle of the afternoon to find the girl I'd cheated on her with laying in our bed."

"You didn't cheat on her," she said more lucidly than he would've liked. "You just did what you had to do — for her sake and for yours."

He clenched his jaw tighter. "You used that line earlier," he said flatly, "and this still feels wrong."

"You don't even have to tell her, if that would work better for you." His eyes darted to her face, a light bulb clicking on in his mind. He'd never even thought of that. "She never has to know that you have a girl on the side. Never."

His expression abruptly darkened. Of course he'd never thought of that. He was a dick and a bit of scumbag, but he sure as hell wasn't a liar.

But really, at this point, did that do anything to help his case?

No, he thought, dropping the washcloth and opening the first-aid kit. Nothing could help a cheater's case.

-?-

Torryn felt the two men rushing at her from behind rather than saw them, and she spun to meet them head-on, anger still singing through her veins — anger at these vampires, anger at Caesar, anger even at the woman she now fought to protect. She was a sad, lonely woman, she told herself even as an image of her mother sneering at her across the kitchen counter flitted through her mind to further fuel her ire. She was never right, but she doesn't deserve to suffer at the hands of these bloodsucking sons of bitches. That's my burden to bear. It felt weird, accepting it like this, but what other choice did she have?

The bigger man, his nose still leaking blood like a fucked up faucet, threw a meaty fist her way, but she ducked beneath it with ease. With a raised arm, she blocked an incoming kick from the smaller man, then she grabbed his ankle and swung him at the other man like a baseball bat. They toppled to the floor in a cacophony of grunts and growls, and she quickly followed them down, throwing punches at their heads until she was sure that they were unconscious.

A weight on her mind eased, and she realized that she'd finally gotten rid of all three sources of the pheromones. The leader was still conscious, but the last she'd seen of him, he was hiding behind one of the women, half in tears and clutching his jaw. She no longer had to slog through the haze of vampire chemicals to do what she needed, and the familiar ease of instinct began to seep into her mind, a new kind of fog, a good kind.

Maybe this'll be fun, she thought as she rose to her feet and took a deep breath, but her precious instincts almost instantly brought her around. Another man was headed toward her, the one she'd kicked in the chest only minutes ago, and he was going for her neck with those same disgusting pecking motions as before. She clamped a hand over his mouth as he dove for her, careful to avoid breaking his neck as she threw his body backward by the jaw. She couldn't afford to kill any of them right now. She didn't have the weaponry to separate head from shoulders to fully end them, and she didn't think she could face another undead after all of this.

She turned at a sudden sound from her left, but it was from her right that a powerful punch came, knocking her to the floor with a crick in her neck and a dull ache in her jaw. She pushed herself to her knees swiftly, coming face to face with one of the group's only women. The vampire reached for her, taking a tight hold of her neck before Torryn could stop her, but Torryn caught a handful of hair and did the only thing she could think of — she rammed the woman's head into the corner of the overturned coffee table only a few inches away. Her body fell lifelessly across Torryn's lap, and she cringed as she shoved the woman off of her legs, silently hoping that she hadn't killed her.

"Stop her!" she heard the leader cry, his words slurred by the odd set of his jaw. "We can't let her win so easily!" A woman stayed at his side, but the remaining man, the one she'd just thrown, began to advance once more, his teeth bared.

The familiar, tingling warmth of pheromones fell over her once more, covering her mind and her body like a soft blanket. Only the woman's face was perfectly visible in Torryn's mind as her vision began to grow hazy, the woman's wicked smirk pleading for all of Torryn's love and dedication, and the girl's neck and groin began to throb with the promises that smile held. No, she told herself, forcing her gaze back to the man who still moved toward her, now in what felt like slow motion beneath the woman's thrall. She's not Antony, either.

Her movements were sluggish as she rose to her feet, but her vision was slowly beginning to clear. She could do this. She'd fought off the thralls of three separate men only a moment ago. What said she couldn't shake this woman?

Her body begged her to move suddenly, pleaded with her to turn as the hot throbbing throughout her body grew more intense, more near, but she wouldn't be deterred. There was this man right before her, opting for a pocket knife that was identical to the one his companion had threatened her with earlier, and she couldn't be bothered to turn away from him just yet.

Her body grew hotter, though, pleaded with her more intently to turn. There was something right there, something right beside her that desperately needed her attention right at that very moment.

But she realized too late just what that meant.

