For ErinnKarsonava and her fic for being the name drawn out of the hat (well the computer) for her reviewing of Struggles With What's Right And What I Want
Claire/Myrnin… don't like, don't read.
I don't own anything
"Myrnin," she breathes his name as she unconsciously drifts closer towards him, a desire of longing in her body. She loses control of what is right and what she ought to do, discarding them entirely as she decides to do what she wants to do for a change.
"Claire," he whispers her name back, his accent lilting and making her name seem like liquid gold. Something about the way that all of his emotion towards her is betrayed in this singular word, this one syllable, makes her blush, an utterly Claire thing to do.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, there is a warning signal, a beacon to stop, going off to try and make her remember that she is human and that Myrnin is not only a vampire, but a very unstable one… who hasn't fed in a while. She ought to remember Shane… but he dumped her for a newer model once he had grown tired of being in the relationship. She has nothing to loose here…
…only her life…
The signal increases in pitch and volume as she makes the last step towards the vampire boss she has been craving for so long but having only just realised it. His long, brown curly hair sticks up in chunks but his mesmerising face makes up for this, his huge brown eyes seeming as precious as diamonds, just the wrong colour. They sparkle with vitality and knowledge and… and longing.
He closes the last step towards her and smiles slightly as he places a hand on her face lightly, in accordance to how delicate she is compared to him, how she could be snapped like THAT if he wanted to, if he lost control for a millisecond. The coolness of his touch almost makes her shudder but she suppresses it, knowing that that isn't the reaction to have. And, after a few seconds, it feels nice.
"I love you," he confesses to her face, the pallor of his skin making her own English rose skin seem positively tanned in comparison. She smiles back at this confession of love, feeling her hands are simply spare parts at this moment beside her hips.
"I… I love you too," she responds, their whispered conversation the only sounds in the room, the only disruption of the peace. "Myr-" she begins to continue talking but Myrnin cuts her off with a kiss.
With a sudden burst of energy, his cold and hard lips press to her own malleable and warm ones with an intensity she has never felt before. Something in the back of her mind snaps and she is suddenly reacting instinctively, wrapping her hands into his hair as his moves down from her face to pull her closer to him, one on her back and the other on her hip.
She smiles into his lips as some gut wrenching sensation of love, of frisson, passes through her before she resumes kissing him back harder and harder. Claire wraps her fingers into his hair to give her a better grip before yanking his head down to be closer to her own, so she doesn't have to reach as far – damn height difference!
His tongue forces her mouth open and she moans slightly at the feeling his entering tongue sends around her mouth before spreading to the rest of her body. Fireworks pale in comparison, she thinks, passing random images through her mind as she tries to find an experience or something to be similar to this… but nothing comes close.
She relaxes into him entirely, pressing her chest against his, when he stiffens and tenses up – this so isn't the reaction I wanted, she thinks to herself, confused as he begins to pull away. With the meagreness of her human strength, she tries to hold him close to her, to never let him go, but he wrenches himself off.
With a sudden start, she realises that sometime in the kiss, she ended up with her back against the wall – how strange.
But that makes her realise another thing: she is in a weak position…
...and the beast is alive in Myrnin.
His eyes, the perfect brown orbs, are slowly turning red and losing the knowledge and control, retaining only the lust. But it has been tweaked and changed to go from lust for her to lust for her blood. Thirsty… he's thirsty… to confirm this thought; his fangs slide down from their invisible position in his mouth, long and sharp – perfect killing weapons.
His stance changes from relaxed to hunter, crouched slightly over his prey – her. Fear rushes through her veins and she knows he can smell it, hear the increase in her heartbeat as she processes that she should run away. But she can't manage it: she is rooted still to the spot, her back pressed against the wall. Weak. Immobile. Human.
"Myrnin," she whispers his name, but entirely differently than before. That was lustful, this is pleading. Her hand reaches to her face and she feels the fresh tracks of tears sliding from her eyes. I never realised I was crying, she thinks to herself, almost laughing at the ludicrousness of not realising her vision was turning blurred.
He moves closer to her, without speaking, and almost circles her, as a lion does its prey. Entirely defenceless, she stands there, knowing that she cannot do anything besides plead with him to stop before he kills her. Perhaps… perhaps he may manage to stop himself. He loves her – he won't want to kill her like he did Ada.
His lips press to her throat gently and she almost relaxes before feeling the point of the fangs almost piercing the thin membrane of her skin. He isn't kissing her but simply finding the point where her blood runs the thickest, the point where he could get as much of her blood into him as possible.
The lust, the desire for her blood, overpowers the teensy bit of self control in him as he continues to lay kisses over her neck and throat area, preparing himself.
"Myrnin, there… there is blood over there," she protests weekly, the kissing doing nothing for her defences whatsoever. But, with a shocking realisation, she remembers that he drank the last of it yesterday and that the delivery was scheduled for tomorrow. He should have been fine – he is old, he doesn't need much blood – but something must have burned up all the blood in him…
…and it is as if he hasn't drunk in a week.
"Ahh, but your blood sings to me," he croons into her neck, his cool breath raising goosebumps on her neck. Her heart continues to pump blood exorbitantly quickly, highlighting the strongest pulse point in her body with ease. She closes her eyes and begs herself to calm down, hoping with all her heart and soul that he will stop himself before he does anything stupid. "It is so fresh and sweet and right here," he continues, his voice as seductive as before but with an edge to it, hard and feral.
"P-please," she begs before cursing herself – the one thing you don't do to a hungry vampire is beg. Or run… but begging is probably just as bad. "Myrnin, you don't want to do this. You love me, remember?" she presses, her eyes filling with tears as soon as she opens her eyes once again. She slowly raises her hands to put them to his face, touching his cheeks to get him to lift his head to look in her eyes.
