To Bleed for Him

"I'll always be your shadow
And veil your eyes from states of Ain Soph Aur.
I can't be the hero anymore.
I spit up on my plate, and then I turn and walk away.
I spit up on my plate, and I disrupt the family.
I spit up on my plate as I sever the entity.
And I feel your warm sun on my face.
Separate, separate, separate, separate!"
- Mudvayne

Books tumbled from Antony's back, thudding to the floor at his sides, as he pushed himself onto his hands and knees. He bared his sharp teeth at the Lord in a snarl that tore at his busted lip, and as the vampire only laughed, walking slowly toward him with a snapped wrist dangling uselessly at his side, he couldn't help but wonder how they'd gotten this far. All this damage done — the library fallen all around them, his every bone, muscle, and neuron aching as if they'd all fought in their own personal battles, Skylar and Torryn and her father all down for the count — all in only a matter of minutes. How? How was it that his nose was leaking blood, that bruises were forming along his arms and beneath his clothes, that bones were fractured and throbbing inside his skin? He was a vampire, damn it! An undead! How could he be losing to someone like the Lord?!

His rage redoubled, he lurched to his feet and sprang at the man, sinking his teeth into the pristine white of his throat before he had the chance to bat him away with his one working arm. Arctic blood flooded Antony's mouth, and he nearly gagged on the ashy flavor. It was like he was feeding from a cadaver — but, then again, he kind of was, wasn't he?

The Lord growled, a sound of annoyance but not of pain, and clutched Antony's shoulder with his good hand. He began to pry at him, his nails digging through Antony's shirt to sting the flesh beneath, but Antony wrapped his arms tightly around the cold man and bit deeper. With a jerk of his head, he ripped a chunk of flesh free, and blood spurted across his face and front.

With a cry — pain now, just what Antony wanted to hear — the Lord pulled at him with renewed vigor, and Antony was suddenly on the ground, his head bouncing off of the floor to send the world spinning. He coughed as the mouthful of blood he still held tried to slide down, and he turned his head to spit it out. This is it, he thought when he realized that he couldn't feel his limbs beneath the heavy tingling that had set in, that he couldn't see the room beyond the ceiling that whirled above him. He's going to rip my head off and bathe in my blood like the sick pervert he is. I'm fucked.

But, suddenly, with a twitch of his nose, he caught the familiar scent of that sweet blood, that blood he knew so personally — Torryn. He let his cheek fall to rest on the floor, trying desperately to catch sight of her somewhere in the room, but the world blurred and began to dim. Torryn, he thought in a panic. I…I have to help her. He tried to lift his arms, but beyond a pathetic shudder, they didn't move. No, he all but whimpered in his mind. No! Torryn!

A crash, a snarl, a woman's cry…

Then, darkness.

-?-

Instinct drove Torryn between the Lord and Antony, so when the Lord dove after the boy, it was she who he landed on, she who threw him into the ruins of his own bookshelves and their contents. She didn't have time to check in-depth, but she thought she'd seen Antony blinking. He'll be okay, she told herself, even as she landed atop the Lord with a soft cry, straddling him with her gore-covered knife to his throat. We're all going to make it out of this.

Her abdomen throbbed when he flung her aside, and her throat burned when he landed atop her with his fingers wrapped around her neck. She shoved at him with one hand and aimed the knife at his skull with the other, but he caught them both in a single hand and pinned them down over her head with one fell swoop, his arms a pale blur of vampiric speed. But even as her wrists stung in the tightness of his grip, she refused to release the dagger.

Blood poured from his gaping neck to spatter across her chest, much cooler and thicker than it should've been, and she cringed. "How have you done it?" he asked gruffly. "Has that boy actually managed to take you from me?" She could feel the pheromones washing over her, twining their way slowly through her, but her body remained just as rigid and her mind just as focused as ever. She wouldn't give herself over to him. Not again. "Are you his now?" Disgust colored his tone, and the onslaught of pheromones grew heavier. She began to loosen up beneath him, but she found an image of Antony, barely conscious on the floor, and clung to it. Rage stiffened her muscles once more.

Her forehead connected with his nose with a crack, and with every ounce of strength she could muster, she forced her arms from his grasp and shoved him away. He toppled to the floor at her side, but he was already on his feet by the time she was up, diving at her once more as if blood wasn't gushing from his nose like water from a faucet. She danced out of his reach as his arm stretched after her.

"How has he taken you?" he nearly wailed, and she leapt backward when the tips of his fingers brushed her throat. "His power could never hold a candle to mine! Not even a candle!"