She threw a punch that knocked the man to the floor, out cold, his pocket knife skidding across the floor. Pain tore through her torso a split second later, the squishy sound of rending flesh sounding so far away, lost outside of the thrall. But that pain…It was here. It was real. It was just what her captor wanted her to notice.

"Good girl," the woman murmured in her ear, and Torryn twisted to look at the knife protruding from her lower back as the vampire stepped away. "You fought just as I'd expected you to, and you'll die just like I wanted."

-?-

With the blood out of the way, the bite marks didn't look quite as bad as Antony had expected. They were nothing like the clean puncture wounds he normally left, nothing like the small, quick-healing holes that he so prided himself on, but he couldn't complain. It looked like a zombie had gotten to her, with the impressions of his teeth standing out so boldly against her skin, but the flesh was still attached for the most part.

She should heal up in no time, he thought, almost pleasantly, as he began to dab at the area with the dry towel. She won't even need —

"She cheated before, didn't she?" the woman's voice broke in in a drunken slur, setting his teeth on edge in an instant. "Not on you, but with you. She can't be mad at you for feeding from another woman when she went all the way with another man, right?"

He dropped the towel and forced his jaw to unclench. "What she did wasn't her fault," he said darkly, trying desperately to push away the memories that flooded his mind — her sweaty, rain-dampened body pressed against his, her moaning, groaning, pleading voice in his ear, her scent and her taste and all of the things he took from her without her permission. A part of him regretted it, but every inch of him would never take it back.

Would we have ended up together if I'd controlled myself? he wondered as he pulled a full tube of antibiotic ointment from the first-aid kit. Would she still be happily with Skylar if I'd stopped? His jaw clenched, a wave of jealousy rolling through him, and he uncapped the tube. She'd be dead by now if she'd stayed with him. He isn't strong enough to keep her safe.

Alexis giggled, and his eyes snapped to her grinning face. "You're so handsome when you get all broody." He rolled his eyes, annoyed, but at least she'd stopped talking about — "Seriously, though. If a girl gets her panties in a twist over a man sating his needs, she's not worth your time." Damn it. Spoke too soon. "You have needs. She has to understand that."

"You have no grasp of the concept of faithfulness in a relationship, do you?" he sneered.

"There is no faithfulness in vampire relationships, Antony," she said, and her serious tone coupled with that deep look in her eyes made him shift uneasily. "There are almost no vampire relationships at all — not outside of the species."

"You're wrong," he all but whispered. But she hadn't been wrong yet…

"Your girlfriend is your dinner, not your date," she went on in a murmur, and when he started to rise, her hand darted out to catch his jaw between her strong fingers. Captivated, captured, he stayed. "Don't turn from me, Antony. You know it's true. All of it, every single thing I've said. How many successful interspecies relationships have you heard of? How many of your cronies are out catching a movie with their human mates right now?"

"It's not…We're not…" Not what? Not what?

"There's a human girl lying half dead on your floor right now, Antony," she whispered, her brow furrowed grimly. "The proof has her tiny fingers wrapped around your face."

He lurched to his feet, and her fingers slipped away without a fight. His heart should've been hammering in his chest; his breath should've been coming in deep gasps or barely coming at all; he should've been sweating, shaking, struggling. But there was no heart, no breath, no change. There was no soul.

"Becca," he called, though he knew she couldn't possibly hear him here. But he couldn't turn from the human, couldn't tear his wide eyes away. She couldn't be right, this pheromone-addled human. She just couldn't. Not again! "Becca!" He finally turned, rushing toward the door, and when he pulled it open, the girl nearly toppled through, grinning in grotesque innocence as she caught herself.

"Yes, sir?" she asked pleasantly.

He shoved the open tube of ointment against her chest, and she just barely caught it before he pushed past her into the hall. "Take care of her injuries and see that she makes it home with whatever payment she likes."

"You can't run from it, Antony," Alexis said softly, but her words followed him down the hall. "I'm sorry that you're learning that too late."

You just did what you had to do — for her sake and for yours. No words would ever haunt him like these.

No words would ever be more right, and no words would ever be more wrong.

-?-

The leader was yelling something, anger coloring his voice, but between the lingering pheromones and the pain, Torryn was too lost to hear what he said. Her eyes wide in terror, she gripped the knife's handle and began to pull, but the fresh burst of pain forced her to her knees before she could get very far. I'm a goner, aren't I? a voice whispered at the back of her mind. After all of that…

But instinct tightened her grip on the knife's hilt and gave a sharp, swift tug. Air rushed through her parted lips in lieu of a scream, and the scent of fresh blood grew pungent on the air. I can't give up so easily, she told herself, clawing her way through the wall of pain to find the rage she'd worked so hard to build. Her fingers closed around it, drew it to her chest and into her still-beating heart where it belonged, and she could clearly see the blade of the knife, slick with the red of her blood, as she held it boldly before her face. Sharp, thick, long but small enough — the serrated edge of a hunter's knife, almost tribal in its look.