"Don't I?" he questions her back, but something in his eyes is fighting to get through – Myrnin wants to return from the monster. This enough is all she needs to keep fighting through to him.
"Myrnin, you love me," she reminds him, circling her fingers on his skin to relax his jaw. She continues to stare into his face, ignoring the inhuman fangs there, and prays to everything possible for him to come back to her.
Suddenly, the fangs retract back into their original place inside of his mouth and he envelops her in a hug, tears streaming down his face as Myrnin returns.
"Claire, I am so, so sorry," he cries into her back as she comforts him, the adrenaline rushing around her body allowing her to do this. "I didn't mean to… but I stopped, didn't I?" he doesn't sound proud of himself, only ashamed that he almost let it go that far.
"You stopped," she smiles into his face as she strokes his cheek again, wiping the tears from his face. "But you need blood… is there any spare at the bloodbank or something?" she frowns at this, wondering where she can get him some blood… if not, she may have to be a donor, after all.
He shakes his head slowly. "There was an accident, one of the humans crashed and about one hundred people are injured. Every older vampire has given up their share for a day or two to hand it in," he whispers, bowing his head. "Claire, you should go. I don't want to hurt you but you will leave me no choice," he continues, a tear welling in his eye.
She moves away from the wall but hesitates by the door. "You said you love me," she states and he turns to look at her, evidently confused as to the context of this.
A side of his mouth twitches slightly as he nods, staring right into her eyes. "That's right, Claire, I truly do. I could never live with myself if I did," he responds slowly, as if measuring up every single word before he spoke them.
She hesitates again, wondering whether or not this is the right thing to do, before wrenching down the shoulder of her top. "I know this will hurt but if you only take a little," she concedes to letting him bite her but on her terms.
He shakes his head and looks sickened, stepping back from her advance. "I can't let you do that, Claire, it wouldn't be right – if I love you, how could I hurt you?" the tears return to his eyes as he processes how she is willing to do this for him.
She nods her head and moves closer to him, this time rendering him immobile at her touch. Gently, she takes his hand and places it on her back and shuts her eyes, unable to believe she is doing this voluntarily.
"I can't," he whispers but she shakes her head, angered that he doesn't want her blood – she never thought she would ever say that, but it's the truth.
"Eve lets Michael," she confesses the information she swore she would never tell in order to try and get him to do it. "Please, Myrnin, I never thought I would be offering someone to bite me, so take it!" she laughs, albeit slightly hysterically, before fear grips her heart again as he pulls her close to him.
"Promise me you will tell me when to stop?" he whispers into her ear, the fangs already fully extended as the pumping of her blood entices him.
She nods, breathlessly, and prepares for the pain that must come as her skin is mutilated. His mouth moves down to her shoulder, the exposed blade protruding from her skin, and she shudders slightly as his breath touches her skin. But that is nothing compared to the searing pain when his fangs slide through her skin, ripping through it as if it were a segment of orange.
Blood begins to rush out from the wound, not as quickly as if it were the jugular but not as life threatening, and he gulps it down his throat, quenching the roaring fire there. He drinks and drinks, the pain of the life leaving her body exploding through Claire as she tries to keep a clear enough head to know when enough is enough.
As she begins to go light-headed, she knows she can't face losing much more. "Myrnin, that's enough," she whispers, raising her hands to wrap them into his hair. From here, she yanks him out of her body, wincing as the fangs remove themselves from her body. His tongue quickly licks up the remnants of the blood on her skin and the wound seems to heal slightly – or at least, stop pouring blood.
She collapses into him, evidently weaker than she thought she was. Myrnin wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and presses his lips to her forehead, spreading the rusty and irony smellingness of her blood to there as well. His arms wrap around her back as he sobs into her shoulder, unable to believe that he did that to her.
After a long moment, he lifts her into his arms, realising she needs sugar to strengthen her. So he carries her to the sofa and lays her out gently, stroking her face as he passes on his way to the small kitchenette Amelie had had installed for incase Claire ever wanted to stay for dinner as they worked. Here, he finds a packet of chocolate biscuits and a bottle of coke before taking them back to her.
"Claire, you need to eat and drink," he tells her softly, setting the food on the table in front of her.
"I… it hurt," she whispers, confessing her feelings. A wave of remorse spreads through the elderly vampire, the one who ought never to have taken her up on her offer but had to because he was so weak.
"I am so sorry," he responds roughly, lifting her carefully upright and sitting her on his lap to let her lean her head against his chest. He smiles as he feels her close to him again, like they were before, but this soon fades as he realises it is his fault this happened.
So he feeds her biscuit after biscuit until she finally feels better, more like herself. But it is only an energy rush which will fade quickly, making them both positive that she will pass out shortly.
"I love you," she tells him, knowing that she couldn't do anything but love him after making such a sacrifice to him.
"I know," he responds quietly, pressing his lips to her cheek for a long and tender moment. "You need sleep," he states and, without waiting for her confirmation or denial, he lifts her effortlessly into his arms and takes her through to the other room where his small bed is. Here, he lays her to sleep in the crisp sheets, covering her over with a blanket.
"Stay with me," she murmurs as he hovers over her, unsure whether to stay and watch her sleep or to go and let her be alone. Her request confirms the former choice, so he climbs onto the bed and curls up in the small space next to her, watching as her innocent and utterly perfect face drifts into the land of the unconscious.
A huge part of him wonders whether this is the right thing to do, but just looking at her makes the rest of him shut that part up, knowing that he will eternally love her…
Whatcha think?
I GAVE UP ON READING LORD OF THE FLIES TO WRITE THIS! True… I didn't WANT to read that (I still haven't finished it and the Eng Lit exam is Tues) but I ought to…
Review please!
Vicky xx