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I can’t.

I won’t.

She had plenty words to use to refuse the offer, plenty of ways to remove herself from the situation, but she chose to stay. She chose to swallow hard, to nod her head, and to utter her consent. And then her throat seemed to seize, but the word yes wouldn’t spill from her pale lips. “Sour, like apples,” she found herself repeating, instead, seemingly transfixed with the possibilities. And she knew then that any ground she had on him had been snatched from beneath her feet. She should have known better than to play with fire. She should have remembered that everything became backwards, everything became upside down, in Wonderland. At times, he seemed immature, like a teenager, and she wondered how old he was to be playing with vampires. She wanted to wrap her arms around him, to whisper that he needn’t play with the big boys anymore, that he only had to run along and she’d let him go. But he’d made the mistake of showing her blood. He’d given a bloodhound the reason necessary to pursue him. He’d sealed the deal, without the need of her saying any word. Yes, she tried saying again, but she only swallowed hard once more.

“Okay,” she whispered. But she didn’t move for the hand. Clo licked her lips, imagining the taste, but she fought against the urge, the frenzy that inevitably built up inside of her. She didn’t want to kill him. She didn’t want to turn him. She just wanted to taste, just to experience the feel of his blood as it coated her tongue. She’d nibble -- she knew she couldn’t refrain from nibbling -- but her teeth threatened to turn to fangs, each and every one. “But from my wrist,” she urged him, “not from my neck. If I’m not feeding from your neck, you’re not feeding from mine.” Better from the wrist than from the neck. The neck asked too much of her. The neck screamed too much trust and too much intimacy.

The venom automatically coated her tongue and her growing fangs, as if in preparation to kill, but she had to swallow, yet again. She couldn’t. She reminded herself that she couldn’t just pluck him from amongst his kind and stifle his light. He had something that she desperately needed and she didn’t want to waste him. With the venom gone, she removed a dagger from the holster near her ankle, one hidden by her jeans. The blade was clean, devoid of blood or guts or nicks or marks, and she lowered it to her wrist. If he tried for her neck, she’d stab him, she knew she would, and she’d miss every organ. The cut she made had blood bubbling to the surface, but it seemed to linger and then disperse. The blood was thick, like tar, and yet seemed as lightweight as air, with the way it seemed to hang there. Like shadows embodied. She offered her wrist first. No fangs. No lingering bite marks. No questions. She had time to break the ice, time to talk to her husband, time to explain things from her point of view.

“Try not to bite me. I scar, and I don’t need the questions.” she explained. She knew the wound would close though, and if he had to, if he really had to, he’d likely bite her, and she would let him. And she would hate herself even more. The clean dagger went back into the holster, and then she snatched his bloody hand for herself. She ran her tongue slowly across the surface. Clean. Dirty. Nothing mattered but the blood. She needed it; she craved it. And he did taste exactly how he smelled, not like an apple, but a mixture of sweet and sour, delectable tainted with something not quite right. Clo wondered if all blood thieves tasted the same, or if Trigg just had his own unique taste and texture.

She closed her eyes to take in every aspect of the experience, and then her fangs slid down -- only two of them emerged, though they all could have -- and she cut a little further into that palm, delicately running the edges of her fangs over his skin. He bled so well. She never wanted their exchange to end. She’d inevitably consume him, just as he’d consume her, and they’d remain that way.

From the wrist, she said. He was surprised that he was slightly disappointed and instantly relieved. There was a tension between them that he was having trouble deciphering. He LIKED the tension, but it made him nervous. "Ok." Was all he managed to croak out. The air suddenly felt denser between them, the moments stretching like they were elastic but with a definite breaking point. He wondered how far they could push it? He wanted to push it, to drag it out until they snapped because it made sense is head, this felt destructive so why not go all the way? He'd fully expected her to beat the hell out of him or scoff at the pathetic human and walk away, but instead she was encouraging him. She'd seemed to struggle to find the words but hadn't needed to, because he already knew she wanted to try this too. They both wanted to find out more about the other. There was a temptation to try and take the offer back, to cancel the deal and use one of the new abilities he'd picked up from another's blood to stall her, to buy him time to bail. Abilities. What did she have? What could she do? If he tasted her blood he'd found it, it would fuel him and lead him down a different path until the effects wore off.

Then she'd let him have more. That was if he survived this encounter.

