Qui vivra verra [Blaize]

[Blaize]

The door closed with a satisfying thud; the lone human paid no attention. People pulled up and got out of cars all the time. It was nothing out of the ordinary. Why should he think that he was the object of scrutiny, or that he was to be someone’s prey? If all went well and Darcy did not have to shoulder the same curses as Blaize, the guy would wake up in a few hours a little disoriented but ultimately okay.

Blaize would follow Darcy. Close enough to intervene should he need to, to offer whatever advice he was able, but far enough away that she would be left to her own devices, able to rely upon her own instinct.

”The throat, the wrist – it doesn’t matter what part of the body you go for but in the end it’s just easier if it’s from a main artery,” he said. He could know this, despite his own unwillingness to feed. Because despite his unwillingness, he’d still had to feed, and had enough experience to offer this advice.

Where most might find that first pump of hot blood upon one’s tongue to be blissful, like the first bite of dinner after a long hard day at work, Blaize hated it. No, he liked it too much. No, he couldn’t quite figure out how it made him feel, but it never settled well. Not in his gut, not in his heart, or his mind; it was an odd poison that got under his skin and he didn’t know what he’d done or who he was deep down to have deserved the difficulty.

”I’ll follow,” he said, nodding toward the lone human. He didn’t try for reassurances; Darcy didn’t seem like she needed them.

[Darcy (DELETED 9675)]

Blaize’s response was more than appropriate, the logic behind it too evident for any other questions to burgeon. With an acknowledging nod, Eugenie crossed the road, hands sinking into her jacket’s pockets.

Arteries, she considered. Fixing her gaze on the human as she kept pace with him, her mind mapped out his form in light of the information she’d been given. Carotid: throat. Coat collar and scarf. Radial: wrist. Coat cuffs. Brachial: upper arm. Coat. None of the easier-to-access arteries would be easy to access given how bundled the man was. A lack of accessibility narrowed considerably the playing field, and would likely force her hand.

Eugenie wondered if all feeding was violent. The little she had been exposed to vampire lore had been clouded by eroticism and romance; neither which had been present back in the studio. As her soundless steps closed the distance between herself and the unsuspecting human, she concluded that attempting to make this anything other than what it was did neither her or her victim any favours.

Blissfully unaware, the human was bigger than her in every sense. Though her senses were heightened — so much so she could hear the faint thump of his heart — Eugenie had no idea how strong or fast she’d become, and there was little room for error. You will be capable of so much more, Blaize had said. She cast a glance over her shoulder at her sire, still following diligently, and reminded herself of how uncharacteristic it was for her to rely on anyone other than herself. He couldn’t help her. It was up to her to make this work, one way or another.

Picking up her pace, Eugenie reached for the human’s upper arm and tugged — hard. He stumbled to a stop with a surprised yelp. Whatever surprise he was about to utter died on his lips as he was forced to face her.

Fight or flight.

She could see the gears of his adrenaline addled brain turning when she didn’t relinquish her hold. He attempted to free himself with his unrestricted arm, but it was to no avail. Upon realising as much, he swung his arm down to hit her in the face. Eugenie leaned back to avoid the brunt of it, but his fist collided into her nose, breaking it.

The reins within snapped, and her mind was sent reeling to the back of her head. Pain and frustration and confusion soared up her throat like lava, and pushed past her bloody lips as a battle cry.

The next sound to leave his mouth was a scream just as loud.

Her hand slipped the length of his arm. Her fingers ensnarled the elbow joint tight. His ulna, radius, and humerus ground together under the force of her grip. Then, they snapped. He cried out in pain, then sought to hit her a second time. Eugenie intercepted the attack and held him at arm’s length by both elbows before knocking her head into his.

The impact hurt, and she relinquished him as he fell to his knees, stumbling back herself. Suddenly, a familiar scent tickled the back of her throat. From his broken nose, blood oozed. Her gaze locked onto it, mouth opening.