She flipped the knife to a more offensive hold as she rose to her feet, and as her eyes found the leader, still red-faced and shouting as before, gesturing wildly in her direction, she was amazed at just how clear everything had become. Every line of the man's features stood out to her like black paint on ivory canvas; every shade and varied hue glowed before her. His words beat upon her ears, the syllables and hard consonants singing to her, a horrific choir, relentless.

"Alive and as uninjured as possible!" he stormed on in his slurring voice, and throwing his hand toward her in another vague gesture, he continued. "I told you that before we even left the house! So you stab her?!"

The woman before him somehow managed to look cowed but nonchalant, all at once. "She was getting out of control," she said with a shrug of her shoulders, though she visibly shrank back from him when he let loose a growl that evolved into a sort of harsh shriek.

"There are other ways to handle that!" he bellowed. "Pheromones, saliva, physical restraint!"

"Sounds more like sex to me," Torryn remarked casually, and when they turned to her, she sprang into action.

The knife's blade slid through the woman's neck without the slightest resistance — a razor blade through butter. Her body dropped to the floor and fell away in a confusing mix of thick, red blood and undead ash. Torryn offered the muddy pile a cursory glance before turning her attention to the leader's bewildered face.

He staggered back a step, and she could feel pheromones flooding her body with no effect but the vaguest secondhand euphoria even as he opened his mouth to speak. "Drop the knife," he ordered in a smooth purr that didn't match his wide, searching eyes — the smooth purr they always used when they thought they were in control of her, mind, body, and soul. "Be a good girl and yield to me as you're supposed to."

The wall shook violently as she rammed him into it, his back cracking the plaster, and a thin tendril of blood snaked its way to pool in the hollow of his throat as she pressed the blade into his neck. "I'm so done being a good girl," she said, her tone vacant of emotion though she wished for venom. The pheromones were sinking in deeper, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't shake the distant ecstasy that begged her to give in to it. It was a struggle to speak at all, let alone to get angry. "Now tell me where your little brood came from and how I can go about getting my father back."

"You can't get him back. There are too many undead. You wouldn't stand a chance," he said, his tone an unimpressive copy of his earlier suavity. More pheromones pressed into her, a hazy wall forming at the edges of her mind, but she wouldn't falter.

She pressed the blade into his throat, and a fresh line of crimson trailed along his skin. "Just tell me where they are, then. I can handle it from there."

"What makes you think he even wants to see you?" he asked, and she felt his body beginning to tremble against hers.

"I don't care if he wants to see me," she said flatly. "I only care about giving him and any other Progeny you may have hidden away their fucking freedom. Now tell me, or you die." More pheromones. The haze grew heavier, but she wouldn't let it cloud her vision; she wouldn't let it conquer her as it always had before.

He searched her face for a moment, waiting, but when nothing in her expression changed, he said, "394 Richland Terrace. Your father is the Lord's favorite pet. He'll be under heavy watch, but he won't be with the bloodbags in the basement."

"The Lord?"

"Our master vampire," he answered, his eyes flicking anxiously to what he could see of the knife. "Strongest one in the city, now that Caesar's dead."

"I seriously doubt that." He opened his mouth to argue, but she pressed the knife deeper into his flesh. "How many other Progeny are there?"

"Eight."

"And other vampires?"

"Thirteen living, other than us, and six undead, including the Lord."

"Fantastic." And with that, she leaned into the knife and sent the blade sliding cleanly through the man's throat and into the wall beyond. The fog left her mind in a rush, and she took a deep breath as she watched his body melt into blood and ash on the floor alongside his head.

"Is it over now?" came her mother's gruff voice from behind her, and the woman cleared her throat as Torryn jerked the knife from the split paint and turned. More strongly, as she stood beside the couch, she said, "Are we done here?"

"As soon as I finish the rest of them off," Torryn answered, gesturing with the tip of the knife to the unconscious vampires strewn across the room. "Pack your bags, though. Once I'm done with this, I'm taking you somewhere safer — and then, I'm going to find Ripley."

Dad.