It was the first time in a long time he'd felt this kind of thing stirring inside him, perhaps ever. He couldn't fully identify the feeling he was experiencing. When he wanted things it was to better himself, to challenge himself and because he knew he could handle it. It had to be his, because he deserved it. He should have it. With her? He didn't really know what he wanted out of her, it left him confused and lightheaded. Her blood was the primary objective, but the adventure was just as enticing. He too found himself swallowing hard, watch her with a renewed hunger, tracing the movement of that wrist. He barely flinched when she drew the dagger, when she cut but the result had him gasping.

It was black and flowed from her like so much smoke, thick at first and quickly dispersing.

He wanted to close his mouth over it, to stop the precious life force from escape, to inhale it like the drug he used to steady him when his mind got too much. His fangs were already out, they felt cumbersome in his mouth, an obstacle if she didn't want him to mark her. To resist biting was a challenge, one he wasn't entirely convinced he was up to as he tilted his head, lowering it until his lips could part over her skin. Her grip on his hand was strong, but he wasn't frightened, too distracted by the cool skin his lips closed around.

Trigg didn't so much drink from her as he did breathe her in, the blood the strangest texture, his tongue flicking pointlessly against the wound as if it might draw more of the substance out. He used the probing pressure to keep the wound from closing too quickly, fangs barely grazing her flesh. She tasted of darkness. There was no other way to describe it, nothing in the world he could compare it to. It wasn't thick but it wasn't light as air, it was dense and yet weightless in his mouth. He swallowed reflexively, feeling like it was filling him, finding hidden places inside that he didn't know existed and somehow she was finding them. The mouth falling on his palm made him twitch, muscles contracting as if preparing to pull away and yet he stayed. He let her hold it, let her tongue bath him, cleaning away the cavern floor dirt to get to the pure, clean blood. The pain didn't bother him, he healed faster now and something in him knew that he could force it, that her blood was giving him control over how quickly his body knit itself back together. He could restore his blood at any time, give her more to take from him.

This wasn't the kind of feedings he normally took part in. It was always an act of adrenaline, of getting in and out as quickly as possible before the angry vamp tracked him down to try and take back what was theirs. This? This was an act of connection, it felt like the beginning and the end, it felt like a promise.

Warmth spread out over her lips, the heat of his palm touching even her chilled cheeks. She wanted to rub her cheek along his palm, to smear a little of his blood over her flesh, just to take in more of the heat she felt she lacked. Clover couldn’t ignore the cold inhabiting her body, a reminder that her body had betrayed her, losing its fight against immortality, losing its fight against vampirism. Those heavy thoughts lingered in her mind, even as her tongue ran across the uneven skin on his palm. Heart line. Head line. Life line. When the blood ceased its steady flow, Clo turned her attention to his wrist. She still felt the steady beat, the beat of temptation that resided there. Blood flowed in. Blood flowed out. She needed more of his blood, more than a mere taste, and her fangs knew better than her heart, for her mouth became full of them. Whatever sort of calm that existed between Trigg and Clover quickly became tainted. He’d given himself to her, and she’d given herself to him, and they had yet to cross the line they’d both, simultaneously, drawn in the sand. But oh how she toed that line.

Just one bite. Just one little bite. She meant to savor every moment; she meant to spend that precious time feasting upon him. Clo wanted to take the fragile trust that existed between them and shatter it on the ground. What if she kept him around just to feed on him? What if she locked him away somewhere, somewhere only they knew? Her thoughts turned to white noise, overpowered by the sudden decision she faced. Her body screamed at her to bleed him dry, while her mind told her to retreat. She closed her mouth and pressed her lips to his wrist, to the point where she felt the steady vibration, and she waited. Her thoughts went to other things. Her mind went to different places. And the fangs receded. Even though the urge remained, a hunger clawing its way up from her gut and out into her closed mouth, she maintained. “I need more,” she said, allowing that hunger to transform itself into words, “just a little bit more.” And the hunger transformed to a dull ache that spread throughout her entire body.

He fed with a steadiness that she lacked. He knew what he wanted. He could consume the blood she prided herself on, the same blood she loathed, and she ignored the ache to feast on the sight of him. His throat bobbed to indicate that he’d swallowed, though her blood had a texture so unique she wasn’t sure if he needed to swallow at all. But he did. And she seemed transfixed. He reminded her of all the people she’d known and all the people she’d yet to meet. He became a whole, so much greater than the sum of his parts. Clo ran her tongue over her lips and collected the blood that remained before it could harden, turning to a crust. She wanted to see into his mind, to venture down the yellow brick road instead of falling, tumbling, into Wonderland. She wanted to get enough blood to peer right into his past, but she didn’t want to take it. For once, Clo wanted it offered to her. She wanted him to trust her enough to present himself completely. Did she even trust herself to hold back, once presented with him? She didn’t know.

