In My Veins

[Aleksandra]

His blood was magic as it danced across her tongue, igniting her from within. With each pull from his vein, she felt stronger than she ever had. It wasn’t until she started to feel as if she were invincible, that she realized she might be taking too much. This man was here to save her – and she was doing nothing more than draining him of his power. With a soft sound, she forced her lips from his wrist and groaned, her fingers lifting to work through her tangled mess of curls. “Thank you,” she managed, even as her eyes started to close again. The pain was gone – he had taken that away.

The monster, too, was gone. Even though she knew this, even though, in her dazed state, she had witnessed its demise – her eyes still flew open, the bright blue searching the darkness for it. She hadn’t realized that her fingers had curled into his shirt, or that she had practically crawled into him. Instead, her gaze continued to dance across the tunnel, each shadow inspected closely as a soft sound escaped her throat, something akin to a fearful whimper. This was so wrong – all of this was wrong. No sooner had she turned her attention back to the blonde haired stranger, than the reality of what happened crashed down upon her with the weight of a thousand bricks.

“What happened? What did I do? Oh, god. What have I done? What am I going to do?”

Even as she spoke the question, she knew. She hadn’t wanted to die, and he hadn’t let her. He had heeded her plea, even if she hadn’t fully known what it would mean. Even now, she didn’t know. The one thing she did know was that her body ached from the assault, even with his blood burning through her system, healing what it could. She knew that he had saved her life – and she knew that she had begged him with her eyes to keep her alive. He had done everything she had asked, and now, with her hand still upon his chest, his shirt still curled between her trembling, pale fingers…

she had no clue as to what she was supposed to do next.

[Blaize]

What did I do? What have I done? Blaize had to laugh. He did laugh--a cough of a sound that died as soon as it had sparked. These were the questions of the hour! But even as Aleksa curled in against him, clutching at his shirt as if he would continue to be her saviour even after the deed was long done, he knew he had done the right thing. He hoped he had done right by her.

”You have done nothing wrong. You are not dead. Not...really,” he said. As tempting as it was to stay there, seated, with this woman curled into his chest, he knew they couldn’t stay. He wanted to give her time to adjust, but these sewer systems were thoroughfares for the wild and masterless, for those who lacked self control and a firm boot to keep them in line.

”We have to move,” he said as a suggestion as to what she would do next. There were many ways to interpret the question, but Blaize could only imagine what she was thinking. She’d been attacked by a wild vampire. Would she turn wild herself? She had to focus on the fact that, though a vampire had taken her life, one had also saved it. There was a choice. There was always a choice.

”You can come with me and we’ll...figure it out. But you’re not going to become a monster, if that’s what you’re worried about. Not unless you choose to be,” he said. He didn’t want to tell her that he had no idea what he was doing, nor that he was so new himself. He didn’t want to tell her how easy it could be to become that monster, though he doubted that Lyonel would allow him to. And it was then his responsibility to make sure Aleksa didn’t succumb, either. He didn’t tell her how unsure he was, because that would be counterproductive. Instead, he tried to shift, to manoeuvre himself so that he could lift Aleksandra to her feet, so that he could help her up out of the dank darkness that couldn’t be helping her view of the future.

[Aleksandra]

She had a thousand questions in her mind as she clung to the man, her fingers scraping against his skin as she only pulled herself closer, as if she could lose herself – and the memory of the night – within the threadbare material of his shirt. Turning her head, she buried her tearstained face against his shoulder as he spoke, his chest rumbling with each softly delivered word. Each felt like a blow to her chest, and she realized in that moment the truth of what she had done. When she had been watching her life end in the dark pools of his gaze, she had been willing to give up everything – and everyone – for just a moment more. Now that the deed had been completed, now that she had overcome her assault…

… Oh, god.

Slowly, she began to pull away as he moved, her fingers uncurling one by one. After a moment, she even managed to drop her touch all together, though her head still rested against his shoulder. Something warned her to take it easy, a voice in the back of her mind alerting her to the state of her injuries. With a quiet groan, she lifted her hand to run her palm along her throat, the pale skin coming away slick with blood. “I need a shower,” she heard herself speak, the heavy lilt of her Australian accent telling wonders to the state of her true being. “My apartment. I need to go home, I have school… I have a double tonight, and I’m going to be late.”