"I'm so sick of all this!" she screamed, knocking his hand aside when it stretched toward her again and throwing a punch so rapid that it even surprised her, catching the vampire in the jaw before he'd even seen it coming. He staggered back, stunned. "I'm so sick of everyone always having to own me!" Tears burned her eyes, but she lunged for him, swinging the knife at his throat so quickly that the blade was a near-invisible blur of red and silver. He hopped backward, but she followed, swinging again and again and again. "I don't care if I'm a Progeny! I don't care if I'm just supposed to be some weak little woman!" He leapt back and back and back until he was against the wall beside the fireplace, and in a fit of rage, she stabbed the dagger into the wall not even an inch from his head, and it disappeared up to the hilt in drywall. He gazed at her in pure startlement, but she could feel the pheromones crashing around her, ineffective waves upon the air. "I'm not doing this anymore!" she roared, slapping her empty palm against the wall to the other side of his head. "I don't belong to you, I didn't belong to Skylar, and I don't belong to Antony!" Her tears were surprisingly cold as they streaked down her cheeks, but her glare was anything but. She jerked the knife from the wall and pressed it against the man's throat once more. "But you'd better believe that those boys are mine," she went on in a dark murmur, something new welling in her chest — protectiveness, possession, maybe even love, "and if you or anyone else in this Godforsaken town ever lays a hand on them again, I will burn it all right to the fucking ground with you inside." Several droplets of blood rolled down the front of the Lord's throat. She hadn't realized just how hard she was pressing that knife into his skin, but honestly, she didn't care. "You got that?"

His hand darted out suddenly, reaching for her throat, but she caught it in an iron grip, her glare never wavering. She pushed the knife in deeper. "We can keep fighting if you want, but I promise you," she hissed, "I will win." Even more pheromones filled the air now, forcing themselves into her nose, her mouth, her very pores, but she wouldn't be swayed.

A moment passed, a staring contest that he could never hope to win, until finally, finally, he dropped his gaze. The pheromones dissipated, and she took a slow, deep breath.

It was over.

-?-

Skylar watched in awe as Torryn lowered her knife and took a large step away from the Lord. He met her gaze again, and the human could only numbly shake his head as a respectful look passed between them. She'd been moaning on his lap ten minutes ago. He'd been eating her, for Christ's sake! What the hell had happened?

"I have a sneaking suspicion that this truce won't hold for long," the vampire began, pressing a hand to his throat, "but I'll respect your wishes for now."

"Thank you," she said softly, almost timidly, nothing like the warrior princess she'd been only seconds ago. She wiped the knife off on her jeans, but they were nearly as bloody as the blade was. She didn't even seem to notice, though, taking another step back to add to the space between herself and the Lord. Her eyes drifted first to Antony, eyeing her sideways from where he still lay motionlessly upon the floor, then to Skylar. Their eyes met, and he watched as a fresh set of tears welled and spilled over.

"It's a shame, though," the Lord remarked nonchalantly as he raised his broken wrist to examine it. "You would've made such a fine pet."

She ignored him as she rushed to Skylar and knelt beside him. "Are you…" She paused when her voice hitched, then tried again. "Are you okay, Skylar?" He could only stare at her as she reached out to wipe at his sweat-soaked forehead with the back of her hand, tears still flowing freely as her eyes desperately searched his face. "What did he do to you?"

"You don't need to worry about me," the boy said softly, shaking his head to shake off his shock. "Physically, I'm fine. It's your boyfriend you should be worried about." Her brow furrowed, her worried eyes suddenly flooded with confusion, and he dared to hope that it was all because she thought he was still her boyfriend. But the hope was short lived, as she lurched to her feet and all but sprinted across the room to Antony's side.

How stupid of me, Skylar thought bitterly as he leaned against the wall and watched her body growing farther away from him with each quick step. He remembered when she'd wanted to marry him, to be with him forever, and he nearly spat. So fucking stupid of me.

But he couldn't take his eyes off of her, couldn't tear his thoughts away, and as she bent down to crouch beside her bloodsucking lover, he was quick to notice a black and white body blurring toward her from the front of the room. No sooner had she crouched than a man — the very man she'd knocked unconscious and prepared to kill only minutes ago — appeared behind her to wrap a thick arm around her neck. No, the boy thought, terror ripping through him like a shriek, but he didn't have the energy to rise. The fallen bookshelf shuddered at his command, but he couldn't lift it. How had reminiscing drained him so much? This didn't make any sense!

"I told you our truce wouldn't hold," the Lord chuckled, and the smug look on his ashen face made Skylar redouble his efforts to lift the shelf — but still to no avail.

As he watched the nameless vampire pull Torryn to her feet with a rough jerk, Skylar tried to stand, but even with the help of the wall, he could only make it to his knees. The bookshelf trembled just a bit more violently, softly scraping against the hardwood floor. Come on. Come on!

"Such a pity," the Lord went on in a low murmur, the purr of a murderous jungle cat with eyes only for its prey. He smirked as his minion turned to force Torryn's gaze to his. She glared. "I've truly never seen a more intriguing specimen in all my years of undeath."