“Let me feed from you. Properly. I can show you something else.” Clo really wanted to say those words. She wanted to entice him, to draw him in. She wanted more of him; she wanted to see him at his most vulnerable, and she wanted to trust herself not to destroy him. He wasn’t fine china, but he deserved a delicate hand. Instead of asking him, of using her words to draw him ever nearer, she pressed her lips to his wrist, as if pressing a kiss there. Then she parted those lips, her fangs exposed, and bit down. She hoped that he wouldn’t hate her, to turn her away. She wanted him to wait, to wait and see what else she could do. They had an opportunity for quite the experience, but only if he let her take him down that road.

He was aware of the thickened, smoke-like blood seeping past his lips, aware of the power it carried. Trigg hard not to take too much, his tongue gently pressing at her skin to keep it open without the need to bite down, ever so cautiously nudging at the wound with the tip of a fang and pulling. It was hard, hard not to bite in and run like he usually did. She made him want to run and hide, even as he badly wanted to stay and draw her further against him. To hold her in his arms, but nothing more. To claim her for a moment. The feeling was off-putting, it made his skin crawl with nervous tension that even that balm of blood couldn't soothe. Her lips against his wrist made him gasp softly, the pressure lending itself more to intimacy than to threat and keeping him from withdrawing. He did tilt his head to watch her, to study her face bowed over his wrist as his was over hers. Mirrors, echoing. He kissed her wrist over the wound, lips parted and then again with them closed before he moved his mouth away far enough to answer. "I want to be alive." Were the words that came out, a warning not to go too far. He wouldn't let her end him or take him for eternity.

He wasn't ready to go forever to the night.

The pain once she bit down stunned him, his mind reeling and heartbeat racing at a dangerous pace. He knew he should try to steady it, to slow the blood that pumped towards her mouth. He couldn't. Trigg sacrificed the wrist he'd taken hold of only to wrap his arm around her waist, a hand gripping gently at side further from him, prepared to pull her back and rip his wrist from her if need be. The pain was bearable, it sharpened his mind even as the haze of surprise threatened to swamp it. There was a memory tugging at the edges of his mind, just out of reach, a recollection of a face that he focused on trying to make the features clearer so as not to lose himself in the moment.

It came to him slowly, a different dark-haired beauty who he'd hurt and had been hurt by in turn. The first person to make him really question what he wanted, and to make him realise that he might be broken. At least, he had felt broken then. A wave of sickening guilt threatened to pull him under, Trigg swallowing hard against the memory of laying in her bed and faking contentment. What dominated the memory was how he felt, the strange mix of guilt and repulsion that had him wanting to escape, struggling to breathe. He pretended to be breathless from exertion, making some lame excuse to get out of that room. She thought he was just another asshole who'd used her for sex and he let her think that, when in reality it was quite the opposite. She'd used him. At least, that was how he felt about the encounter. After leaving her he'd wandered the streets until just before dawn, sneaking back into his own bedroom feeling shaken and alone. Eventually, he'd told his brother that it hadn't been that great, played it off and buried the shame deep down. He was a teenager and just thought it was a matter of time, maybe things got better as you got older and you started to want it more. It never really changed.

Not the ideal memory to surface, it left Trigg staring at Clover with renewed confusion because he'd felt stirrings of that kind of excitement, of that want he rarely felt and only acted on out of a sense of duty. He didn't want to, but he wanted other things. What was with him and dark haired chicks with attitude problems? "That's enough. Clover, please." He croaked out, his voice rough and hitching on her name. The hand around her waist gave a squeeze of encouragement or warning. He was getting lightheaded and he knew it was time to break away before it was too late.

