LUST FOR BLOOD

RAPTURED

The man who stood supremely before me, responsible for governing the assembly of men scattered about, said nothing, and watched me as his men carelessly harassed me with taunting words.

Someone came up behind me and dangled an object in front of my face. Though my hair remained curtained over my eyes, serving as a shield of self-consciousness, I could recognize my backpack held tightly between his fingers.

My world shattered. A tight pain grew fast in my pit of my stomach, and I swiped my hand upward to snag the bag from the man's possession, while he laughed, amused, at my sad attempt. He then strutted over to the leader and handed him the dirty bag, as if it was his duty to return any loot found in their raid, and reverted to the remainder of the group afterwards.

"What's this?" The leader questioned, examining the bag while flipping it about. "I believe this belongs to you, by the utter horrified look cast on your face." He stepped closer with careful, even strides, and dropped the bag onto the ground in front of me.

I watched the water collide into the tattered fabric of my backpack.

Frowning, I lifted my arm slightly, and watched droplets of rain run down the contour of my hand. I hadn't realized that the sky started raining. Not even as the drops were cold and refreshing against the bumps and bruises I received during the attack.

Blood stains painted, unevenly, around my bag, as I came to discover looking down upon it with anxious eyes. I was afraid to make any sudden movements that would provoke intentional or unintentional reactions from anyone close enough to catch me.

"Take it." The leader insisted, with a hint of impatience wrapped around his words.

For some reason, I wasn't convinced. Being abused by a group of men, whether physically or emotionally, rendered my capability of response indefinitely. I felt as though I was the prey of a dangerous bunch of hyenas, waiting, helplessly, to be devoured by their violent consummation.

The chief stepped dangerously close, only a foot of separation between us. I felt, abruptly, absorbed by a cold air, as he came closer to me. The breaths that escaped my quivering lips became translucent clouds.

I stiffened and watched, out of the corner of my eye, the leaders face draw close to my ear and whisper, quietly enough, for me to hear. "They're good dogs. My men won't touch you unless I give the word." His words felt like a hook trying to reel me in. He was making an attempt to lure me into thinking, for a time, that I was safe. Like a stubborn fish, or, perhaps, a stupid one, I didn't bite.

Just then, I glimpsed at his face.

A demonic soul concealed by an illusion of beauty. Reality, held in his hand, transforms into a nightmare. His wings are tainted with blackness, shielding him from the light. Fear wakes in his presence, the demonic soul concealed by beauty. Control is what he seeks, killing life and bringing death. Once an innocent being, like all the rest, now a sign of eternal damnation that bargains normality with a smile all too feared by God. Demonic soul, a beast costumed by the flesh of man, thirsts for a forbidden drink of vitality. Even in death, he dismays the silence of the grave. Loneliness raptures his heart, mantled with a chilling realism. Though pure blood courses his veins, its thickness clots like poisonous lead. The demonic soul, a nightmare within himself.

A gasp broke through my mouth, and landed in everyone's ears. Shock enveloped every sense working my system and rusted their joints. I made a mistake looking at his face, for it immobilised me.

A majestic steel blue stained his irises as he pierced a cryptic gaze straight through me. The color of his skin was that of a pale cream tone, and was unmarked by any sign of imperfection. The texture of his saddle brown hair was coiffure, with average layers swimming through slight waves. His hair was styled so that, even though it was cut just above his ears, the rest fell over his eyes and declined in length to the base of his slender neck. Though, as the rain hammered at his head, the style fell limp and in wetly gathered locks.

He broke our stare at one another, peering over my head, as he was just over six feet tall, a good length above mine, and his full, light pink lips curved into a sinister smile.

He couldn't be more than two years older than me, I thought, observing his young face. He still had prominent features, such as his sharp jaw line, narrow nose, and mystical eyes. Living in an orphanage all my life, I've still seen attractive boys, but this man had no physical flaws whatsoever. His overall face was proportional in every aspect. Yet, even if he was only a few years older than me, he has a mature look about him.

He pushed me out of the way, but with a gentle manner, as he moved passed me.

This way, I had the chance to look over his entire physical appearance. He was lean, that's for sure, with a slender waist and a fulfilling chest. The man was wearing all black attire, with a long leather coat tightened around his torso with belt like buckles. He was sporting black boots, and a pair of pants that also had belt like buckles circling his upper thigh area.

As I looked around at the rest of the men, they were, oddly, similar to the leader, in some ways. They all had pale and attractive faces, and were dressed in the same outfit. Having one person with an ailing face was odd, but when an entire crowd shared the trait, it struck me as questionable.

I turned around, my eyes following the leader, as he moved behind me, his attention drawn to the alley I had been taken to in the beginning of the fight. I remembered, then, the two strangers who had pulled me from being struck by the oncoming vehicle. Where were they?

Just then, someone broke through the shadows between the buildings on either side, crawling his way along the brick wall for support. The man with the odd fiery red hair revealed himself, but only him. He clutched at his side, a pain stricken expression on his sickly face. Blood gushed from a bullet wound, covering his hand with a deep red stain, and down his side. The crimson liquid washed away in the rain, coloring the clearness of the water with a light tint.

"Foul beast." He growled, baring his teeth as he made an attempt to ignore the pain throbbing from his abdomen. The man's green eyes stared intensely at the leader, who continued to smile, in what looked like amusement.

"You seem to be bleeding." The leader purposefully pointed out, smiling all the while. "Why don't you let me clean up the blood for you?" He said, licking his fingers greedily, as if to draw out a certain response.

"Stay away from me, Isaac, you savage monster from Hell!" The injured man yelled back, his eyes wide with hidden horror.

So, the leader's name was Isaac.

He tried to save me. The man sacrificed himself to save me, and here I am, standing cowardly in place, doing nothing to return the favour, I thought, and cursing myself for my timid behaviour.

"Stop, please." The words forcefully clawed their way up and out of my throat, as I impelled my legs to walk forward, even as they weighed me down with an exponential amount of force. Everyone returned their attention towards me, watching with curiosity, as to what I was planning to do about the situation at hand.

"Don't, Evelyn." The man insisted with shallow breathes. He raised his hand in protest, but soon enough, balanced it against the wall as a crutch to keep him elevated. The blood loss was weakening him, as he began to tremble and sweat profusely. The greenness of his eyes was sheathed with a foggy gloss, and his eyelids drew close together.

There was one moment where I questioned his knowledge of my name, but I shook off the startling discovery, and continued my way towards him, even against his will.

An arm shoved its way across my chest and blocked me from progressing forward.

"Everyone dies, Evelyn. It's inevitable." Isaac told me, looking straight on. The amusement melted from his face, and was replaced with a serious tone.

I looked up at Isaac's expression while remaining abreast to him. When I redirected my attention to the injured man in front of me, he was spread out on the cement, limp and still. The movement of my heart, continuously stressed, quickened to a pace that wasn't healthy, I believed. I was surprised that it didn't simply leap out of my chest, onto the ground.

Death. The presence of death lingered in the air.