Whatever doubts she’d had about her capabilities, they’d long melted away. As soon as he attempted to get back onto his feet, she acted out of pure instinct, her actions even too fast for her to follow. Her fingers sunk into his hair as she brought his face to her knee. It was enough to render him unconscious, quiet. His eyes rolled to the back of his head, silent mouth going slack.

She leaned over his kneeling body, tongue darting across his upper lip. He was heavy; heavy enough to nearly topple her over with him. Her knee sunk into the pavement, and she propped her opposite leg to the side in order to hold the deadweight of his slackened body.

Impatient and single-minded, Eugenie used her free hand to tug at his scarf.
As soon as a portion of skin was revealed, she lunged for it.

Whatever she’d expected to happen, didn’t.
Her mouth came away, jaw slack.
All that she’d managed was a fading bite mark across his throat.
Her tongue darted across her teeth, seeking out the one thing she associated with all vampires.

Throwing the unconscious man to the ground, she remained on one knee and looked over her shoulder for Blaize. Now would be a great time for him to explain what the **** was going on.

[Blaize]

Watching, Blaize thought would be easier.

Watching, he was not directly involved with the blood consumption, with the breakage of skin or the resulting dizziness. He was not responsible for the disruption to the stranger’s night, to their possibly missed meeting, their date, their bed. He was not responsible for the possible danger they could suffer while they’re out of it, prone on the streets of Harper Rock.

With his arms crossed over his chest, Blaize flinched as Darcy made her move. He realised that letting her go alone might not have been the best option, his own fear of guilt dissuading him from finding the victim himself, bringing said victim to his or her knees and keeping them silent while Darcy fed. It might have been easier on all involved – but then he, too, would have had been directly implicated. Now, he realised it was something he ought to have pushed through. This? This was worse.

He picked up the pace but by the time he reached the scene it was over. Darcy’s nose was bleeding, as was her victim. There’d been shouting and Blaize glanced over his shoulder, hoping that no one had heard – at least no one who’d think to come to the victim’s aid. Now he was standing only a few steps from Darcy, his sharp gaze returning to the scene only to assess the look that she had thrown his way, to glance between her and the now-bare neck. A bare neck that was not bleeding, barely marked.

”****,” Blaize cursed. The keys of the car they’d left behind were freed from the pocket of his jeans, the jangle bouncing from the walls. The keyring was a small, sharp utility knife that opened with a flick. He moved quick, dropping to his haunches. He didn’t allow himself time to think; he didn’t look at the unconscious features of the victim, tried not to think of him as a person. He leaned forward only to ascertain where the vein might be, the tip of the small blade puncturing the skin.

Blaize’s jaw was tense, muscles tight as his teeth ground together. Blood pooled to the surface, surging from the small puncture. He leaned back only to lay a hand on Darcy’s shoulder, encouraging her to drink.

Explanations could come later.

[Darcy (DELETED 9675)]

The setback was certainly startling. Whatever questions might have been asked were easy to forget when the man’s neck was cut open. The sheer volume of the blood surfacing to the wound, and the scent sourced from it, blanked her mind. Blink and you’d miss it — she remembered the glass shard sinking into her own throat just moments ago. The memory was shallow, unaccompanied by ghost pain or emotion. It was there, then it was gone. All that remained was familiarity to the one thing that connected then and now: violence.

Hunger. Thirst. Want. More. Take. Mine. Her logical brain was rendered powerless by bloodlust, and she took no time to thank Blaize or consider what she was about to do.

Her mouth sealed itself over the wound. Her teeth, blunt and small, bit into the skin around the opening, pushing down to force more blood out. Efficiency wasn’t at the forefront of her mind, and she cared little for appearances. It never would have occurred to her, hours prior, that she’d be kneeling on a sidewalk sucking the blood out of a man’s throat.

Nothing about this was expected, but without the burden of thought to analyse the situation, it was easy to roll with it. Eugenie watched the man’s slackened features from the corner of her eye. Would they always be this quiet? Would she always feel this mix of satisfaction and disappointment?

The killer continued to drink until she gagged.
However much she’d taken, it’d been enough to slow the man’s heart.