She wanted to keep him, and keeping him meant turning him. And yet, he wanted to live. As if he had a choice in the matter. But maybe he did, because Clover acknowledged his words, cataloging them in the back of her mind. She’d given him so much, much more than she should have, and yet she toyed with the idea of giving him even more. Clo toyed with the idea of simply letting him go. But if she let him go, if she gave him his freedom, she had no guarantee that he would ever return to her, that he’d ever want to see her again. She’d gambled plenty of times before; she lost plenty of hands and won plenty of hands. Did she want to gamble when it came to him, when it came to someone she really, truly wanted? Did she even care enough about his happiness? He’d abhor her, if she forced the life upon him. He’d never forgive her. Without a doubt, she’d lose him. But if she let him live. What if she let him live? Her eyes closed, she tried to focus on her thoughts, but she saw nothing but shades of red. Blood. The thought ran through her mind on repeat, joined with the recognition that his heart raced. Was he afraid? Was he excited?

Clo showed a great level of care. She fought the beast. She held back the frenzy. She told herself she was getting better, that she could get better. Because he reminded her of herself, and he reminded her of Jesse. Because he had so much life left in him, and she didn’t want to extinguish that flame. Her thoughts resurfaced once more, reminding her of the gamble at hand. What if she let him live? What if, for once, she let someone go? No strings attached. What if she simply let him go? She meant to open her eyes, to pull away, but the undertow kept her from completing those actions. The blood just swept her away. The memory surfaced as a blur of dark colors, slowly eating away at the darkness. She didn’t know the exact moment when the colors shifted, for the timing made no difference. There had been darkness, and then there hadn’t been. Clo watched as the woman surfaced, like a siren rising from the sea. She saw Trigg, despite the image taking time to come into focus. Clearly, the two had been together, as evidenced by the fact that they shared a bed. She couldn’t feel his feelings, but she saw his movements and she tried to focus on the expression on his face. He left too quickly. He was losing her. Didn’t he know he was losing her? But maybe that didn’t matter.

Clover didn’t pick the memories. She had no control over what memories surfaced, or even if memories surfaced. Did he love the woman? Did the woman love him? Was it the end of a relationship? Had there been a relationship at all? He’d looked younger, at least. Was the woman still in the picture? Probably not. If he had a woman as beautiful as she was, he wouldn’t have spent so much time wandering through the caverns. Did he miss her? Was that why the memory had surfaced? Regret. He must have regretted his actions. No, maybe the memory had been one of many possibilities. Clo didn’t know. She wanted to keep feeding, to slowly pick apart his many memories, to delve deeper into his mind. When that memory faded away, the colors slowly swirling together until nothing but darkness remained, she heard his voice. She heard the words clear as day.

Please.

She faced the choice, once more. To consume him. To release him. Trigg had such a vibrant spark about him. He deserved to live. He deserved to walk the winding pathways of the cavern. He deserved to start a fucked up family. He deserved every opportunity to grow old. He’d eventually grow tired of his blood-thieving ways. He’d surrender his reckless behavior. He’d meet another woman that swept him away, one that was better than the dark-haired beauty in his memory. He deserved to have the things Clo could never have, would never have. Her fangs retracted and she licked at the last bit of blood that bubbled to the surface. The end. She’d never see him again. She’d never look upon his face again. He’d survived walking into the lion’s den.

“Did you love her?” No other question came from her bloodstained lips. She could have asked about his desire to live. She could have tried convincing him to go with her, to take that leap of faith right into vampirism. Instead, she focused on that memory, the one which surfaced from the darkness. With a great deal of hesitation, Clo relinquished her hold on his wrist. The endless hunger clawed its way from the pit of her stomach to the back of her throat, but that was easily remedied at another time, a time when she wasn’t near Trigg. She wanted to find the woman, to drag her back to Trigg and present her, as a cat presents a dead bird.

Come with me, she wanted to say. But the words wouldn’t come. They weren’t supposed to come. He wasn’t ready. She knew he wasn’t ready. And who knew if he ever would be ready. How did one prepare for vampirism? Surrender everything. All of your hopes and dreams. All of your relationships. Start over with nothing. Clo found herself calling on her own journey into vampirism, the only experience she could call upon. She’d wanted to kill him. She’d wanted to keep him. She was just too selfish to truly release him. Even if he wasn’t ready. Even if he’d never be ready. In some way, he belonged to her. That had to be enough.

“I want you, even if you’re not ready, even if you cling to your life,” she finally voiced, giving life to words she’d only implied. There was no undertone, no sexual implications. She’d put it in the simplest way possible. “Does that scare you -- do I scare you?” No. She wanted him to say no. She’d made herself smaller. She’d reigned herself in. She’d done everything she could not to hurt him, not to kill him.