It was clear in the moment that the reality truly hadn’t caught up with her, and she started to move with him, though there was reluctance when he started to lift her from his lap that made her uneasy. What did it say about her state of being when she’d rather remain hidden in the darkness with her face buried in a stranger’s chest than out in the open, fighting to salvage whatever had been stolen from her? Daddy would be so disappointed, she thought as she finally made it to her feet, though she knew the moment she stood upright, that her unsteady stance wouldn’t hold for long. Her pale, cracked lips parted to say something, though the only sound to emerge was a soft hiss of air from between her teeth as her legs started to tremble and his features swam within her vision. Without hesitation, she gripped his shoulder, his muscular, toned form easily able to sustain the simple weight of the chef.

“Don’t let me become a monster,” she suddenly spoke, her eyes wide with innocence and dark with the horrors of the night. She couldn’t bare it. She was a good person. Using one hand to push her sweaty and bloodied curls from her face, she glanced down to where the creature had once been, her expression shifting briefly before she shook her head. “I would rather someone kill me before I become anything like that.”

[Blaize]

There was something vulnerable about the woman curled up against him and Blaize was slow to recognise how it made him feel. Protective. When was the last time he’d felt protective? Probably in high school when some guy was insulting his sister. It hadn’t ended well. He was a jock on the hockey team and they’d blamed Blaize for the Jensen’s broken fingers. Of course they had. They had to protect their prize pupils, didn’t they? Blaize’s grades weren’t the best, and dance wasn’t something the town cheered for. They delighted in bringing him down rather than raising him up on a pedestal like they did their hockey players.

The feeling didn’t lessen any as they stood, and as Aleksandra started muttering about school and work. Blaize shook his head even as he slipped an arm around her torso, helping her to stay upright. They still had to make it up the ladder and out onto the street. Blaize wanted out of the sewers, and he would get there even if she had to cling to his back like a monkey as he climbed.

”You’re not going to become a monster, okay? Vampires become monsters if they have no one to help them and guide them. You have that. And you’re going to call in sick,” he said, moving them toward the exit. Looking at her, it wouldn’t be too far of a leap. She was sick. And she didn’t have to reveal to them the exact nature of what was wrong. If she needed a doctor’s certificate, that might be a little trickier. But that was an issue to deal with later.

”Everything’s different now. But we’ll figure it out,” he said. She could still chef… though there was a high possibility that she wouldn’t be able to taste the food. How much of a blow would that be to her? He didn’t want to risk it right now, now with how delicate she was, how fragile due to the realisation of what she had become.

The dancer helped Aleksandra out of the sewers as best he could, sliding the metal grating back into place so that some other hapless victim could not be pulled under. Blaize was out of his league, but he was going to try to do this on his own. At least to begin with. If he encountered any issues he had no answers for, then he would call Lyonel, and he would tell Lyonel what was happening regardless.

[Aleksandra]

“Sick. Of course, I’m sick,” she whispered, though the words seemed distant, even to her own ears. It was as if she were trapped under water, and no matter how loud she screamed or how hard she kicked, she drowned. She barely noticed him pulling her from the sewers, or the way his arm remained locked around her waist. She heard him when he tried to explain that she had a choice, but the words didn’t register. There was something wrong with her brain. She had always been able to focus, to keep the panic at bay, to swallow the nerves – but right then, she couldn’t. She felt the fear, the panic, the anger, the despair – and she felt it at once. “I need my phone.” Her words robotic, she dipped her hand into her pocket and fished out the device, bloodied fingers trembling.

It took her a few tries to locate the number she needed, and when she did, she tucked the phone against her ear and closed her eyes. On the second ring, a loud voice picked up, her name rolling from his tongue in a bark that made her jump. The conversation in its entirety didn’t last long – a lot of stuttering on her part, a lot of yelling on his, until she finally managed to convince him that she wasn’t lying. It wouldn’t have mattered if she hadn’t, she wouldn’t have been able to go in. The lights were too bright, the sounds too loud, and she couldn’t stop shaking. Clutching the phone in her palm, she turned to look at the man at her side. She would have to trust him, wouldn’t she? He had saved her, followed her into the dark, and killed for her.

No one had ever done that before.

Sliding her phone back into her pocket, she found herself leaning into him as he led her down the street, her steps unsteady. To anyone that might see them, she was a drunk, and he was the dutiful friend, ensuring that she made it home safe. In truth, she hadn’t a clue what he had in store for her, but somehow she knew that it would be okay. She didn’t know his name, she barely knew his face, but as they rounded the corner, heading for her apartment while his voice was pitched low and soothing when he started explaining what was to come, she knew she had to trust in him.

Otherwise, she’d die.