The nameless vampire gripped her jaw with one hand while the other tightly gripped her arms, and as Skylar imagined what would come next — the twist of her head, the tangle of her brown hair, the harsh crack of bone, all as some lowly vamp snapped her neck — he tripled his efforts, quadrupled them, and the bookshelf shuddered its way into the air. It would hurt her, too, if he threw it, but at least she wouldn't be dead…

The crunch of bone met his ears when Torryn threw her head back, and a flurry of motion at the vampire's feet drew the boy's eyes downward. Antony's pale hands gripped the man's legs, and with a jerk, the vampire sent the man toppling to the floor. Torryn slipped easily from his arms as he fell, and she danced gracefully back as Antony fell on the man. One second, he was gripping the vampire's jaw; the next, blood was spurting into the air like a geyser as the vampire's head bounced along the hardwood with a series of dull thumps. The blood ceased as the man's remains fell to ash in a rush, and Torryn turned her glare to the Lord once more.

"If you would've skipped the bragging and just had the man do the deed," she began, her glare remaining steady on the Lord as she crossed the room to kneel at her father's side, "you wouldn't be such a hilariously useless villain right now." Her father blinked slowly, his glimmering eyes filled with the same awe that Skylar so often felt toward her, and Torryn drew him carefully to his feet with a hand under his arm.

"Seriously," Antony said, coming to stand on her father's other side, eyeing the Lord with utter distaste. "I might be younger than you, but I'm a hell of a lot smarter, and that's just sad."

The Lord only laughed, still grinning away. "I just can't help myself sometimes," he said with a helpless shrug, then turned from them to smile into the fireplace. "You should go now, before I lose control of myself again. It's hard to pretend that such delightful insects just aren't there."

Finally, Skylar made it to his feet, the bookshelf having slipped from his grasp long ago without his even noticing, and he watched as Torryn, with an arm around her father's waist, guided the man from the room. "Torryn?" he called after her, but she wouldn't even glance his way.

He wouldn't have looked at himself, either. God! How much more useless could he get?

"Torryn?" Antony tried, but she reacted to him just the same, and he swept out of the room after her in a hurry. "Are you all right?"

Skylar started to hobble out after him, with no one to come to his aid, but a sudden chuckle from the Lord brought him to a stop in the doorway. He glanced back to find the vampire smiling at him, an all-too-knowing glint to his eye.

"I know you enjoyed it all," he rumbled, "on some level. I can give you all of that without the pain, if you ever desire it. You can have her in your arms again and all around you. You only have to ask."

A shudder rippled through the boy as he remembered every memory he'd just relived in a split second — Torryn, Torryn, Torryn! — and his eyes were wide and focused on the Lord when he returned to himself. He couldn't believe that he was even tempted…but how could he not be?

"Sorry," he finally said, and his voice cracked. "I don't think I want to become a vampire's dinner any time soon. Nice try, though." The Lord's cackling laugh followed him down the hall.

It took everything he had not to turn back.

-?-

"Torryn, what's wrong?" Antony asked as she led the way through the front door and onto the porch. She wouldn't look at him, ashamed of the hot tears that rolled down her cheeks, so she continued on in silence, down the stairs and toward the car. Her shoulders jerked in a sudden, silent sob, and she felt her father turn to look at her, though he said nothing.

"Torryn?" Antony tried again. "Are you hurt? Do you need something?" He laid a hand on her shoulder, but she shook it off with little effort. She pulled the passenger's side door open and helped her father inside, and when he saw her face, he only frowned. He was lucid now. She guessed he knew her pain.

"Come on, Torryn," Antony said softly, craning his neck to see her face, but she stubbornly turned from him. "What's wrong?"

"She's fine," Ripley murmured, and he reached out to lay a gentle hand upon her forearm as her shoulders jerked again, harder. "She'll be okay. This is completely normal."

"But…"

"She's fine," the man said again, and she watched through tear-blurred vision as he shot Antony a warning glare. "She just needs to get home." Antony lingered for a moment longer, then started obediently for his car, parked a bit further down the road.

"Torryn?" came Skylar's voice, and Ripley began to gently rub her arm, not saying a word. She tried to smile at him, grateful, and he only nodded.

"Come on, Skylar," Antony called to the boy. "We need to get home."

"Get into the car," Ripley told her, his hand finally falling away. "Or would you like me to drive?" She shook her head and carefully shut the car door, then made her way around the car to the driver's side.

"There's just so much," she whispered as she slid into her seat, gingerly resting her stolen dagger on her lap.

"You overcame it," he said softly, and his eyes were knowing — compassionate and cold, all at once. "You've overcome everything you've faced today, and if I'm guessing right, that's a lot more than just what I've seen. Yet you overcame all of it. You fought it all. You're okay now." She frowned at him, unsure, and he smiled softly. "And it's okay to cry. You fought a master's pheromones, had your neck torn to pieces, and stabbed yourself. I'd say you can cry however much you want to."

She laughed halfheartedly and finally made herself start the car. He was right. She was okay.

She was a badass and she could cry if she wanted to, damn it.