Not yet dead, but soon without medical intervention, her victim was dropped back onto the sidewalk. Her hands lifted to her face, the cuffs of her jackets used to wipe at her throbbing nose. Glancing at Blaize over the bloodied ridge of her knuckles, Eugenie narrowed her eyes.

“So lives or he dies?”

Did one offer blood back to every victim?

[Blaize]

As soon as Darcy’s lips closed over the blood, the wound, Blaize stood. The dancer did not want anyone to die, but a fledgling’s thirst was a thing to be reckoned with. Blood was required to tie up the loose ends, the turning now complete, the energy and the strength in her previously human body now at its peak. Days and nights would roll on and her energy and strength would grow. Time would help it so. Time and blood.

The thump and shift of cloth told Blaize to turn around. The question was uttered and, dare he think it, it sounded careless, as if Darcy were asking whether a window she be open or closed on a day that could not make up its mind whether it was hot or cold. As if this man’s life were trivial, something to be decided on a dime.

”Live!” he said, incredulous.

”We’ll call an ambulance,” he said. There was no bite. There was no venom. The man did not look half dead on the ground because he was in a swoon. He’d lost a lot of blood, and the wound on his neck was not likely to heal. Blaize wasn’t going to be shoving his blood down the throat of any poor sod who got their necks ripped out. Darcy was… different. Darcy was a consequence of Blaize’s guilt. Darcy was…

He shook his head, hand plunged into his pocket for his phone. He was quick to dial the number for the emergency services, gesturing for Darcy to follow him as he lifted the phone to his ear. He was equally as quick to turn his back on the gruesome scene, to stride from it with a hasty grace.

The call was answered; Blaize gave the address, said it was an emergency. He hung up before any more questions could be asked. At the car, he held the passenger door open and impatiently waited for Darcy to join him.

[Darcy (DELETED 9675)]

It was almost laughable the way Blaize’s eyes bulged out in horror. Such wide, soulful eyes, utterly blind to the facts. This human would not survive, not without her doing onto him as Blaize had done unto her. Yet he made no offer of his blood, nor did he instruct her on offering her own. Live! he’d exclaimed, completely deluded. An ambulance would never get here in time.

Eugenie wasn’t so quick to rise to her feet.
She kept her attention on her victim’s face.

It wouldn’t be a pleasant departure... As peaceful as the man looked now, his body would clamour for survival eventually and his vital spiking before certain death. He’d be burdened with desperation up until his last moments. And unless an ambulance managed to arrive before he ceded to death, well…

Why give him that chance, though?

Loose ends seemed like a stupid thing to leave behind. He’d seen her face. Yes, Blaize was capable of walking away without fear of retribution, but Eugenie was in the thick of it.

Her fingers reached into the man’s messy mane, curling about the hairline. Once she’d gotten a good hold, she glanced over her shoulder. Blaize’s back was turned, his phone pressed to his ear, and his other hand fumbling with the car keys.

Eugenie seized the small window of opportunity. She whipped her victim’s head a full 180° and relinquished her hold. As she rose to her feet, she contemplated the human’s slackened features. He looked no different now than he had seconds prior, and though she doubted Blaize would give the man a second glance, she was glad for deceptive appearances.

As she neared the car, watching him open the passenger door and wait for her, she repressed a chuckle. The smile remained in her eyes as she held his gaze, walking around the front of the vehicle and silently sliding into her allocated seat.

[Blaize]

The smile, even if it only resided in Darcy’s eyes, was not missed. She could have killed a man, and yet she seemed amused. Blaize knew that he didn’t know Darcy well. In fact, he didn’t know her at all. The amusement was akin to a slap across the face, but Blaize didn’t know whether to be horrified by it or thankful for it.

She might be able to kill (or nearly kill) without remorse, which meant he had sired a killer.

But she also might not hate what he had done to her. She might not hate him.

Did the latter assuage the guilt for the former? Could he be vindicated because he was not directly responsible for the deaths of others, or because he had created the killer, should he claim all responsibility? In the end, he realised he could not be guilty about things he would not know about. It was an easy way out, and a moral predicament he may have to re-assess down the track. For now, he could at least rest easy that Darcy seemed unlikely to loathe him for all eternity.