Trigg tensed, the adrenaline of fight or flight beginning to kick in. He was going to have to pull her off him any second, he was going to have to fight her off. He didn't want to. It would be too easy to succumb to it, to lean into her and let her have him. Nah, fok that, he thought. He wasn't the type to just give up and let someone else take him for granted. Luckily Clover seemed to sense this, to know it, as she slowed her feeding. The slow, tender licking at the wounds left him staring at her, that faint confusion touching his features again. It made him look almost angry, his brow furrowing, never quite losing that look of a rebellious youth. He wasn't angry. He wasn't sure WHAT he was.

Her first question definitely wasn't what he expected, and at first he had no idea what she was talking about. "Wassit?" He asked quietly, studying her for answers. It took way too long to dawn on him, Clover already moving on to her next question. She'd said she'd show him something, but maybe the opposite was true? Just like he could get her abilities from drinking her blood, maybe she took something from him. Maybe she saw what he had in his memory. ****. Now he was a little bit angry, and a little bit afraid. Afraid of her?

"Ag, man... I should be. Would be fokken smart. You scare me a bit, issit? Not properly scared." The first question was less complicated because he'd always known the answer. "What did you see? Nah, the chick she was just someone I'd been charfing, you know? She wanted it. I thought I did.
Couldn't love her." His arm was still around her and he let the other join it, a lazy loose embrace around her waist that kept her close by without any real commitment. He didn't do commitment. "You can chase me, chick. Try to get you some Trigg, figure me out. Maybe one day I'll want you back enough." It could have been cruel, cold, but he delivered it with such cheek and a flash of a smile that he figured she'd take it ok. He didn't know her well enough either way.

He wanted to.

He wanted to know her, but he wasn't about to tell her that. If she could see it, if she could feel it then they could carry on. The excitement still hummed through his veins, that adrenaline, and the feeding ensuring that his heart was still pumping blood and making his body throb. Felt like he needed to shake it off, but he tried to stay still, to resist the urge to start bouncing on the balls of his feet. He hated being still too long.

Clover wanted to argue with him, to tell him that she had the feeling he already wanted her, but she kept those words to herself. One day. He’d said those words less like a minor possibility and more like a promise, but she could have misheard. Clo had a nasty habit of hearing whatever she wanted to hear, despite her near perfect recollection of events. Instead of drawing him out, drawing him so close that she suffocated him, she loosened the proverbial hold by nodding. No harm came in the gesture, no solid agreement and certainly no disagreement. She wanted to whisk him away though. She wanted to show him everything she knew, every dark nook and cranny of her mind. Clo needed to know if he stood a chance; she needed to know if he had the strength necessary to survive -- no, the strength necessary to thrive. He’d already proven his abilities when it came to survival. Everyday he spent outside of the hospital became a day of survival. He lived life dangerously, picked prey randomly. He was clumsy. He was reckless. And she admired him.

“One day,” she echoed him. They had that much of an agreement. “Until then,” she said, reaching up to lightly pat his right cheek. “I should get home.” She said the words, but she remained there, unmoving. Paranoia reared its ugly head again. What if something happened? What if she couldn’t find him again? “I’ll be back. If you need anything,” she tried, thinking hard on her next words, “if you need anything, I’ll be back.” She didn’t want his phone number. She didn’t want an address. They had the caverns. That was their place. Clover didn’t know what the hell she wanted to say to Jesse, and so it became an even better idea to have nothing tying herself to the blood thief. In her mind, vampires didn’t mix well with humans. Vampires were apex predators and humans were cattle. And yet she’d stumbled across humans defying the logic. They changed her mind, little by little. They became exceptions. They became diamonds in the rough.

When Clo stepped out of his casual embrace, she took one last look at the artwork on the cavern wall. Pale skin. Red blood. The woman could have been human. Clo liked to imagine the woman as another human being, one trapped, unable to exist, to prosper, in the three-dimensional world. Humanity had its perks. No sorcerers. No paladins. No blood thieves. Just a regular human. Their lives came with limitations, but they prospered. They thrived. She gave a partial smile, but she knew it wasn’t as bright as it should have been.

“I would get rid of it, when you’ve finished admiring it,” she said, her voice quiet. “It’s beautiful. You’re a wonderful artist. I’d like to see more of your work. But if my husband finds out some man has been painting me, he’s going to find you and kill you. I’d rather that didn’t happen. I like you very much.” Again, she nodded, and then she turned and walked away.