It had been quite some time since he'd last eaten. His eyes were beginning to darken into a muddy, reddish hue. His hands had begun trembling hours ago and had not yet ceased. Carlisle closed his eyes. The moans of the young man before him was as heart-breaking as it was alluring. He took a deep, unnecessary breath.
"Young man," he said gently. "I have the power to grant life to the dying. If you wish it to be so, I can save you from your illness." He paused, staring into the man's face, searching for any sign of acknowledgement.
"Help... me," the man coughed out at last, his eyes fluttering open. Blood-shot, glazed, and full of tears. "Please," he begged. His eyes rolled back into his skull.
Carlisle lifted his hand and rested it gently on the man's forhead. Your weakness will inhibit you no longer, dear sir, he thought.
The man merely tossed his feverish head and shuddered at Carlisle's cold touch.
I must not waiver now, he told himself, leaning down to the man's soft, pale throat. I must resist. He opened his lips and allowed his teeth to extend out of his mouth, drool puddling on the back of his tongue. His eyes widened with desire. The man's neck pulsed and spasmed with warmth and the promise of blood, and Carlisle could almost taste it.
He leaned down and pressed his lips into the man's neck, closing his eyes, inhaling his sweet, fragile scent. His fingers twitched on the man's forehead. Hot blood rushed under his palm at every heart-beat. Carlisle lifted his lips off of the man's skin, yet kept them close enough so that he could still feel his warmth.
"Forgive me," he muttered, his voice reeking with sorrow. "But despite what you are about to feel, I promise you will not die. I will stay by your side until you are well, but then, if you wish, I will vanish from your life forever."
Then Carlisle licked his lips, tilted his head down, and sank his teeth into Edward's neck.