The door was slammed behind her (slammed, because the car was old and required slamming to shut properly) and Blaize hastily made his way to the driver’s seat. Sirens were heard in the distance as they pulled away from the curb, the little car free of the scene before any authorities arrived.

”Are you satisfied?” Blaize asked, only glancing in Darcy’s direction long enough to gauge her features before turning his attention back to the road. He hadn’t meant the question to sound judgmental, but he let it stand. He honestly only wanted to know whether she was satisfied, blood-wise, or whether they needed to stop again.

If the latter, this time he’d be a little more hands-on.

[Darcy (DELETED 9675)]

“For now,” she replied, casting a side-glance before returning her attention to the road. She wondered where he would drive to next but did not inquire. The world rolled past them as the car glided across the cement road. What she’d found captivating earlier was now ten-fold more enthralling. It was as if the human blood coursing through her body had given her a second, newer lease on life. Blinking to refocus her gaze on each passing object, Eugenie absently lifted her hand to her face and pressed down on her broken nose. It caved under pressure, skin cold and tender. It was healing, and that was likely due to the fresh blood she’d consumed. She thought it doubtful that she’d ever understand the mechanics of vampirism. Aware of the tension mounting between Blaize and herself as the silence stretched, she thought it a good subject to aboard.

“How does it work? What happens if one does not drink blood?” Of course, she knew what happened. “To the physical body,” she clarified. Her hand dropped to her throat at the memory, fingers tracing the now healed skin. Her fingertips dragged along the raised scar, and her gaze shifted to Blaize, searching for where she'd injured him.

[Blaize]

A sharp, dark glance cut sideways as the question was asked. He’d not even opened his mouth to respond. The answer, he thought, was obvious. Wasn’t it? Hadn’t he already explained it? The night was a blur and there was a possibility he hadn’t. He had to search back through his memory to try to find it—but stopped as soon as Darcy clarified.

Blaize’s shoulders lifted in a subtle shrug. The cheek that Darcy had sliced with the broken mirror was still smeared with blood but was otherwise smooth, if a little red and tender. The cheekbones were sharp, and the cheek was hollow. The planes of his face, when he let himself go too long without blood, started to look anorexic. He wasn’t at that point just yet, but it was near.

”I can’t say for sure. I can guess it has something to do with hunger. A person who doesn’t eat can get angry, right? A person who doesn’t eat for days, for a week, they’ll… starvation. I presume it’s similar to the effects of starvation,” he said. He himself was a walking advertisement for what happened to the body, on the outside, if one should not feed. The hands had tightened on the wheel, again. His eyes had shifted back to the road. All the physical cues were there that this was not a topic he was fond of, though he would answer the questions that she had.

”Where do you live again? Direct me, please,” he said. The original plan was back in place. She needed clothes. They’d need to go collect them.

[Darcy (DELETED 9675)]

Eugenie sensed Blaize’s discomfort but disregarded it. He had brought her into this life and should expect all manner of questions. Lest he had reading recommendations. Somehow, she doubted the literature on their kind was existent, and if so, readily accessible. Tucking loose stands behind her ear, she then dropped her hand and motioned towards the windshield. “It is the third on the left after this,” she directed, glancing out the window as they drove past the intersection. “Then three blocks down on the right of the road,” she added, her r’s catching at the back of her throat.

His answer had been simple and logical, and his posture suggested the conciseness had been intended. Not that she didn't appreciate clarity, but his apparent discomfort while answering was not enough for her to relent. Clearing her throat, Eugenie glanced back at him, brow furrowed. When asked whether the human should live or die, Blaize had insisted on life. Yet, he’d not explained how a mortal so close to death was supposed to live when lady luck was nowhere in sight. Not that she would have been inclined to assume responsibility for anyone else, not when she had a steep learning curve ahead. Eager to fill in the blanks sooner than later, the vampire drew another breath and assailed her sire with more questions.

“Is this first time you make other? Do you make vampire for every accident? How?”